Life After Traditionis Custodes

The other day I received a request: would I be willing, at some point in the near future, to celebrate a Mass in the Extraordinary Form?

First of all, I presume what was meant was would I celebrate a Mass according to the 1962 Missal, what was called the 'Extraordinary Form' before Traditionis custodes.

As I started to consider the request I came to realize that the motu proprio doesn't seem to address my situation. The letter gives direction to two kinds of priests:

Art. 4. Priests ordained after the publication of the present Motu Proprio, who wish to celebrate using the Missale Romanum of 1962, should submit a formal request to the diocesan Bishop who shall consult the Apostolic See before granting this authorization.

Art. 5. Priests who already celebrate according to the Missale Romanum of 1962 should request from the diocesan Bishop the authorization to continue to enjoy this faculty.

I take the sense of Article 5 as celebrating in this way regularly or habitually. I have never celebrated Mass in the Extraordinary Form publicly. Ordained right around the time of Summorum pontificum, I learned the older form, curious as I was about this new faculty granted by Pope Benedict, practiced, and celebrated privately a few times. But I haven't done so since leaving the parish assignment in 2010 (I had access to a number of fitting altars there). I also tried to learn the Breviarium Romanum and prayed some of my hours from the Breviarium Romano-Seraphicum sometimes, especially for the little hours, until on my reading of Universae Ecclesiae I decided that such mixing and matching wasn't really allowed.

In the end I'm glad for these inspirations because I learned a lot about the Mass and even got free chant lessons at one of the Extraordinary Form groups in Boston during my period in the doctoral program at Boston College. And perhaps the "mutual enrichment" that Benedict hoped for in Summorum pontificum has thus been accomplished in my priesthood. Given the closeness I feel to the Pope Emeritus, to know that would give me encouragement and comfort.

So where does Traditionis custodes leave a priest found already ordained upon its publication but not celebrating according to what was, until that day, called the Extraordinary Form? I'm honestly not sure. Am I like a new priest, needing the permission of the bishop confirmed by the Holy See in order to celebrate with the 1962 Missal, or am I like a priest who was celebrating this way upon the publication of the letter, needing only the authorization of the bishop? Or am I, as I suspect on my reading of the spirit of Traditionis custodes, neither of these things, but simply someone who has lost the faculty to celebrate in the older form, period, and without any justification for seeking to have it back.

Comments welcome.

Liturgical Books and Our Sense of Time

[Original post, July 12, 2010]

Anyone who has used a hand missal or a breviary is familiar with the chart of movable days somewhere in the front. I find it interesting to note how far they go into the future, because I suspect it says something about our sense of time and change.

My hand missal for the ordinary form, published in 2003, goes up to 2010, suggesting that the editors imagined one would use it for seven years. Perhaps it was a good guess, given that we expect the new and improved English translation of the 2002 Missale Romanum one of these days. [As we know, it arrived for Advent 2011.]

My Baronius Press hand missal for the extraordinary form, published in 2007, has a calendar that goes up to 2066, suggesting a much longer sense of how long someone might use it.

My 1976 American English Liturgy of the Hours goes up to 1999, while the 2000 typical edition Liturgia Horarum goes up 2022, about the same span of years. My 1962 Breviarium Romano-Seraphicum goes a little bit longer, to 1992.

The 2002 Missale Romanum contains a liturgical calendar that goes up to 2023, about the same span as the breviaries. The 1954 Missale Romano-Seraphicum, however, has a calendar that goes up to 2003, more than twice the span. The editors imagined it being used almost long enough to come back as an option after forty years of Novus Ordo exclusivity!

I'm sure there's a dissertation to be written here, but on the face it one might guess that folks used to imagine liturgies (and books!) as lasting longer than we do now.

--

2019 update: On a recent visit to the Specola Vaticana, the Vatican Observatory, the Brother Astronomer showed me a volume of the work of Christopher Clavius, SJ, who was one of the main authors of the Gregorian calendar reform, promulgated by Pope Gregory XIII in 1582. Just on the page that was open, his calculations for the date of Easter, etc.--in the sixteenth century!--go up to 2031. I don't know how far the charts went after that. So it goes to show that sixteenth century Jesuits (at least) had a longer view of the calendar than any of the liturgical books I mentioned in the original post.

Latin Doubts Changing World Ramble

There are those who like to think that liturgical Latin has been making comeback. Not that it needs to of course; as goes the oft quoted section 36 of the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy of Vatican II, Linguae latinae usus, salvo particulari iure, in Ritibus latinis servetur. "Particular law remaining in force, the use of the Latin language is to be preserved in the Latin rites."

Recent experience has made me doubt, however.

A Little On My New Disposition

I have arrived in Rome and will be staying in a small friary for a spell. Tomorrow I am to become a student at the "Torre di Babele," which seems like a very inauspicious name for a language school. They have placed me in the 'level 3' class. Depending on whom you ask, there are either seven or eleven levels. Such mysteries, the suggestion of secret levels, and name of the place make me wary of masonic influence. Perhaps the Holy Spirit will soon provide me with a worthy confessor willing to discuss such things.

The guardian of the friary is an Indonesian friar of Dutch ethnicity and seems very kind. Arriving in my room I found that he had left me a note of welcome in English. I just have to share a little of it:

During the summer the following time-table applies:
6:15 Morning prayer-time for prayer (Matins, Meditation, Private Mass)
7:30 Eucharistic concelebration in the choir of the Capuchin Sisters
8.00 Breakfast
12.45 Lunch
19.30 Vespers
19.45 Dinner
22.00 Silence and happy dreams

"Happy dreams." As Holden Caulfield would say, that knocks me out.

Also, I shall have to use the "time for prayer" in the morning for meditation, since I wouldn't pray a private Mass when I had the opportunity to pray with the sisters, and I can't say Matins because my set of 1962 Roman-Seraphic breviaries was one of the hard sacrifices I made when I was packing up for my move to Italy.

Mutual Enrichment Dubium: Pentecost Octave

In the cover letter to Summorum Pontificum, Benedict XVI expressed hope for a "mutual enrichment" of the newly-named Ordinary and Extraordinary forms of the Roman rite. How such a thing plays out will continue to be a matter of discernment and debate, a work of local custom and of the sensus fidelium.

In that spirit, here's a practical question. I'm curious to see what people think.

When I first acquainted myself with the older form of the liturgy, I became sensitized, like many, to the absence of the Pentecost Octave in the reformed calendar. Indeed, the relationship of Pentecost to the whole of the liturgy between Pentecost Sunday and the new beginning of Advent was transformed; where there used to be Sundays 'after Pentecost' we now have the second round of the time per annum, or as we call it in English, 'Ordinary Time'--which doesn't mean that it's ordinary in the sense of plain, but that we keep track of it with ordinal numbers.

So when I first was learning the Extraordinary Form, I began to 'enrich' my celebration of the Ordinary Form with certain elements from the older tradition. For instance, on the first of July, if nothing else were going on, I would celebrate the votive Mass of the Precious Blood, in recognition of the feast of the Precious Blood assigned to that day in the Extraordinary Form. (In the Ordinary Form, what we sloppily still call "Corpus Christi" is now the feast of the Body and Blood of Christ, obviating the second observance.)

On the weekdays after Pentecost, as Ordinary Time resumed, I would sneak in a votive Mass of the Holy Spirit or two, so long as the day was free for such a thing. I thought I was recognizing the older observance of the Pentecost Octave by doing so. And I will admit that there was a little feeling in me, as many have felt, that the suppression of the Octave was one of the misfortunes of the reform.

So, is this a legitimate and sensible choice toward 'mutual enrichment,' or is it contrary to the form and flow of the Ordinary Form? Were my votive Masses of the Holy Spirit an enriching strategy for recognizing the tradition that used to be there--and now continues to be in the Extraordinary Form--or are they a distracting act of pretending that does violence to the change of season that the Ordinary Form supposes?

I was just thinking on this as I look forward to Monday, which will be a very odd liturgical day for me. It will begin in Boston as Monday of the eighth week in Ordinary Time, so my votive Mass of the Holy Spirit would be an option for the morning. God willing, however, I will conclude the day by transitioning into the Roman-Franciscan calendar in Italy, where Monday is the obligatory memorial of St. Mariana de Jesús de Paredes.

So, what do you think? Votive Mass of the Holy Spirit or not?

The Cardinal or the Headbanger?

Partly because they're sweet in their excitement for me in my coming transfer to Rome, and partly because they like to make fun of my long history of rocky relationships with spiritual directors, the brothers have been suggesting to me whom I might ask to be my spiritual director once I get to my new assignment. Two candidates have emerged:

First, Raymond Cardinal Burke:




No doubt the brothers thought of His Eminence because I share some of his opinions, but also because I am currently under the care of one of his seminary classmates.

Second, our Capuchin brother Cesare Bonizzi, sometime frontman of Fratello Metallo:




The real compliment in all this is the recognition of the sublime synthesis that is my particular vocation, and I'm sure that's what the brothers mean to say by their suggestions.

Bye Bye Peculiarly, Hello Passiontide

The other day one of the brothers and I were watching a Mass on TV. The priest appeared to be very influenced by the Extraordinary Form, and I wouldn't have been surprised to find out that Mass in the Ordinary Form was the exception for him. My confrere and I noted many little gestures and behaviors that revealed the influence of the older rubrics, and had an interesting discussion on Benedict XVI and his idea of 'mutual enrichment.'

It's funny; priests who are dismissive of or even hostile to the EF might be horrified by certain little gestures from the older form making their way into the modern Roman rite, such as the custody of thumbs and forefingers, but I routinely observe priests of all kinds making certain gestures according to the old rubrics when the newer ones say do to do something else. Two easy examples are breaking the host over the chalice and holding the host over the chalice at the doxology. Perhaps many priests who do these little things would be shocked to learn of their traddy-ness!

I've never offered Mass publicly in the EF, apart from once ministering Holy Communion for a priest with some mobility issues. (See this post.) When I do assist at one it's usually because I want to sing. I used to say some of my Divine Office with the older form of the breviary, until I concluded from Universae Ecclesiae that one ought not to mix the two forms that way. But even with this little contact with the EF, I am so grateful for having become acquainted with the older form of the liturgy.

This particular moment of the year is a good example of what makes me grateful. As we approach the end of the fourth week of Lent, the lectionary and the Office of Readings start to edge us toward Passiontide. This is a sort of phantom liturgical season in the Ordinary Form; it's not really named anywhere, and rarely (at least in my experience) is its traditional marker of veiling images still observed. But Passiontide is there in the Ordinary Form. After Sunday the preface for daily Mass shifts from those of Lent to the first of the Passion. After four cycles through a weekly set of readings for Morning and Evening Prayer, these change as well. For those who pray in the American English Liturgy of the Hours, not until next year will anyone have to face the dreaded 'peculiarly' on Wednesday morning. As this week ends we pass into a new time with a more intense focus on the overwhelming mystery of a God who saves us not only in spite of our rejection of him, but through it.

That I notice patterns and depths such as this I credit to having studied and learned the older form of the liturgy. That's why I recommend it to everyone, traddy or not.

Quaerere Deum

My first priest, who dealt with me in my early curiosities about becoming a Catholic, and who also had the burden of my pastoral care from my neophyte days until I graduated from college and joined the Leonine Franciscans, has always insisted that I am supposed to be a Benedictine rather than a Franciscan.

I, of course, am not convinced of his assertion, though I wouldn't be surprised to learn that some of my Capuchin confreres agreed with it.

Nevertheless, watching this video from the new monastery of St. Benedict in Norcia, I can't deny the attraction. I think I also heard that they plan to build a new abbey where there once stood a Capuchin friary. Go figure.

When I get to my own new assignment in Italy, I'm looking forward to visiting these monks. In some of the scenes I see what looks like a friar in a Conventual sort of habit, so I already feel welcome.

(Our) Holy Father

At the Mass for the perpetual profession of friars, the litany of the saints is sung as the candidates pray prostrate. At this year's perpetual profession the setting of the litany by John Becker was used. I have a vivid memory of the first time I heard this setting; it was (I think) September 17, 1994 and I was at St. Francis of Assisi on 31st St. in Manhattan for another perpetual profession. I was a postulant to the OFM at the time. I also remember that it was the first time I ever heard the responsorial psalm sung at Mass, which just goes to show how shallow my Catholic experience was at the time. Anyway, on that day I remember being caught up in the moment and thinking that the Becker litany was the most beautiful thing ever. Over the years I've grown rather sick of it, but I don't mind singing it once in a while.

As in various litanies of the saints, Francis and Dominic are paired in one invocation. Of course they are counterparts in various senses. From this a conversation arose at table about Franciscan veneration of St. Dominic. I had long remarked that Dominic has a certain solemnity in the Franciscan calendar: his day is a feast for us, raised slightly from the obligatory memorial he is in the general Roman calendar. (In the Extraordinary Form the distinction is between a ii and iii class feast.) I have always presumed that this is mirrored in the Dominican calendar such that Francis is raised to a feast, but I have never checked this. Anybody know?

In our conversation, a venerable and devout friar pointed something out that I had never noticed before: in the Franciscan calendar both Francis and Dominic are given the title 'holy father,' but only Francis is called 'our holy father.' So this morning I went to check on this, and found it just as he said. In the current Roman-Franciscan Liturgy of the Hours, the solemnity of St. Francis is titled, "Our Holy Father Francis, Deacon, Founder of the Three Orders," while the feast of St. Dominic is simply titled, "Holy Father Dominic, Priest, Founder of the Order of Preachers." I presume that this is the same in the Roman-Franciscan Sacramentary, but I can't check because we don't have one at the friary where I live. The same pattern is found in the 1962 Missale Romano-Seraphicum and Breviarium Romano-Seraphicum: the i class feast of St. Francis is titled, "In Solemnitate S. Patris Nostri Francisci Conf. Fundatoris Trium Ordinum," while the ii class feast of St. Dominic is simply, "Sancti Patris Dominici Confessoris."

Interestingly, in the most recent Franciscan rite of religious profession (which, as far as I know, has not been approved by the Holy See) Francis and Dominic do not appear together. Both appear in a little section of the litany that seems to be dedicated to religious founders: St. Basil, St. Augustine, St. Anthony, St. Benedict, St. Dominic, St. Ignatius and St. Alphonsus, Our Holy Father St. Francis, Holy Mother St. Clare. Francis is still styled 'our holy father,' but Dominic has lost his 'holy father.' A little rupture in the tradition, no?

Holy Father Dominic, pray for us.
Our Holy Father Francis, pray for us.

The Trials of Web Celebrity

I admit it; I enjoy playing foursquare. And I think I'm pretty good at it too; after about a year of playing I have eighteen badges and am currently holding down twenty-four mayorships. I would be even more of a success if someone would invent the Catholic badges I proposed back in this post.

One of pizza shops in my neighborhood has a large LCD monitor that cycles through news headlines, special offers, and best of all, a congratulations to the current mayor on foursquare, paired with a taunt inviting viewers to "check in" in an effort to oust him.

Having recently recovered the mayorship myself, I was up at the counter picking up my gyro when I came up on the display. "That's me!" I announced to the guys working there. Amid various cries of "Aha!" and "You're that guy?" as well as a couple of other less repeatable interjections, I realized that my self-revelation had resolved a minor mystery.

They congratulated me on my mayorship, but made a little request: could I please switch out my profile picture for something less bizarre, thank you very much.

So as soon as the site boots itself up from the casters-up mode it seems to be in this afternoon, I'll switch out my current profile picture:



For this one:



Better?

Postquam hostem et inferna

I have to admit it. I love to sing. So I was happy this morning when the choirmaster announced that for a communion meditation we would sing Adam of St. Victor's sequence for the Ascension, Postquam hostem et inferna.

It begins:

Postquam hostem et inferna
spoliavit ad superna
Christus redit gaudia
angelorum ascendenti
sicut olim descendenti
parantur obsequia

"After despoiling enemy and hell,
Christ returns to joyful heights,
ascending as before he descended,
attended by the angels."

That's very loose. As always, translation improvements are welcome in the comments!

When I Sing, I Sing Real Go-oo-od

One of my joys over this past year back in Boston has been getting to know the "Schola Amicorum" which sings for the Sunday Mass in the Extraordinary Form at the cathedral. When I have been free, I have enjoyed their hospitality and the chance to learn to sing a little chant.

I was there this morning. During a break from our practice (we rehearse in the bishops' crypt, which is just too cool) I was reflecting on why the old chants grab me so. That's when I noticed something funny within: Gregorian chant reminds me a little of the Misfits.

I remember first hearing the Misfits when I was about fifteen. The whole thing caught me right away; the classic rock and roll song structures, the campy horror shtick, and especially the loopy, crooning vocals of Glenn Danzig and later on (in the reconstituted Misfits) Michale Graves.

I've been singing along to Misfits songs for years. They are eminently singable. YouTube is full of kids covering them in garages and girls playing them on the ukelele. Really. Look for yourself. There are similarities with the chants for Mass: the looping phrases, the centering of phrases on long, drawn-out vowels, and the signature descending triads.

I only bring up this very random connection to suggest how God prepares us remotely to minister to his glory. Long before I had any idea of even being a Christian, God was using this crazy music to form my singing heart, and to put into my own musical imagination a sense of tone and phrasing that He would one day put to work for divine worship.



P.s. I would have posted the song from which I derived the title of the post, but I thought its name and subject too vulgar (not to speak of diabolical.)

Universae Ecclesiae: Answers and Questions

Like a lot of folks, I suspect, who have some interest in the Extraordinary Form, I planned some extra time in my morning routine today so that I could read Universae Ecclesiae when it appeared at 'Roman noon.'

The document is supposed to be a clarification of how Summorum pontificum is applied. For me it answered one of my own questions, but left another in an even more mysterious condition.

First, the question I feel is now somewhat clarified. SP 9,3 gives clerics the right to use the older Roman breviary to fulfill the Divine Office, for which the ordinary form is the Liturgy of the Hours. When I first read this, I was a new priest, and somewhat curious. I managed to find a complete 1962 Breviarium Romano-Seraphicum in the Capuchin use for what was--to me at least--a bargain (100 euro.) Using Fr. Hausmann's Learning the New Breviary (which you can download yourself here, note the Capuchin novitiate library stamp in the scanned copy) I started to experiment with the older form of the prayer.

But I wondered about a couple of things. First, was it o.k. to mix and match? Could I just use the older breviary for certain of the hours? It was nice compact volume, and so eminently suited to carrying into the world. Could I just use it for the little hours during the day, i.e. for what would be Daytime Prayer in the LoH? Second, if I were to use the older breviary, did I have to say all the hours, or just the analogues of what appears in the current LoH? In other words, did I have to say Prime and all three of the little hours?

It seems to me that UE answers these questions: 32. Art. 9 § 3 of the Motu Proprio Summorum Pontificum gives clerics the faculty to use the Breviarium Romanum in effect in 1962, which is to be prayed entirely and in the Latin language.

This language suggests to me that 'mixing and matching' is not the idea, and that one using the older breviary is supposed to pray all of it.


My second question is about the celebration of Mass alone, and about it I'm still confused. According to current law, it is possible to celebrate Mass without even another minister or server, for a just cause. The devotion of the priest or his desire to offer Mass is considered a just cause in this regard. This a relaxation of the former law that would have been in effect in 1962, in which it was far more difficult, and even impossible, to justify offering Mass alone.

Towards this question, UE reitereates SP: 23. The faculty to celebrate sine populo (or with the participation of only one minister) in the forma extraordinaria of the Roman Rite is given by the Motu Proprio to all priests, whether secular or religious (cf. Motu Proprio Summorum Pontificum, art. 2). For such celebrations therefore, priests, by provision of the Motu Proprio Summorum Pontificum, do not require any special permission from their Ordinaries or superiors.

Sine populo, "without the people," does not mean 'by yourself.' It just means off any public schedule, without the assistance of an assembly. It does not mean 'without a server' or 'one other minister' as the missal in the Ordinary Form puts it. Now it seems to me that the relaxation given in current law that enables one to offer Mass alone is sometimes imported into the EF (along with some other convenient modern rubrics, like the right to offer Mass at any time of day, for example.) The excellent FSSP training video for the older form of Mass even has a section on how to make adjustments to the Mass when it is offered alone, without even a server or some other person to make the responses. That would seem to suggest that such a thing was allowed!

I've never been sure about this, and after UE I feel even less so: 28. Furthermore, by virtue of its character of special law, within its own area, the Motu Proprio Summorum Pontificum derogates from those provisions of law, connected with the sacred Rites, promulgated from 1962 onwards and incompatible with the rubrics of the liturgical books in effect in 1962.

It would seem to me that the relaxation of being able to offer Mass alone, without even a server or someone to make the responses, is such a provision promulgated after 1962 and incompatible with the EF rubrics as they stand on their own. Now I'm neither a liturgist or a canonist, and a dilettante when it comes to the EF for sure, but so it seems to me.

Benedict XVI and Me

For his 84th birthday today I was praying for our holy father Benedict XVI and reflecting a little on his ministry in my life. I remember that his election was on a Tuesday. I was cooking that day, and I remember having to leave the TV room several times to stir the sauce on the stove. When the election was announced, I was filled with dread. Why? The next day was the big school Mass for the week and for some reason I was in charge of composing the intercessions. In those days I was a Master of Divinity student at the former Weston Jesuit School of Theology, and some of the faculty were acquainted with the CDF, if you ascertain my meaning. Even beyond that, in those days one of the favorite 'love to hate' documents at school was Dominus Iesus, which had appeared from the CDF a few years before. So, as I finished seasoning my sauce and gave the brethren their supper, I felt as if I had been saddled with a task of impossible delicacy. I must have done it adequately, however. The newly elected Pope was prayed for the next day, and I don't remember getting in trouble.

Following those two days, my journey with Benedict XVI has been one of increasing appreciation. I mention just four moments: First, upon his election, I decided that I should get to know the man a little better. So I went to the library and borrowed Introduction to Christianity. I was amazed by the clarity of the writing. After a couple of years of reading some of Ratzinger's peers among German Catholic theologians of the twentieth century (who will remain nameless) the book was a breath of fresh--and clear--air.

Second, the chance to concelebrate Mass with Benedict XVI at St. Patrick's Cathedral during the first Easter season of my priesthood was one of the greatest moments of my whole Christian life. Spiritually, it was right up there with visiting the Holy Land in the sense that it left me with a deepened connection with the real and concrete of salvation history.

Third, Summorum pontificum changed my life. The document appeared during the months in which I was preparing for my priestly ordination. When I read it, I learned that the people of God were given the right to ask for the older form of Mass. From this I gathered that it was professional obligation to learn it. Such began my own journey with the Extraordinary Form, which I have chronicled at length in this blog. I wouldn't say that I have become a 'traddy,' but that my explorations have helped me to appreciate both forms better. Having become familiar with the older form of Mass, I think I understand better what was at stake in the reform, and hence I believe that I'm able to celebrate the modern form with more confidence and continuity.

Finally, Benedict has given me a deeper understanding of my own Franciscanism. When I finally got around to reading his Habilitationsschrift on the theology of history of St. Bonaventure, I was tremendously grateful for insights like this one:

The unsophisticated and unrealistic way in which Francis tried to make the Sermon on the Mount the rule of his 'new People' is not understood properly if we designate it as 'idealism'...it is understandable only as...eschatological confidence... (Joseph Ratzinger, The Theology of History in St. Bonaventure, trans. Zachary Hayes, 40)

It is almost a commonplace these days to say that consecrated life needs to recover its eschatological edge. Well, there's our invitation. Happy birthday, Benedict XVI. Thank you for your ministry to the universal Church and to me within her. Be assured of my daily prayer for you. Ad multos annos.

Some Dis/Orienting Thoughts

Some recent events and conversations have had me thinking again about the ad orientem/versus populum debate.

First, someone reported to me that he had witnessed some folks offering a "Tridentine Mass." Given the circumstances, I had my doubts. I mentioned it to the priest and deacon involved and found out, just as I had suspected, that it wasn't a Mass in the Extraordinary Form at all, but a Mass in Ordinary Form, except in Latin and offered ad orientem.

Second, in a conversation with a priest some of these questions came up. He assured me that it was entirely forbidden to offer Mass ad orientem in the modern Roman rite. Not only was it forbidden, but also unimaginable.

Both of these conversations, in the mistake of recognition and the misunderstanding that they represent respectively, reveal what we all already know: the EF and the OF are principally distinguished by two things: in the former the Mass is offered ad orientem in Latin, and in the latter it is offered versus populum in the local language of the assembly (or some of the assembly, as the situation increasingly is.)

Now one can argue that this distinction is false and can point out the appropriate passages from Vatican II and the GIRM to show that it is not the case at all, but the fact remains that in the de facto and existential state of things, these are the differences between the two for the overwhelming majority of people, so much so that an EF OF Mass offered ad orientem in the ordinary language of the Roman rite is seen as a "Tridentine Mass."

The third event was a conversation about the practice of inviting everyone to stand around the altar during the liturgy of the Eucharist. For whatever reason, feelings seem to run strong around this practice. I have nothing against it in itself; my only objection would be that it seems fairly well tied to the forbidden practice of passing around the sacred species. But to those who are against gathering in a circle around the altar (and I don't like it either), I would only say that I think it follows logically from the whole sacramental ethos of the Mass celebrated versus populum. The tired line against the Mass in which all the worshipers are oriented together is that the priest 'has his back to the people.' In the turning about of altars, folks have found a liberation and a new experience of God in the lateral sacramental presence of people praying through each other, and there is a lot to be said for this. But why then should the assembly pray with their backs to each other? Isn't it a clearer expression of the presence of Christ in the assembly if we all get to see each other? I'm not saying that everyone should always be invited to gather around the altar, but if you really believe in the Mass versus populum on a theological level (that is to say, beyond its entertainment value, should it have any, and the cult of personality) then why not go all the way and embrace this practice too? I don't mean this in a sarcastic way; I'm just playing out implications in my mind.

The fourth moment was when I attended a Mass in the Extraordinary Form the other day. I didn't think it was very well done. I don't mean that it wasn't done right, but that it wasn't done well. For a first class feast it was just a giant Low Mass with just a priest, a couple of servers, and a couple of priests sitting in choro. There was no sermon or homily, nor schola and not even a hymn before and after Mass. There was no music at all. Now I know that my active and conscious participation consists primarily in my offering of my own self-sacrifice offered in union with the Sacrifice of Christ on the altar, but at this Mass it was easy to see how someone could get the idea that he was cut off from what was really going on, and entirely incidental to the whole business.

I think it would be a good idea for all of us younger folks who are curious about exploring and even recovering things like prayer ad orientem and Latin as liturgical language to attend such a poorly done celebration of the EF. We need to feel, at some level, what a liberation it must have been for folks to have suddenly felt more involved, to make responses, and to speak prayers of the Mass themselves in a way didn't feel incidental. We all know the dangers and distortions of the Mass celebrated versus populum, when the Mass is made into a cooking show by some aspiring priest-celebrity, but we also need to feel, and not just know, the parallel dangers and spiritual dangers of ad orientem as well.

Using the Prayer to St. Michael

Here's another one of my infamous little liturgical dilemmas.

The parish priest for whom I substitute for Mass on Thursday mornings--so that he can have an overnight caring for his elderly mother--is a very gentle man, and would never presume to tell me how to celebrate Mass. He's just grateful for the regular and reliable help, and I'm happy to do it.

However, I get the feeling that Father would like me to add the Prayer to St. Michael at the end of Mass. I know that he appends his daily Masses with the prayer. He leaves a laminated copy (in English and Spanish) prominently placed on the altar.

Nevertheless, I don't do it, and nobody else in the assembly starts it spontaneously either. For one thing, I don't like adding things to the Mass, as I feel that such things detract from the 'noble simplicity' of the Roman rite. (Not that I'm not guilty of a handful of tridentine accretions in my practice of the Ordinary Form; but I'm careful only to permit myself such things at moments when nothing else is provided in the current rubrics. I feel like I'm in the spirit of the "mutual enrichment" of the two forms of the Roman rite which the Holy Father called for in his cover letter to Summorum pontificum.)

Also, because I have a psychological tendency towards a certain rigorism--I'm 'precise,' as my mother would say--I would want to pray the whole of the Leonine Prayers if I'm going to add the Prayer to St. Michael. But, as is clear, the Leonine Prayers were suppressed in 1964 by the instruction Inter oecumenici.

So, what should I do?

Continue to not add the Prayer to St. Michael, as I have been doing? Add the prayer at the end of Mass, in support of my host, and for the sake of prayerful continuity for the people? Go all the way and lead the whole of the Leonine Prayers, telling myself that the spirit of the liturgical vision of Benedict XVI trumps the prescriptions of the famous consilium for implementing Sacrosanctum Concilium?

Anybody have any other qualifications for the question? Any other documents that I don't know about?

Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio, contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur: tuque, Princeps militiae caelestis, Satanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrude. Amen.

St. Albert's Collects

The Collect for St. Albert the Great is one of my favorites. I preached on it at Mass this morning.

As it comes to us in our current English translation:

God our Father,
you endowed Saint Albert with the talent
of combining (componenda) human wisdom with divine faith.
Keep us true to his teachings
that the advance of human knowledge
may deepen our knowledge and love of you.
Grant this through...


This is something of a shift from the same prayer as it was prior to the reform of the liturgy. As it appears in the 1962 Missale Romanum:

Deus, qui beatum Albertum, pontificem tuum atque Doctorem,in humana sapientia divinae fidei subiicienda magnum efficisti: da nobis, quaesumus; ita eius magisterii inhaerere vestigiis, ut luce perfecta fruamur in caelis. Per Dominum...

God, who made St. Albert, your bishop and doctor, great in subjecting human wisdom to divine faith, grant us, we ask, that by holding fast to to the teaching he has left, we might enjoy perfect light in heaven. Through our Lord...


So, good old St. Albert, who used to subject human wisdom to divine faith, now only combines the two. Thus is revealed the uneasy relationship between the sciences and the Science for people of our time. So often I hear something like, 'There is no conflict between faith and reason, between theology and the natural sciences, because they ask different questions.'

No. It's true that they ask different sorts of questions, but this approach is finally inadequate because it suggests that there are different fields of knowledge, whereas there are only really different aspects of the one Truth to be known. It's true that there is no conflict between theology and the other sciences, but it is rather because all human questions and every inquiry of the human mind have God as an ultimate end. (Or, as we late moderns would say, 'horizon.') God, after, all, is the originary Principle from which everything is, as well as the Principle of and Ground of all knowing.

Between Slovenliness and Affectation

So I'm finally getting around to reading Fortescue. (Thanks to the kind parishioners of Sacred Heart in Yonkers for all of the Barnes & Noble gift cards!) It's been my fun reading, in the TV room at night or when I otherwise can't make myself read any more of Peter Lombard or Alexander of Hales.

One of my confreres calls me a 'church nerd,' which I guess one has to accept when he reads rubric commentaries for fun.

Last night I arrived at the section on the deportment of altar servers, which made me laugh:

"Considerable tact and good taste are needed in the priest or MC who trains the boys, to find the right mean between slovenliness and affectation."

By "affectation" is meant what Martinucci calls a "too punctilious a uniformity" such that the "sacred functions look theatrical."

As devoted and long-suffering as they were, punctiliousness and uniformity were not an issue for the altar servers with whom I had the privilege of working for part of time at the parish. May God bless them and may they forgive me for not being the kind of priest who had considerable enough tact to find the right mean between slovenliness and affectation.

Amice, Ascende Superius

Yesterday, at a completely unexpected moment and in a somewhat irregular fashion, I had my first public ministry in the Extraordinary Form of the Roman rite.

I had the early Spanish Mass here at the parish where we live, which left me free later in the morning to grab my Liber usualis, head down to the lower church at the cathedral, and sing along with the schola at the EF Mass. I enjoy the chance to sing. Also, I have become convinced that I will never learn how to read the chant notation by studying it in a book; for me at least, it seems like a 'learn by doing' kind of thing.

So there I was, sitting in the pew minding my own business and paging up the proper chants for the sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost, trying to decide if I had enough time to offer the midday hour of prayer before Mass began, when one of the coordinators of the little community appeared and asked for my help. The priest who was to offer the Mass was older and not so steady on his feet, she explained, so my help would be appreciated when it came time for the communion of the faithful. I wasn't so comfortable with the request, not being sure of everything that might be involved, but I couldn't say no. So they gave me a stole to put on when the moment arrived. They offered me a chance to sit in choro in the sanctuary, which I probably should have accepted on the liturgical level, but since what I really wanted to do was sing and study my chants, I declined.

Once Mass began I was happy for my willingness to help. Father was indeed unsteady on his feet; it took the support of two servers and his shillelagh to get him up to the altar. (The latter leaned imposingly against the altar through the Mass.) Nevertheless, Father managed to preach on the stark and dire spiritual condition of our time in a tender and encouraging way, and for this and his willingness to suffer any embarrassment that might come from his missteps I came to respect him very much during the Mass.

As the servers began their Confiteor I made my way into the sanctuary. Father gave the Misereatur vestri... and the one of the servers motioned for me to come up to the center of the altar. I took the ciborium, turned around, and all of a sudden I was a priest in the EF as I said to the people, Ecce Agnus Dei qui tollit peccata mundi. (I forgot the second ecce, but I didn't feel too bad because I was just happy that I didn't say Esto es el cordero de Dios que quita el pecado del mundo. Dichosos los invitados a la cena del Señor, which was the first utterance that came to mind. I gave Holy Communion to the servers, and then to the people at the rail, remembering to start on the epistle side and not going back from the gospel side boustrophedonically, as it were.

After all the communicants were taken care of, I returned the ciborium to the tabernacle, purified my fingers, and replaced the center altar card. Then Father finished the Mass.

I'm not sure I have a completed reflection on what this development means for me in my ongoing project of trying to find a way to make sense of my own obedience to the Holy Father's call for a "mutual enrichment" of the two forms of the Roman rite called for in the cover letter to Summorum pontificum, but I'll keep thinking and praying on it. I will say this: it is quite a different thing to give Holy Communion with the "cool media," simple, and somewhat multivalent proclamation "The Body of Christ" than to do so with the much more directed prayer,Corpus Domini nostri Jesu Christi custodiat animam tuam in vitam aeternam. Amen.

1964 Dominican Vocation Video

Via my favorite source for morning news, Anna Arco of the Catholic Herald, I just watched this 1964 vocation video posted on Godzdogz, another blog you should follow.

It's really quite beautiful and inspiring. Note especially how the narrator's account of his meditation after Compline illustrates the motto from the beginning: contemplata aliis tradere. 'To pass on to others what we have contemplated,' or, 'To give to others the fruits of contemplation.' It's the mixed life of mendicancy, both contemplative and active.

Notice also one of the distinctive marks of the Dominican rite: the simultaneous oblation of bread and previously prepared chalice with one prayer. The narrator speaks of uniting himself to the sacrifice at the offertory; this is the heart of conscious participation in the Mass, and something which we need to recover in our own time.



Why should one desire religious life? It is a desire for both prayer and for sacred Truth, with Christ impelling us to share these with the world.