Caldwell

A photo of Caldwell Chapel from last semester

I had missed being able to go to daily mass at Caldwell Chapel. I went today at 12:30. They didn't turn on the lights today, as it was very sunny in Washington, and the Chapel was dappled with warm light streaming in from the kaleidoscopic stained-glass windows. The priest spoke very eloquently about the liturgical year, tying today's beginning of Ordinary Time in with the beginning of our "ordinary" time at school. Though we are back in the swing of our routine, it is God who sanctifies time by His presence, imbuing each ordinary day with extraordinary graces.

I think, given the foibles of my wandering mind, that I often get more out of daily mass than I do out of Sunday mass. The succinctness and silence help keep me focused. At Sunday mass, I often get distracted. Or I notice that there are twelve extraordinary ministers of holy communion when only three would suffice. Or I notice that the priest is wearing his stole outside his chasuble (Seriously, Reverend Fathers, why?!). Or I notice that purple of the Advent candles doesn't match the purple of the vestments, which doesn't match the purple of the altar frontal. Perhaps it is a curse of architectural education; at this stage, I am so attuned to noticing detail - specifically from a design standpoint - that it fills up my attention sometimes.

Of course, "getting something out of it" is not why the Church has been given the mass to celebrate. We have it to obtain the immeasurable graces of Christ's redeeming sacrifice of His Body and Blood on the Cross. This is a struggle I have when I attend mass in general. I struggle to resist wanting to get some profit out of it. This struggle reveals the paradox of making the mass intelligible. If the mass where more often in Latin, I would be less disposed, from the start, to want to intellectually digest every little bit.

UPDATE: It seems that we have pondered such things before, back when our beloved pontiff Benedict XVI was on the Throne of Peter.

Why You Should Go to Mass (Illustrated Edition!)

This is a useful graphic reminder about why we Catholics do and should attend mass weekly. The Holy Mass is the sacrifice of Jesus Christ on the Cross, offered to God the Father, sanctified by the power of the Holy Spirit. It is a sacrifice offered for four ends: to thank God for all that we have, to atone for our sins, to adore God's magnificent being, and to petition God for our various needs.

In recent times (and perhaps in distant times as well), we have sought to make the mass about us and our therapeutic needs. We have perhaps sought to use mass as a means for making us 'feel good' or as a means to 'rejuvenate our spirit.' These are noble side-effects of a mass prayed well, but they should not be the ends toward which we orient all of our thinking about our worship due to God.

Our Pope on Our Liturgy

Our dear pontiff Benedict XVI is a man whose intellectual capacity is a true marvel to me. I believe he truly has a fantastically analytical mind, which is in constant conversation with a gentle, humble heart - it is this synthesis that makes many of his statements so profound. Below is a small portion of a talk our current pope gave in 2000, before he was elected to the Chair of Peter. The overarching theme of the entire speech concerned the New Evangelization, and how the Church might go about fulfilling its missionary mandate in the postmodern landscape. The snippet below is his thoughts on how the liturgy must reflect our message (emphases mine).

While on this subject, may I be allowed to make a general observation on the liturgical question. Our way of celebrating the liturgy is very often too rationalistic. The liturgy becomes teaching, whose criteria is: making ourselves understood—often the consequence of this is making the mystery a banality, the prevalence of our words, the repetition of phrases that might seem more accessible and more pleasant for the people.

But this is not only a theological error but also a psychological and pastoral one. The wave of esoterism, the spreading of Asian techniques of relaxation and self-emptying demonstrate that something is lacking in our liturgies. It is in our world of today that we are in need of silence, of the super-individual mystery, of beauty.

The liturgy is not an invention of the celebrating priest or of a group of specialists; the liturgy (the "rite") came about via an organic process throughout the centuries, it bears with it the fruit of the experience of faith of all the generations.

Even if the participants do not perhaps understand each single word, they perceive the profound meaning, the presence of the mystery, which transcends all words. The celebrant is not the center of liturgical action; the celebrant is not in front of the people in his own name—he does not speak by himself or for himself, but in persona Christi. The personal abilities of the celebrant do not count, only his faith counts, by which Christ becomes transparent. "He must increase, but I must decrease" (John 3:30).

I feel keeping these four short paragraphs in mind will help Catholics understand the reasons behind the revisions coming to the mass in two short weeks. We need to restore and revive the mystery and beauty of our worship.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Mozart's Coronation Mass is perhaps the greatest musical treasure in Western civilization. Clearly I'm biased, however. But, lest I deprive you of your own opinion on the matter, have a listen to the Gloria above. Truly sublime (both the music and the stunning visuals of St. Stephen's Cathedral in Vienna).

The text of this portion of the mass, in Latin and English is below:

Glória in excélsis Deo et in terra pax homínibus bonae voluntátis. Laudámus te, benedícimus te, adorámus te, glorificámus te, grátias ágimus tibi propter magnam glóriam tuam, Dómine Deus, Rex cæléstis, Deus Pater omnípotens. Dómine Fili Unigénite, Iesu Christe, Dómine Deus, Agnus Dei, Fílius Patris, qui tollis peccáta mundi, miserére nobis; qui tollis peccáta mundi, súscipe deprecatiónem nostram. Qui sedes ad déxteram Patris, miserére nobis. Quóniam tu solus Sanctus, tu solus Dóminus, tu solus Altíssimus, Iesu Christe, cum Sancto Spíritu: in glória Dei Patris. Amen.

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to people of good will. We praise you, we bless you, we adore you, we glorify you, we give you thanks for your great glory, Lord God, heavenly King, O God, almighty Father. Lord Jesus Christ, Only Begotten Son, Lord God, Lamb of God, Son of the Father, you take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us; you take away the sins of the world, receive our prayer. You are seated at the right hand of the Father, have mercy on us. For you alone are the Holy One, you alone are the Lord, you alone are the Most High, Jesus Christ, with the Holy Spirit, in the glory of God the Father. Amen.

The Festival of Your Holy City

All Saints Day, a holy day of obligation, was observed throughout the Catholic Church today. Through our celebration of the great cloud of witnesses (c.f. Hebrews 12:1) who have gone before us in faith, we can be inspired to lives of greater personal sanctity. As our priest remarked during the homily this evening, "Each saint took a unique path of holiness toward God's presence." If we take the time to learn about the lives of the saints, we can begin to understand that no path is more holy than another: we can lead holy lives in even the most ordinary circumstances.

However interesting that subject may be, it is not the focus of this post. The chief idea that struck me about the mass of All Saints was how our liturgical prayers are shaped directly by scripture. The first reading was taken from the book of Revelation and read thus:

I, John, saw another angel come up from the East, holding the seal of the living God. He cried out in a loud voice to the four angels who were given power to damage the land and the sea, "Do not damage the land or the sea or the trees until we put the seal on the foreheads of the servants of our God." I heard the number of those who had been marked with the seal, one hundred and forty-four thousand marked from every tribe of the children of Israel. After this I had a vision of a great multitude, which no one could count, from every nation, race, people, and tongue. They stood before the throne and before the Lamb, wearing white robes and holding palm branches in their hands. They cried out in a loud voice: "Salvation comes from our God, who is seated on the throne, and from the Lamb." All the angels stood around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures. They prostrated themselves before the throne, worshiped God, and exclaimed: "Amen. Blessing and glory, wisdom and thanksgiving, honor, power, and might be to our God forever and ever. Amen." Then one of the elders spoke up and said to me, "Who are these wearing white robes, and where did they come from?" I said to him, "My lord, you are the one who knows." He said to me, "These are the ones who have survived the time of great distress; they have washed their robes and made them white in the Blood of the Lamb." - Revelation 7:2-4, 9-14

In this passage we receive a glimpse of heavenly worship. The object of worship is the Lamb of God, who is seated in majesty on the throne. Around the throne are people gathered from "every tribe of Israel". Again, as we remarked in yesterday's post, we can discern the connection between God's people of Israel and the Church instituted by Christ. There are people from all over the world who had been gathered into Israel, and are worshipping in the heavenly Jerusalem.

We Catholics believe that the worship described in Revelation is the eternal liturgy of heaven. The mass, the liturgy on earth, is mystically united with the liturgy in heaven by the eternal sacrifice of Jesus Christ on the Cross, which gained salvation for humanity. Imagine my delight, then, when during mass we reached the preface of the Eucharistic prayer (the prayer that comes immediately before the "Holy, Holy, Holy" and changes with the day):

Today we keep the festival of Your holy city, the heavenly Jerusalem, our mother. Around Your throne the saints, our brothers and sisters, sing Your praise for ever. Their glory fills us with joy, and their communion with us in Your Church gives us inspiration and strength as we hasten on our pilgrimage of faith, eager to meet them.

The Church is truly universal. The saints in heaven whom we honor today are truly our brothers and sisters. Christ has but one body and it spans earth, purgatory, and heaven. This is what is meant by the phrase "communion of saints" and the concept helps us understand prayer to the saints, and prayer for those holy souls in purgatory - we are all one, and we all must pray for each other, as St. Paul recommends (c.f. 1 Timothy 2:1).

These doctrines, though taught by the Church, may not have been as apparent to me had I not connected it with how we were worshipping during mass. What we say and hear during mass aside from the Scriptures adds layers of insight to what we hear proclaimed in the Scriptures. This is why what we say and how we pray communally is important - it reinforces the revelation of God. I have heard a few complaints about the revised translation of the mass that will go into effect in a few weeks. However, it is my firm belief that this revision will make the biblical basis of our worship so much clearer, and will thus strengthen the connection between prayer and Scripture in rich and meaningful ways.

The Daily Niblet: Mass in Ruins

I love this picture. It shows the celebration of holy mass in a cathedral in Germany damaged during World War II. Even in the darkest times of misery and utter ruin, Christ is there in the Eucharist. This, if anything, should console us.

St. Justin, the Ancient Mass, and Martyrdom

This post is one of those hodge-podgey assemblages full of things that your author doesn't have the patience to sort into nice and tidy categories (much as he would like). Today just seemed like a good day to throw together some wisdom from the Church Fathers (when isn't there a good time for that) and some even more enlightening wisdom from G.K. Chesterton (always a good time for that!).

Today is the feast day of St. Justin Martyr, an 2nd Century early Christian convert from Palestine who lived from 103 until his martyrdom by beheading in 165. Justin Martyr is notable to us today both for his devout faith that he clung to even to death, and his apologetical works that he authored. His First and Second Apologies offer numerous insights into the early doctrine and worship of the Church; insights and descriptions that align with the ritual and beliefs of the Church today. Most notable (in my opinion) is his description of the Eucharist in his day:

And this food is called among us Εὐχαριστία [the Eucharist], of which no one is allowed to partake but the man who believes that the things which we teach are true, and who has been washed with the washing that is for the remission of sins, and unto regeneration, and who is so living as Christ has enjoined. For not as common bread and common drink do we receive these; but in like manner as Jesus Christ our Saviour, having been made flesh by the Word of God, had both flesh and blood for our salvation, so likewise have we been taught that the food which is blessed by the prayer of His word, and from which our blood and flesh by transmutation are nourished, is the flesh and blood of that Jesus who was made flesh. For the apostles, in the memoirs composed by them, which are called Gospels, have thus delivered unto us what was enjoined upon them; that Jesus took bread, and when He had given thanks, said, This do in remembrance of Me, this is My body; and that, after the same manner, having taken the cup and given thanks, He said, This is My blood; and gave it to them alone. Which the wicked devils have imitated in the mysteries of Mithras, commanding the same thing to be done. For, that bread and a cup of water are placed with certain incantations in the mystic rites of one who is being initiated, you either know or can learn. - First Apology, LXVI

That seems to put to bed the myth of the Catholic "invention" of transubstantiation during the Middle Ages (as Luther and his companions unwisely maintained). You will also note, patient reader, that Justin slips in a mention of the sacramental view of baptism "the washing that is for the remission of sins, and unto regeneration" - a view that was tossed out by many of the more radical Protestant sects who claim baptism as a mere symbol. Additionally, this passage and the one immediately following, describe a liturgical church, focused on orderly worship and weekly reception of the Eucharist. This "proto-mass" described by Justin Martyr was the "source and summit of the Church's life" (Lumen Gentium, 11) just as it is for Catholics today. It is certainly comforting to know that our ancestors and forefathers in faith worshiped in the 2nd Century much as we do in the 21st Century.

To switch gears a bit, I thought I'd add a tidbit on martyrdom from the famed Catholic apologist and sometimes funny man, G.K. Chesterton (1874-1936). Chesterton struggled in his path toward Catholicism (and Christianity in general) to understand why the Church upheld martyrs as the greatest of the saints, but cast suicides as the worst of the sinners:

About the same time I read a solemn flippancy by some free thinker: he said that a suicide was only the same as a martyr. The open fallacy of this helped to clear the question. Obviously a suicide is the opposite of a martyr. A martyr is a man who cares so much for something outside him, that he forgets his own personal life. A suicide is a man who cares so little for anything outside him, that he wants to see the last of everything. One wants something to begin: the other wants everything to end. In other words, the martyr is noble, exactly because he confesses this ultimate link with life; he sets his heart outside himself: he dies that something may live. The suicide is ignoble because he has not this link with being: he is a mere destroyer; spiritually, he destroys the universe. - G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy, Chapter 5. Sam Torode Book Arts. Nashville, TN. 2009.

Good things to keep in mind, especially in these confusing times of suicide-bombers acting like martyrs. The two are diametrically and forcefully opposed.

St. Justin Martyr, pray for us!

Thoughts on the Latin Mass

Today, I decided to alter my Sunday routine and attended the traditional Latin mass at Sacred Heart of Jesus Church in Grand Rapids. I hear a lot about the Latin mass, both in terms of the history of the Church, and in terms of the controversy that accompanies much talk of the sacred liturgy. And, more importantly, the Latin mass is in the midst of a comeback: there are now 360 Latin Sunday masses in over 150 United States dioceses, this is up 120 from 2007. This is not to mention incidences of the Latin mass outside of the U.S., which is no doubt also considerable. There is much speculation as to the rise in its popularity, but a trend I have personally observed at least in the Catholic Church 'round here is that the younger generations are far more conservative, and generally more devout, than their Baby Boomer elders. I have a few friends going into the priesthood, and they are far more committed to the Church than the parish priest down the road in terms of devotion to the sacraments, the Bible, and the teachings of the Church.

A bit of history and terminology needs to be clarified before delving into the subject further. First, Pope Benedict XVI clarified in his motu proprio letter Summorum Pontificum in 2007 that there are two forms, or expressions, of the Roman Rite of the Mass. Let us remember that the Roman Rite is the most common of the several liturgical rites of the Catholic Church. No rite is more right than another - a Catholic may satisfy his Sunday obligation at any Catholic parish whether it be Roman, Mozarabic, Byzantine, Melkite, Chaldean or what have you. In terms of numbers, however, the Roman Rite far outnumbers all of the other rites and is the liturgy most people, Catholic or not, identify as 'the Catholic Mass.' Anyway, the Roman Rite is expressed currently in two ways: the Ordinary Form, codified by Pope Paul VI in 1970 in the wake of the reforms of the Second Vatican Council; and the Extraordinary Form, contained in the missal codified and reissued by Blessed Pope John XXIII in 1962. The Extraordinary Form of the Roman Rite is what is commonly known as the 'traditional Latin mass.'

Both forms of the Roman Rite are equally valid and acceptable in the eyes of the Church. They are two expressions of the same truth which flows from Christ's redeeming sacrifice, made present in the Eucharist. The liturgy, it must be remembered, means 'work of the people' and has never been set in stone. However, it is a sacred and profound mystery that must be treated as such, and it should not be changed lightly. We must recall that the mass is a manifestation of the eternal liturgy of heaven, so eloquently hinted at in the Book of Revelation.

That being said, the way each form of the mass manifests these mysteries is distinct. The Ordinary Form is of course more approachable, given its vernacular language. The Extraordinary Form is much more mystical and foreign, evoking the hidden majesty of God. As I said, whatever liturgical abuses that may accompany the Ordinary Form (i.e. liturgical dancing, morally lax homilies, decreased reverence for the Sacrament, etc.) we must recall that it is equal in dignity to the Extraordinary Form, and can perhaps learn a thing or two from it.

Anyways, to get on with today's Latin mass experience. Going into the thing, the characterization of what is often called 'the old mass' went something like this: "The priest faced away from the people, women wore veils, communion was received on the tongue while kneeling, and it was all recited in a dead language. Thank goodness for Vatican II which brought us out of the dark ages." It was a pretty depressing picture from that angle. But, I experienced things quite a bit differently today. Let me go through a few key points.

'Dead' Language
The most obvious difference, of course, was that the mass was said entirely in Latin, with exception of the Epistle, the Gospel, and the Homily. Many are put off by this 'dead, foreign language', because they cannot 'understand' what is going on. This is being a bit simplistic if you ask me. Yes, Latin is no longer a living language, which means it is not a changing language. Latin is basically eternal, it cannot change. This make it the perfect language for liturgy. Things said in 1344 mean the same as things said in 1994, whereas English and all other living languages have changed dramatically in the span of those six centuries.

Additionally, Latin is the language of the Church. It is an aspect of her sacred unity. With the Latin mass, a priest from Cambodia can be understood by a person from Cameroon within the context of the liturgy. They are taken away from their common, pedestrian language and put into communion with one another by a sacred language, reserved for the worship of God.

Which leads naturally to the next point about language in the mass: how do we speak to God in mass? It is my hope that such a sacred event would inspire language that is not often used in the course of the other six days of the week. This is a big deal. We dress up for church because it's important, perhaps we should start speaking like it's important.

The final point to be made about Latin is that it is not readily understandable. What? Did I read that correctly? Yes, candid reader, indeed you did. God and his ways are mysterious. If nothing else, Latin in the liturgy heightens that sense of the mysteriousness of God's workings in our hearts and lives.

Priest Faces the Wall
Yes, for most of the mass, the priest faces ad orientem or toward the (liturgical) east. Directions have special meanings in the liturgical realm. They may not always correspond with the actual direction one is facing, but they carry meanings within themselves. For instance, east is considered the direction of the coming of Christ. I immediately think of the hymn "People Look East". The ancient Jews believed the messiah would come from the East, and we know of course that Jesus comes to us 'from the east' during each mass. West, conversely, is often referred to as the direction of spiritual death. The sun 'dies' in the west. That is why one enters a traditional church through liturgical west and then marks himself with the sign of the cross from the baptismal font. He has left behind his spiritual death, gone through the saving waters of baptism and is ready to receive Christ, rising in the east.

There is a certain pattern, then, that can be discerned in the directionality of the mass. With the priest facing 'east' with the congregation, the entire gathering, symbolic of the people of God assembled, look east together toward Christ. Christ, then, becomes the focus of the entire action of the mass. The priest becomes the head of the people of God assembled, offering the sacrifice of Christ in persona Christi with us as witnesses.

And, on a less esoteric note; the mass is not about the priest, whether in the Ordinary or Extraordinary Form. The priest is a medium of God's grace during the sacred mass, he is not an attraction unto himself - ideally. Facing ad orientem reinforces this holy humility that the clergy are especially called to.

Communion kneeling, received on the tongue
This really seems to me not that large of an objection. Movement in the liturgy symbolizes the actions occurring. For instance, during the Creed, we bow during the sentence, "By the power of the Holy Spirit, he was born of the Virgin Mary, and became man." This is to emphasize, with our body language, the sacredness of God becoming man. Kneeling, in the same way, imparts a certain message by its very action. Kneeling to receive Jesus in the Eucharist is simply another way in which we acknowledge our humility in accepting the King of Kings into our bodies sacramentally. Likewise, receiving on the tongue allows us not to touch the host with our hands, a further emphasis of our unworthiness.

Final Thoughts
All in all, I found the Latin mass rather enriching. This was the exact way mass was said from the mid-1500s until 1963, with the pre-1500 masses differing little. It then emphasizes communion with the whole Church, including those legions of faithful who have gone before us and make up the Church Triumphant in heaven. The sense of sacredness was heightened not only by the aforementioned qualities, but also by the long periods of silence, when the priest was saying things very quietly at the altar. Silence is itself a gift of God in an increasingly noisy world. It allows time for meditative prayer, and simple wonder and awe, a gift of the Holy Spirit which is often hard to grasp.

That's my two cents. I encourage all to attend a traditional Latin mass. Side note: the church was quite full, with a very diverse crowd; young families, teenagers, middle-aged adults, old people, Latinos, Asians. This was an encouraging sign as to the continued relevance of this time-honored sacred event.

Latin Mass at Sacred Heart of Jesus Church in Grand Rapids is at 12:30 p.m. each Sunday.

O Radix Iesse

O RADIX IESSE, qui stas in signum populorum, super quem continebunt reges os suum, quem gentes deprecabuntur: veni ad liberandum nos, iam noli tardare.

O ROOT OF JESSE, who stand as a sign for the peoples (Isaiah 11:10), the kings of the earth are silent before you (Isaiah 52:15) and the nations invoke you: come to free us, do not delay (Habakkuk 2:3).

This is a very interesting antiphon, as it brings together much symbolism and typology. The title comes from Isaiah 11:1, which reads, "A shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse, and from his roots a bud shall blossom." This prophecy is at the heart of the Messianic mission. The tree has much symbolism throughout the Judeo-Christian tradition. In the beginning, the tree was the source of sin entering the world through man's own action. With Jesus raised up on the tree of the cross, the remedy for that action, and all subsequent sin enters the world.

Perhaps Advent is the wrong time to reflect on the Passion, but the simple fact of the matter is that the Passion is memorialized and brought to us every time a mass is said. The Root of Jesse hangs upon a cross as a sign for all of the peoples of the earth, and his eternal saving sacrifice is made present each and every time a mass is said. Truly, at that time, the kings of the earth are silent before him, the King of Kings, in the humble appearances of bread and wine. "For from the rising of the sun, even to its setting, my name is great among the nations; and everywhere is offered a sacrifice to my name, a clean oblation; For my name is great among the nations, says the Lord of hosts." - Malachi 1:11

Many gawk at the theology of transubstantiation. Bread and wine becomes God? Really? But this season of Advent can put that idea into context. God, the infinite, became a mere human child, born of a young virgin, in a stable, in a poor Roman backwater. The humility and that God exemplifies and calls us to is evident in both narratives - the Nativity and the mass.

God, present in the stable, on the cross, and during the mass, stands as a sign for all people. He is the new tree of life. He regenerates our souls, allowing them to blossom and show forth his love for all peoples. The fruit of sin in the Garden that led to the fall is replaced by Jesus, the bread come down from heaven, who spiritually empowers us in the Eucharist. This hope of salvation is open to all, from the rising of the sun to its setting, and it is given freely by a God who loves us and seeks only our love in return.