Sacrosanctum Concilium at 60: Still Dead and Buried

As we all remember, just a few short days ago we had the grand celebrations of the sixtieth anniversary of the promulgation of Vatican II’s Constitution on the Liturgy, Sacrosanctum Concilium (4 December 1963), the magna carta of the liturgical reforms that followed the Council, and that faithfully implemented its provisions.

Or, at least, this is what could have happened, if things had turned out differently. The reality is that this anniversary has gone by almost completely unnoticed: nothing from the Vatican (unless one speaks Albanian!), very little mention from bishops (apart from the Irish), and even liturgists do not seem to have been all that bothered. An exception is provided by Mr Paul Inwood, but even he does not actually seem all that enthusiastic about this anniversary!

Contrary to this general all-round apathy (and not forgetting the contribution of NLM's editor or of Dr Kwasniewski!) is an article by Dom Alcuin Reid, in which he states that:

[I]t has to be said frankly that Sacrosanctum Concilium does not celebrate its sixtieth birthday as tranquilly as we might ourselves hope to do, for the shocking fact is that it has been battered, beaten and abused for decades since its infancy. Sixty sees it staggering across the line without, frankly, much hope of lasting very much longer—despite the ingenious and valiant attempts throughout the different stages of its life of popes, prelates and scholars to prop it up, heal its wounds and get it back on its feet.

Why is this? He goes on to explain:

Putting it quite bluntly, Sacrosanctum Concilium was like a newborn child left out in the cold and ignored whilst people stole its authority to advance their own liturgical agendas… 

Sacrosanctum Concilium had been systematically and thoroughly abused—and the Council made to look foolish—by an adeptly orchestrated Consilium intent on its own modernising liturgical agenda, which had the good fortune of having a pope who would authoritatively sign off its proposals.

Preliminary results of liturgical formation in the Novus Ordo,
June 1971, "Hofheimer Mess-Festival", Germany

This abuse of the Council’s liturgical constitution necessarily came alongside a rewriting of liturgical history, in which certain features of the reformed Roman Rite – supposedly “recovered” through ressourcement – were deemed to be “more traditional” when compared to the usus antiquior. This rewriting of history continues today and, post-Traditionis custodes, is perhaps more prevalent now than it has been for some time. For instance, in a rather poor attempt at satire a few weeks ago, one particular website provided “A brief critical study of the Novus Ordo Missae (1570) by a group of Roman theologians”. The article itself is risible, and a thorough critique by Dr Peter Kwasniewski can be found here, but one part stood out to me in particular (emphasis mine):

The changes we have recalled so far, though disadvantageous, are not necessarily harmful to the faithful. Not so, however, the Offertory Rite. If any part of the Roman rite needed reform, it was surely this. The peculiarity of offering the “unspotted host,” which is still bread, is of course done in anticipation of what it will become, and is perfectly orthodox in context. Nevertheless, in the light of the claim of the Protestants that the elements of bread and wine are not changed, it would be easy for the unlearned to be scandalised… It seems to us that the revisers of the missal might have delved into the treasury of liturgical tradition to suggest some better worded formulae.

The claim here is that the offertory of the traditional Roman Rite is potentially “harmful to the faithful” and that the post-Tridentine reform should “have delved into the treasury of liturgical tradition” for “better worded formulae.” The subtext is that this is precisely what the post-Vatican II Missal does in its reformed offertory texts: the usus recentior is thus more “traditional” and perhaps even theologically superior to the usus antiquior in this regard. Still, for satire to work, it needs at least some basis in reality – and in this case, such a basis is entirely lacking, historically and theologically. How so?

Well, Coetus X of the Consilium ad exsequendam were responsible for the reform of the Order of Mass, and like the failed ‘satirist’ above, they were quite open about their opinion that the traditional offertory prayers were too “anticipatory” of the Canon and needed changing. Indeed, this is expressed very early on in their work, in June 1964:

Everything, therefore, that prefigures the appearance of the oblation of the Body and Blood of Christ and in some way anticipates the manner of speaking proper to the Canon of the Mass must be removed or changed. [1] 

This was done so that “what the offertory really means may be expressed more clearly and be more easily perceived by the Christian people.” [2] However, by May 1966 they had ran into unexpected difficulties with regard to this:

We have tried to achieve this end in various ways, either by adapting the Ambrosian and Dominican rites, or by using oratio super oblata formularies taken from the [ancient] sacramentaries, or by drawing up new texts to accompany the rites. It does not seem sufficient simply to lay down the bread and the chalice without reciting any text and only reciting the super oblata prayer, as was done in antiquity. But it was very difficult to find texts which did not anticipate either the super oblata prayer or the Canon of the Mass. [3]

It is almost as if this anticipatory and proleptic nature of the offertory prayers is part of the “treasury of liturgical tradition,” in both East and West, going all the way back to the earliest extant manuscripts we have. Fancy that! Who could have foreseen this? But, of course, this did not mean that the Consilium rethought their working assumptions and ideological viewpoints about the ritual texts of the offertory. They just proceeded to make up entirely new prayers that were in line with what they thought the liturgical tradition ought to have been, rather than what it actually is. Scholars and liturgists often seem to think that: 

the “authentic” and “original” liturgy is to be found in reconstructions of what scholars believed, or wanted to believe, things must have been like before the period from which we have our earliest sources. [link]

A scholarly "reconstruction" of "Piltdown Man", ultimately based on
a hoax combination of human, chimpanzee and orangutan bones 

And as if they were trying their best to demonstrate this, for their reformed offertory Coetus X started with adapting a text from chapter 9 of the Didache and Proverbs 9:1-2 – with changes and omissions they considered ‘suitable’: 

Schema 170

Sicut hic panis erat dispersus et collectus factus est unus,
ita colligatur Ecclesia tua in regnum tuum.
Gloria tibi, Deus, in saecula.

[As this bread was scattered and, having been gathered, is now one,
so may your Church be gathered into your kingdom.
Glory to you, O God, for ever.]

Didache, ch. 9

Sicut hic panis erat super montes, et collectus factus est unus, ita colligatur Ecclesia tua a finibus terrae in regnum tuum.

[As this bread was scattered upon the mountain tops and, having been gathered, is now one, so may your Church be gathered from the ends of the earth into your kingdom.] 

Schema 170

Sapientia aedificavit sibi domum,
miscuit vinum et posuit mensam.
Gloria tibi, Deus, in saecula. [4]

[Wisdom has built herself a house;
she has mixed her wine and set her table.
Glory to you, O God, for ever.]

Proverbs 9:1-2

Sapientia ædificavit sibi domum:
excidit columnas septem.
Immolavit victimas suas, miscuit vinum,
et proposuit mensam suam. 

[Wisdom has built herself a house;
she has hewn her seven pillars.
She has immolated her victims, mixed her wine,
and has also set her table.]

By March 1968, these prayers had been changed for those used today in the Novus Ordo (“Blessed are you, Lord, God of all creation…”)—but without the phrase “we offer you.” Coetus X explained these revised prayers as follows: 

In these new formulas various elements may be seen as organically composed: the bounty of God, from whom all gifts come; the work of the earth, which yields fruit in its season; the industry and labour of men; the holy Eucharist, for the preparation of which these gifts are offered. No element is contained that might possibly be falsely understood: either as ‘a sacrifice of bread and wine,’ or as an anticipated offering of the body and blood of Christ, or as a consecratory epiclesis. [5]

Notably, at this point, Paul VI had to step in and effectively force Coetus X to insert quem/quod tibi offerimus to these new formularies. [6] It perhaps should also be noted that no sources are given for these newly-composed prayers: their Jewish berakah background, often cited, [7] is not actually mentioned by the group. But all this is more incidental to my main point, which is that far from being rooted in the liturgical tradition of the Church, whether East or West, the revision of the offertory – or, rather, its changing into the “Preparation of the Gifts” (Præparatio donorum: see GIRM 33, 43, 72-77, 214) – is a thoroughly modern, rationalist innovation, one that goes against Sacrosanctum Concilium 23: “there must be no innovations unless the good of the Church genuinely and certainly requires them, and care must be taken that any new forms adopted should in some way grow organically from forms already existing.” 

The idea of Coetus X and others that everything that anticipates the Eucharistic Prayer “must be removed or changed” finds no basis in the liturgical tradition, which prominently and frequently features prolepsis and anticipatory language. And although the group wanted their ideology to be adopted by the other working groups of the Consilium, [8] this did not happen – indeed, unless one were to completely rewrite many of the super oblata prayers, it could not have happened! For example, on the most solemn day in the liturgical calendar, Easter Sunday, the following super oblata is prayed in the Novus Ordo, where one will note that the word “offer” is in the present tense:

Exultant with paschal gladness, O Lord,
we offer [offerimus] the sacrifice
by which your Church
is wondrously reborn and nourished.

Battered, beaten, distorted, little-read, unloved... still relevant?

At the conclusion of his recent article, Dom Alcuin Reid states that:

Are we to celebrate Sacrosanctum Concilium’s 60th birthday? That hardly seems possible. It is surely a moment for sombre recollection—of remembrance of its noble aims and sound principles, certainly, but also of realistic recognition of the abuse and distortion and banishment it has suffered since its infancy at the hands of those who were charged faithfully to implement it.

The ink was barely dry on the signatures of the Council Fathers before the reformers cast aside the liturgical constitution in favour of their own ideologies and pet theories for ‘reform.’ And today, Sacrosanctum Concilium arguably remains as dead and buried as it was a few short years after its promulgation. As Gregory DiPippo has said:

Sacrosanctum Concilium begins with a statement of what the Council hoped to achieve: “This sacred Council… desires to impart an ever-increasing vigour to the Christian life of the faithful; to adapt more suitably to the needs of our own times those institutions which are subject to change; to foster whatever can promote union among all who believe in Christ; to strengthen whatever can help to call the whole of mankind into the household of the Church.” None of this has happened. The Christian life of the faithful has not become more vigorous; its institutions have not become more suitably adapted to the needs of our times; union has not been fostered among all who believe in Christ; the call of the whole of mankind into the household of the Church has not been strengthened…
[T]he gardeners are not always correct in discerning which plants are flourishing and which are not. We can only continue to pretend for so long that the recent ones have made a good job of it, or that the garden in its current condition is anywhere near as beautiful or fruitful as it used to be. For the time being, the current chief gardener is busy with a sad and doomed attempt to make the new plants flourish by yelling at the remaining old plants. The day will come, however, later than we hope, but sooner than we realise, when another chief gardener will have the honesty to say, “I don’t care who put these here or why. They are not growing properly at all. I hear there used to be some other plants that grew quite well in this soil…”

It seems inevitable that, at some point in the future (God willing), the colossal legislative mistake that is Traditionis custodes will be abrogated, and questions about a “reform of the reform” will no longer be completely verboten. But at that point – the seventieth anniversary? eightieth? – perhaps it may be time for the Latin Church to consider whether or not to exhume Sacrosanctum Concilium and attempt to stich back together and reanimate its corpse, or to leave its remains discreetly buried with the little dignity they still possess and quietly return in large part to her traditional liturgical praxis.

NOTES

[1] Schema 16 (De Missali, 2), 17 June 1964, p. 7: Tollenda ergo vel mutanda sunt omnia quae speciem oblationis Corporis et Sanguinis Christi prae se ferunt et modum loquendi Canoni missae proprium quodammodo anticipiant.

[2] Ibid., pp. 6-7: Omnibus rei liturgicae peritis constat preces et ritus offertorii plus aliis recognitione indigere, ut id, quod offertorium revera significat, clarius exprimantet a populo christiano facile percipiantur (cfr. [Sacrosanctum Concilium] art. 21, 2).

[3] Schema 170 (De Missali, 23), 24 May 1966, p. 11: Variis modis conati sumus ad hunc finem pervenire, sive adaptando ritum ambrosianum et dominicanum, sive adhibendo formulas orationis super oblata e Sacramentariis desumptas, sive exarando novos textus, qui ritus comitentur. Non sufficere videtur simplex depositio panis et calicis sine ullo textu recitando, oratione super oblata tantum subsequente, sicut agebatur in antiquitate. Sed difficillimum erat invenire textus, qui nec orationem super oblata, nec Canonem Missae anticiparent.

[4] This text is also one of the antiphons for Corpus Christi (Ant. 1, Lauds) in the Breviarium Romanum, but, of course, the function of an antiphon is different from that of an offertory prayer!

[5] Schema 281 (De Missali, 47), Addendum I, 23 April 1968, p. 5: In his novis formulis varia elementa organice composita videntur: largitas Dei, a quo omnia dona perveniunt; opus terrae, quae fructum praebet suo tempore; industria ac labor hominum; sacra Eucharistia, ad quam praeparandam haec dona afferuntur. Nullum elementum continet quod forte false intelligi possit: vel tamquam "sacrificium panis et vini"; vel tamquam oblatio corporis et sanguinis Christi anticipata; vel tamquam epiclesis consecratoria.

[6] Annibale Bugnini, The Reform of the Liturgy 1948-1975 (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1990), p. 371, fn. 37: “In the schema, which was then submitted for study to the prefects of the curial agencies and to the Holy Father, the phrase “which we offer to you” (quem/quod tibi offerimus) was lacking. The Pope was the one who added it.”

[7] See, for example, Michael Witczak, “The Sacramentary of Paul VI,” in Anscar J. Chupungco (ed.) Handbook for Liturgical Studies. Volume III: The Eucharist (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1999), pp. 133-175, at p. 153: “The Consilium had proposed a rite in which the basic action was simple and clear: preparing the altar and placing the gifts upon it with prayer. The new prayers, beautiful adaptations of the Jewish berakah, complicate the action somewhat. The texts proposed in the experimental liturgy spoke of unity and preparation; the new texts praise God for creation and for giving us bread and wine to offer, a return, obliquely, to the language of offering that was so dominant in the former Missal of 1570.”

[8] See Schema 16, p. 7: “The discussion about the application of these principles in each coetus continued in both the first and second sessions, but the members felt that the matter still needed a longer discussion, to be resumed in the third session” (Horum de principiorum applicatione ad singula coetus et in prima et in secunda sessione disceptationem protraxit, tamen sodalibus visum est rem longiore adhuc indigere deliberatione in tertia sessione iterum resumenda).

The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

O Lord, look unto my aid; let them be confounded and ashamed, who seek after my soul to take it away. O Lord, look unto my aid. (The Offertory of the Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost.)

Offertorium, Ps. 39 Dómine, in auxilium meum réspice: confundantur et revereantur, qui quaerunt ánimam meam, ut áuferant eam. Dómine, in auxilium meum réspice.

This Offertory is also sung on Friday of the second week of Lent; when I went to search for it on YouTube, this very beautiful polyphonic version written for that season also came up. No information is given about who composed it; if any one knows, please be so kind as to leave a message in the combox.

Today is also the feast of the Stigmata of St Francis. The painter Giotto worked for the Franciscan Order on many occasions, most famously, in the upper basilica of St Francis in Assisi, where he and his assistants painted a cycle of 28 panels of the founder’s life. This altarpiece of the stigmatization was originally commissioned for the church of St Francis in Pisa; the predella panels show three episodes of the Saint’s: the dream by which Pope Innocent III is persuaded to allow the Franciscan order to continue; the approbation of the Rule, and St Francis preaching to the birds.

Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons.

The Offertory Jubilate Deo, Universa Terra

Shout with joy to God, all the earth, sing ye a psalm to his name; come and hear, and I will tell you, all ye that fear God, what great things the Lord hath done for my soul. allelúja. V. My mouth hath spoken, when I was in trouble; I will offer up to thee holocausts full of marrow.

This recording of the Offertory of the Fourth Sunday after Easter, the text of which is taken from Psalm 65, includes one of the extra verses with which the Offertories were generally sung in the Middle Ages (in this case, the second of two), with a long melisma on the word “offeram - I will offer.” It is also used on the Second Sunday after Epiphany, on which the Gospel of the Wedding of Cana is read; in his commentary on that day, Durandus explains the repetition of certain words within it. “We sing out for joy, doubling the words both in the Offertory and its verses, an effect of spiritual inebriation.” The text and music can be seen in this pdf, starting on page 69:
https://media.musicasacra.com/books/offertoriale1935.pdf

Jubiláte Deo, universa terra, psalmum dícite nómini ejus: veníte et audíte, et narrábo vobis, omnes qui timétis Deum, quanta fecit Dóminus ánimae meae, allelúja. V. Locútum est os meum in tribulatióne mea, holocausta medulláta ófferam tibi.

The Offertory Vir erat from the Book of Job

As noted by our good friends at Canticum Salomonis, today’s Offertory chant is taken from the beginning of the book of Job, and presents a very unusual text, inasmuch as it recounts only the beginning of Job’s sufferings.

Off. There was a man in the land (of Hus), Job by name, simple and upright, and fearing God, whom Satan asked to tempt, and power was given to him by the Lord against his possessions and his flesh. And he wasted all his substance and his sons, and he wounded his flesh, too, with a grievous ulcer. (In the video below, the words “of Hus” are omitted, but they are in the printed text of the Tridentine Missal.)

Scenes from the life of Job, by an unknown Flemish Master, ca. 1480-90

Part of the reason for this is that originally, like many Offertories, the text was expanded by the addition of other verses, which in this case, were meant to be sung with the frequent repetition of certain words.

V. Oh that my sins were weighed! Oh that my sins were weighed! whereby I have deserved wrath! whereby I have deserved wrath! And the calamity! And the calamity which I suffer would appear heavier!
V. For what is, for what is, for what is my strength that I should hold out? Or what is mine end, that I should bear patiently?
V. Is my strength the strength of stones? Or is my flesh of bronze? Or is my flesh of bronze?
V. For, for, for mine eye shall not turn back for me to see good things, see good things, see good things, see good things, see good things, see good things, see good things, see good things, see good things.

Writing in the 9th century, the liturgical commenter Amalarius of Metz cleverly explained the significance of these repetitions as follows; later writers on the same subject such as Durandus will repeated his explanation.

“I am reminded of the repetition of words in the verses of the Offertory Vir erat, ... (which) is not in the Offertory itself but in its verses. The words of the historical writer are contained in the Offertory; the words of the ailing and suffering Job in the verses. A sick man whose breathing is weak and unhealthy often repeats broken phrases. In order to create a vivid memory of Job in his sickness, the author of the office repeated certain phrases several times in the manner of sick men. The words are not repeated, as I said, in the Offertory itself, because the historical writer was not sick as he wrote the history.”

(Translations by Notkerus Balbus from Canticum Salomonis, with our thanks.)

Durandus on the Offertory Super Flumina Babylonis

Upon the rivers of Babylon, there we sat and wept, when we remembered thee, o Zion. (The Offertory chant of the 20th Sunday after Pentecost.)

The bodily captivity (of which the Offertory speaks) signifies our spiritual captivity; the return from captivity is the forgiveness of sins. ... Therefore, lest we return to a similar captivity, and be shut out of the wedding feast (in last week’s Gospel, Matthew 22, 1-14), Paul warns us in the Epistle, “See to it that ye walk with care, not as the unwise, but as the wise.” The Introit Omnia quae fecisti is the voice of Daniel remembering that past captivity, and ascribing it to the judgment of God; likewise, in the Offertory, we weep over that captivity, but in the Gradual Oculi omnium, we give thanks (for deliverance from it). - William Durandus, Rationale Divinorum Officiorum 6.137 in fine.

This text has also been used by some of finest composers of liturgical polyphony, including Palestrina,

Orlando de Lassus (an historical recording from 1961),

and Victoria, who was having a particularly good day when he wrote this.

The Offertory Jubilate Deo, Universa Terra

Shout with joy to God, all the earth, sing ye a psalm to his name; come and hear, and I will tell you, all ye that fear God, what great things the Lord hath done for my soul. allelúja. V. My mouth hath spoken, when I was in trouble; I will offer up to thee holocausts full of marrow.

This recording of the Offertory of the Fourth Sunday after Easter, the text of which is taken from Psalm 65, includes one of the extra verses with which the Offertories were generally sung in the Middle Ages (in this case, the second of two), with a long melisma on the word “offeram - I will offer.” It is also used on the Second Sunday after Epiphany, on which the Gospel of the Wedding of Cana is read; in his commentary on that day, Durandus explains the repetition of certain words within it. “We sing out for joy, doubling the words both in the Offertory and its verses, an effect of spiritual inebriation.” The text and music can be seen in this pdf, starting on page 69:
https://media.musicasacra.com/books/offertoriale1935.pdf

Jubiláte Deo, universa terra, psalmum dícite nómini ejus: veníte et audíte, et narrábo vobis, omnes qui timétis Deum, quanta fecit Dóminus ánimae meae, allelúja. V. Locútum est os meum in tribulatióne mea, holocausta medulláta ófferam tibi.

The Offertory Vir erat from the Book of Job

As noted by our good friends at Canticum Salomonis, the Offertory chant of this past Sunday is taken from the beginning of the book of Job, and presents a very unusual text, inasmuch as it recounts only the beginning of Job’s sufferings.

Off. There was a man in the land (of Hus), Job by name, simple and upright, and fearing God, whom Satan asked to tempt, and power was given to him by the Lord against his possessions and his flesh. And he wasted all his substance and his sons, and he wounded his flesh, too, with a grievous ulcer. (In the video below, the words “of Hus” are omitted, but they are in the printed text of the Tridentine Missal.)

Scenes from the life of Job, by an unknown Flemish Master, ca. 1480-90

Part of the reason for this is that originally, like many Offertories, the text was expanded by the addition of other verses, which in this case, were meant to be sung with the frequent repetition of certain words.

V. Oh that my sins were weighed! Oh that my sins were weighed! whereby I have deserved wrath! whereby I have deserved wrath! And the calamity! And the calamity which I suffer would appear heavier!
V. For what is, for what is, for what is my strength that I should hold out? Or what is mine end, that I should bear patiently?
V. Is my strength the strength of stones? Or is my flesh of bronze? Or is my flesh of bronze?
V. For, for, for mine eye shall not turn back for me to see good things, see good things, see good things, see good things, see good things, see good things, see good things, see good things, see good things.

Writing in the 9th century, the liturgical commenter Amalarius of Metz cleverly explained the significance of these repetitions as follows; later writers on the same subject such as Durandus will repeated his explanation.

“I am reminded of the repetition of words in the verses of the Offertory Vir erat, ... (which) is not in the Offertory itself but in its verses. The words of the historical writer are contained in the Offertory; the words of the ailing and suffering Job in the verses. A sick man whose breathing is weak and unhealthy often repeats broken phrases. In order to create a vivid memory of Job in his sickness, the author of the office repeated certain phrases several times in the manner of sick men. The words are not repeated, as I said, in the Offertory itself, because the historical writer was not sick as he wrote the history.”

(Translations by Notkerus Balbus from Canticum Salomonis, with our thanks.)

The Exaltation of the Cross 2018

Prótege, Dómine, plebem tuam per signum sanctae Crucis ab ómnibus insidiis inimicórum omnium: ut tibi gratam exhibeámus servitútem, et acceptábile fiat sacrifícium nostrum, allelúja. (The Offertory of the Mass of the Holy Cross.)

Protect Thy people, o Lord, by the sign of the Holy Cross from all the snares of all enemies, that we may offer Thee a pleasing service, and our sacrifice be acceptable, alleluja.

Time for the Soul to Absorb the Mysteries — Part 2: The Offertory and the Canon

Last week, we looked at how the traditional Roman Rite, from the entrance to the Gospel, gives ample “time for the soul to absorb the mysteries.” Today I shall speak of how the Offertory and the Canon do the same.

The Offertory

It hardly needs to be said that the Offertory, with its richness of content and ample length, is one of the parts of the traditional liturgy most appreciated by clergy and laity alike. One does not feel, as in the usus recentior, rushed on to the Eucharistic Prayer, as in a supersonic flight from Word to Eucharist; there is generous time and space for preparing the gifts thoroughly, making the significance of this offering known, felt.

In the Novus Ordo, the meaning of the presentation of bread and wine risks being lost due to the rapidity and superficiality with which they are treated.[1] One does not recognize them as proto-sacrificial offerings that will subsequently be transformed by divine power into the actual sacrifice that wins our redemption and, as a result, into the banquet that unites us to the Savior; emphasis is placed rather on man’s own work in preparing food and drink, which will become food and drink — a true sentiment as far as it goes, but not at all the focus of the authentic Offertories of historic liturgical rites.

The old offertory is a dramatic caesura, a long drawn-out breath in which we clearly show forth what we are about to do and how it will redound to our benefit, unworthy though we are to approach the awesome mysteries of Christ. The Offertory makes it possible for us to participate fruitfully in the Canon of the Mass. Without it, something vital is missing. Even worse, when the modern quasi-Offertory is combined with the second Eucharistic Prayer, the sacrificial portion of the Mass  —  its very essence  —  can pass by so rapidly that one might be forgiven for thinking that the Mass is a lengthy liturgy of words followed by a rapid distribution of tokens of our confidence in words, which is to say, a purely Protestant conception.

The Canon of the Mass

Much can be said on behalf of the absolute fittingness of the silent Canon. I have gone into this topic elsewhere.[2] Suffice it to say that many among the clergy and the faithful are sharply aware of the loss of this contemplative reservoir at the heart of the holy Sacrifice. Cardinal Ratzinger wrote in The Spirit of the Liturgy:

Anyone who has experienced a church united in the silent praying of the Canon will know what a really filled silence is. It is at once a loud and penetrating cry to God and a Spirit-filled act of prayer. Here everyone does pray the Canon together, albeit in a bond with the special task of the priestly ministry. Here everyone is united, laid hold of by Christ, and led by the Holy Spirit into that common prayer to the Father which is the true sacrifice — the love that reconciles and unites God and the world.[3]

Citing this passage in his magnificent book The Power of Silence, Cardinal Sarah observes:

I am familiar with the regrets expressed by many young priests who would like the Canon of the Mass to be recited in complete silence. The unity of the whole assembly, communing with the words pronounced in a sacred murmur, was a splendid sign of a contemplative Church gathered around the sacrifice of her Savior.[4]

A priest with whom I was conducting a correspondence once wrote these words to me, as if to confirm Cardinal Sarah’s observation:

If I were permitted the quasi-papal power to make just one change to the present Ordinary Form, it would be to bring back the silent canon. As one who regularly celebrates both forms of the Mass, that is the single difference that I find makes the most spiritual impact. And quite a few lay people I know have made similar comments. That silence, after all, is much more obviously noticeable to the congregation than, say the omission of certainly medieval offertory prayers.

At a Novus Ordo Mass, it is all I can do to focus my wandering attention on the mystery taking place, since there is a constant washing of words over my ears — words that lose their force either from their familiarity (I’ve heard Eucharistic Prayer II, a.k.a., the “Roman Canonette,” so many times it sounds like an eye-rolling cliché) or from their length (the historic Roman Canon said out loud in English, facing the people, is phenomenologically interminable) or from their grating unfamiliarity (as when a priest, in a sudden Lucretian swerve, picks out one of the Eucharistic Prayers of Reconciliation).

None of this is conducive in any way to prayer, to the adoration and spiritual longing we should cultivate in the presence of our Savior as we join our hearts to His Sacred Heart in the most holy offering at the altar. This is no less true, indeed it is rather more true, for the poor celebrant who gets hardly a moment of mental peace, hardly a moment to repose his head against the Lord’s breast, in company with St. John. The rite keeps the faucet of loquacity nearly always turned on.

I’m afraid there are many new Masses after which one says to oneself: “Did I pray at all during that long harangue from the sanctuary?” And one cannot be sure that one has done so. Sometimes, one is aware, on the contrary, of a suffocating lack of time and space to pray. But I cannot remember a single traditional Mass at which I did not experience, at least for a few fleeting moments, a vivid awareness of the prayer of Christ and a palpable sense of the mystery of God, a real connection with the divine. In stark contrast with its intended replacement, the old Mass — whether Low, High, or Solemn — seems built, from the ground up, to connect one to the divine in this way. Its whole raison d’être is union with God, and it pursues this with relentless determination, the preoccupation of a lover. It reminds me of Kierkegaard’s statement that “purity of heart is to will a single thing.”

Next week: how the usus antiquior allows ample “interior space” for the communion of the priest and the people.


NOTES

[1] As we know, the Consilium originally proposed having no prayers for the bread and wine at all, but simply lifting them up and putting them back down. This was too much even for Paul VI, an otherwise enthusiastic proponent of Bauhaus liturgy; he ordered that the actions had to be accompanied by some words. Bugnini and Co. complied, but looked to Jewish precedent rather than Catholic.

[2] See two articles at the New Liturgical Movement weblog: “The Silent Canon: Is Worship Supposed to be Aweful?,” posted on October 14, 2013; “The Silence of the Canon Speaks More Loudly Than Words,” posted on January 5, 2015.

[3] Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, The Spirit of the Liturgy, trans. John Saward (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2000), 215–16.

[4] Robert Cardinal Sarah, with Nicolas Diat, The Power of Silence: Against the Dictatorship of Noise, trans. Michael J. Miller (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2017), n. 249, p. 129.

The Long Shadow of Neoscholastic Reductionism

In liturgical discussions, a major premise of the progressivist side is, ironically, what might be called neoscholastic reductionism, which defines the “essence” of the Mass as having a valid consecration. In almost any conversation about whether and to what extent the rite of the Mass can change or should change, the proponent of tradition is immediately challenged with: “But you can’t prove that the Novus Ordo [or any fabricated, experimental liturgy] is bad. It has the words of consecration.”

The problem with this approach, of course, is that it falsifies the reality of a liturgical rite as a definite embodiment of apostolic tradition existing over the course of history. Each rite has its own deep characteristics that make it irreducibly itself. No one would dream of defining the Byzantine rite as “essentially” a valid consecration, with which a lot of florid prayers and hymns are accidentally associated. Nor should anyone with a modicum of sense try to define the Roman rite of Mass apart from the Roman Canon, which is its defining feature, or attempt to import an epiclesis into the Roman Canon, when, properly speaking, it has none and needs none. These rites are what they are—and thanks be to God for that.

Reducing the Mass to a valid consecration is like reducing the nuptial act to a successful conception of a child. I sincerely hope no one is foolish enough to define the nuptial act as the conception of a child. The nuptial act is ordered to the conception of a child, to be sure, but it has its own reality, its own meaning, that comprises more than conception; it is an expression of spousal love, which is designed to culminate in new life. By God’s institution, life is supposed to proceed from love; both elements are involved in defining the act. This is why the Church opposes in vitro fertilization, which otherwise she could not do if the sole meaning or value of the union of man and woman were a viable zygote.

In like manner, the Mass is a privileged microcosm of unitive prayer with a Eucharistic finality. The presence of the sacrificial victim who is to be our divine food is conceived, as it were, by the liturgy in its totality; even if the consecration takes place at a certain moment, it has been prepared for and will be followed by a manifestation of love that suits us to receive the Lord and rejoice in His presence. When this does not happen, we are dealing with the specter of in vitro transubstantiation.

Unfortunately, since nearly everyone who came to Vatican II or who worked for the Consilium had been brought up on this superficial neoscholastic reductionism, they felt free to rip apart and reconfigure the Roman Rite as long as they kept the words of consecration (more or less) intact. In this regard they were lab technicians committed all along to the result of a valid Mass but not feeling themselves ethically bound to any particular content or process.

Indeed, the arrogance of the reformers could not stop at the threshold of the holy of holies, but went so far as to tamper with the very formula of the consecration of the wine by removing the phrase mysterium fidei from within it — a phrase already so well known and so venerable in the Middle Ages that St. Thomas Aquinas in the 13th century could plausibly attribute it to the Apostles.

Unquestionably, therefore, we need to start all over again with better questions. We should not ask: What is it that makes transsubstantiation happen,[1] but: What is it that makes a liturgy a Christian liturgy? Even more importantly, what makes this liturgical rite to be itself (Roman, Ambrosian, Byzantine, Syro-Malabar, etc.) and no other? When these are the questions we pursue, we find rich answers that show us the fittingness, the beautiful complexity and sufficiency, of each rite in itself, and therefore, shows us the dramatically anti-liturgical, anti-ritual, anti-historical, and ultimately anti-Catholic nature of the reforms.

Obviously, there are elements more and less central to a given rite. But it cannot escape our attention that elements truly fundamental and constitutive of the Roman Rite have been abandoned by nearly everyone—including by the supposed guardians of the rite.

What belongs to this inner core of the Roman Rite?

• Most importantly, the Roman Canon, its sole anaphora for 1,500 years, going back in its elements to the first centuries.
• The ad orientem stance. We do not know how early on this stance became universally normative, but we know that already in the first centuries of the Faith it had become universal in East and West, which could never have happened were it not apostolic in origin, as St. Basil the Great takes for granted in his treatise On the Holy Spirit. It belongs to the original configuration of all of the great historic rites of Christianity. Without it, a liturgy is no longer in actual continuity with apostolic tradition, however much it may enjoy a technical licitness of the reductive sort mentioned above.
• The liturgical “vesture” of the Latin chant, which is not a mere add-on or ornament, but the very liturgy-as-sung. The Proper and Ordinary chants articulate the shape of the rite, fill its content, sustain its spirituality, and guarantee its substantial continuity over time and space. Without them, we are not looking at the Roman Rite any more.[2]
• The cursus of readings, namely, the set of Epistles and Gospels. This is a topic on which much has been written elsewhere; here it suffices to note that the Roman lectionary, almost as venerable in its antiquity and universality as the Roman Canon, was supplanted by the novelty of a multi-year lectionary constructed for the Missal of Paul VI. The old and new lectionaries have very little overlap at all.
• The calendar with its particular clusters of Roman saints and its rhythm of Sundays, Holy Days, vigils, octaves, Ember and Rogation days, etc. It is true that, as Dom Gregory Dix shows, the calendar had a lengthy development, but it did develop organically in certain ways distinctively Roman and always preserved until the revolution of the 1960s.
• In light of the principle of organic development, one may argue that the offertory (as in all the traditional offertory prayers), which developed in the Middle Ages and spread to all Western rites, had fused with the core of the Roman Rite. The offertory may be compared with a branch successfully grafted into a tree so that it loses all foreignness and becomes a major part of the flourishing organism. Its removal was not a haircut but the amputation of an arm or a leg.

Now, it cannot escape the notice of anyone that in most or all of these ways, the modern “Roman Rite” is a striking departure from the Roman Rite. It is possible for it to be celebrated in a way that follows some of the rite’s precedents, but it is also possible for it to be celebrated in a way that is utterly at variance with all of them. A very great number of celebrations, certainly the vast majority, are at variance with the Roman tradition, because

• the Roman Canon is not used;
• Mass is said versus populum;
• liturgical texts are not recited or chanted, e.g., the Propers and Ordinary are absent, mangled, or delivered in a way inconsistent with their origins;
• that novelty of novelties, the multi-year lectionary, is employed;
• a severely reduced calendar is followed;
• the traditional offertory is lacking, de iure as well as de facto.

In other words, when Roman Catholics attend such liturgies, they are getting a Mass, but not the Mass of the Roman Rite in its essential constitution. They are getting what might be called “the Modern Rite,” as liturgical scholar Msgr. Klaus Gamber would have it.

The damage wrought by neoscholastic reductionism is all too real and very extensive. It is the only atmosphere in which the outrageous enterprise of creating a Modern Rite in the late 1960s could have sprung up. The same mentality has, over time, propagated itself to other aspects of Catholic life as well. For example, that there are people today who are seriously asking the question of whether public sinners may receive Holy Communion shows that the Eucharist has been reduced, in the minds of many, to a mere sign of belonging or of table fellowship — not a supernatural mystery that requires the full commitment of one’s mind, heart, soul, and strength to Jesus Christ really present, against whom one mortally sins by unworthily receiving Him.[3] Such moral and disciplinary reductionism is not, however, surprising against the backdrop of the wave of liturgical reductionism that went before. Our age has provided a nearly scientific demonstration of the axiom lex orandi, lex credendi, lex vivendi.

The traditional movement in Catholicism simultaneously pursues two great goods: the recovery of a sound Eucharistic theology and the reestablishment of the actual Roman Rite of the Mass. Good theology and authentic liturgy work together to unveil to the eyes of faith the presence of Our Lord Jesus Christ in the entire liturgy and, above all, in the miracle of the host and chalice, in such a way that Catholics will be able to experience once more the terrible beauty and challenging joy of Eucharistic communion, and will strive to order our lives and our societies according to Its demands.


NOTES

[1] As a Thomist, I certainly accept that there is a moment of consecration, as I have defended here and elsewhere. But if one looks at Summa theologiae III, q. 83, one will see that St. Thomas is far from being a liturgical reductionist. He sees the complexity of the Roman Rite, the meaning and value of each of its parts, and the respect with which it ought to be treated by those who worship in it. Scholastic precision does not have to devolve into neoscholastic reductionism.

[2] Even the Low Mass bears witness to this normativity of the chants of High Mass by requiring the recitation of the texts of the chants, although this is somewhat like a two-dimensional drawing versus a three-dimensional sculpture.

[3] See my article on 1 Cor 11:27-29. Again, “worthy reception” here does not mean that we are already perfect, but, as John Paul II explained in Ecclesia de Eucharistia, that we have renounced mortal sin and have an intention of living according to all the commandments of God.

The Theology of the Offertory - Part 7.9 - The Uses of Cologne, Utrecht and Liège

Having finished with Spain, we move on to Germany in our consideration of the Offertory Rites of the medieval Uses. I have grouped Utrecht and Liège with Cologne, even though they are now in different countries, because they were formerly its suffragans, along with Cambrai, Münster and Osnabruck. Both before and after the Counter-Reformation period, the bishops of Cologne and Liège were also secular princes, the latter being furthermore ex-officio among the Electors of the Holy Roman Empire. The desire to maintain their identity as separate political entities may have had something to do with the fact that, unlike the majority of sees and canonical chapters, neither availed themselves of Pope St Pius V’s permission to adopt the Roman liturgical books promulgated after the Council of Trent. The See of Cologne, however, reformed its books on the neo-Gallican pattern in the later 18th century, while the Use of Liège disappeared when the prince-bishopric was overrun by France during the revolution; both adopted the Roman Use in the 19th century.

The Use of Cologne

Like most medieval Missals, the Missal of Cologne, printed in 1494, has no Ritus servandus, the long rubric describing in detail the celebration of Mass. The texts of the Offertory are printed with very simple rubrics, and no mention is made of incense; this must not be taken of course, to mean that it was not used. The now apparently defunct Bund für Liturgie und Gregorianik published the Ordo Missae from a 1525 edition of the Cologne Missal, which gives some material not included in the 1494 edition available at the website of the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek.

On the left, a photograph of Cologne Cathedral taken from the opposite side of the Rhine in 1856, before the church’s famous bell-towers were completed. Work on the towers was broken off in 1473 and not resumed until 1842; the bells were finally installed in the 1870s. The crane on one of the towers, visible in the upper left of the photograph, can also be seen in Hans Memling’s 1489 painting of  “The Arrival of St Ursula in Cologne” on the right. (click to enlarge)

As was commonly done in the medieval Uses, the chalice was prepared during the singing of the Epistle. The rubrics simply says “In preparing the chalice let (the priest) say. ‘In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Blood came forth from the side of Our Lord, Jesus Christ.’ ” This would be for the pouring in of the wine; at the water he says “And water, for the forgiveness of sins. May this mixing of wine and water together be done in the name of the Father etc.” This is followed by the prayer Deus qui humanae substantiae, as in the Roman Offertory. None of this is printed in the 1494 edition of the Cologne Missal.

After reading the Offertory chant, the priest washed his fingers, saying only one verse of Psalm 25, “I will wash my hands among the innocent; and will compass thy altar, O Lord.” Then looking to heaven, and striking his breast, he says the words of the Prodigal Son, “Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, I am not now worthy to be called thy son.” (This appears to be a unique feature of the Use of Cologne.)

Making the sign of the Cross over the chalice, he says “In the name of the Father +, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. What shall I render to the Lord, for all the things he hath rendered unto me”, from Psalm 115. As he lifts the chalice and paten together, standing at the middle of the altar, he continues the Psalm, “I will take the chalice of salvation; and I will call upon the name of the Lord.” There follows the prayer In spiritu humilitatis, with a slightly different wording than the Roman Rite, but almost exactly like the Dominican version. “In a spirit of humility, and contrite heart, may we be received by Thee, o Lord; and so may our sacrifice take place in Thy sight this day, that it may be received by Thee, and please Thee, o Lord.”

The priest makes the sign of the Cross with the chalice and paten, which he then separates, covering the chalice with the pall, (called a ‘custodia’ in the rubrics of the 1494 edition). he says “Acceptabile fiat tibi, omnipotenti Deo istud sacrificium altari tuo suppositum in odorem suavitatis. - May this sacrifice laid upon become acceptable to Thee, almighty God, unto the odor of sweetness.” Making the sign of the Cross with the paten, he places the host near the chalice, saying once again “In the name of the Father etc.”

Bowing reverently, and with joined hands, he says the Cologne version of Suscipe Sancta Trinitas.

Suscipe, sancta Trinitas, hanc oblationem, quam tibi offerimus in memoriam passionis, resurrectionis et ascensionis Domini nostri Jesu Christi: et in honorem Sanctissimae Dei Genitricis Virginis Mariae, et N., atque omnium sanctorum tuorum, qui tibi placuerunt ab initio mundi; ut proficiat illis ad honorem, nobis autem et omnibus fidelibus, vivis et defunctis, ad salutem, et ad remissionem omnium peccatorum; et ut illi omnes pro nobis intercedere dignentur in caelis, quorum memoriam agimus in terris. Per eundem Christum, Dominum nostrum.
Receive, o holy Trinity, this offering, which we offer to Thee in commemoration of the Passion, Resurrection and Ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, and unto the honor of the most holy Mother of God, the Virgin Mary, and N. (presumably the Saint of the day) of all Thy Saints who have pleased Thee from the beginning of the world; that it may profit unto their honor, and to us, and all the faithful, living and deceased, unto salvation, and the forgiveness of sins; and that all those, whose memory we keep on earth, may deign to intercede for us in heaven. Through the same Christ, our Lord.

The conclusion is noted with a rubric that whenever it is said in the Mass, the priest should join his hands and genuflect. He then blesses the host and chalice together, with the words “Veni, invisibilis Sanctificator, omnipotens, aeterne Deus; benedic + et sanctifica hoc sacrificium tuo sancto nomini praeparatum. - Come, invisible Sanctifier, almighty and eternal God; bless and sanctify this sacrifice prepared unto Thy holy name.” (In the 1525 edition, this is placed before the Suscipe Sancta Trinitas.)

Turning to the people, he says, “Orate pro me peccatore, fratres et sorores, ut meum pariter et vestrum sacrificium acceptum sit omnipotenti Deo. - Pray for me a sinner, brothers and sisters, that my sacrifice and yours may be accepted of almighty God.” As in many other medieval Uses, no response is made.

The Use of Utrecht

The See of Utecht in the modern Netherlands is fairly ancient, founded by St Willibrord at the end of the 7th century, and was a major center for the evangelization of the Low Countries. Nevertheless, it remained a suffragan of Cologne until 1559. In the Missal according to the Use of Utecht printed at Antwerp in 1540, the Offertory differs only very slightly from that of the Use of Cologne. The rubrics are very slight, and say almost nothing about the ritual actions that accompany them; as at Cologne, there is no mention of incense. We may safely presume that the chalice was prepared during the Epistle as at Cologne and elsewhere.

The Cathedral of St Martin in Utrecht, begun in 1254, was converted to protestant rites in 1580. On the left the church is seen in a drawing from 1660. In 1674, its nave collapsed during a storm, leaving the 14th-century bell-tower isolated from the rest of the structure, as seen in the print on the right from 1697; it was never rebuilt. (click to enlarge) 

The Offertory begins at the words “In the name of the Father... What shall I render...” noted above; none of the material noted above before that point is printed in the Missal. The one unique feature of this Use is that the elements are blessed at the prayer In spiritu humilitatis, again, following a text almost like that of the Dominican Use. “In a spirit of humility, and contrite heart, may we be received by Thee, o Lord; so that + our sacrifice may take place in Thy sight this day, in such wise that it be received by Thee, and please Thee, o Lord.” The prayer Veni, invisibilis Sanctificator is said before the Suscipe Sancta Trinitas, as in the 1525 edition of the Cologne Missal.

The Suscipe Sancta Trinitas is longer than at Cologne, but the variants are common to other Uses.

Suscipe, sancta Trinitas, hanc oblationem, quam tibi offerimus in memoriam passionis, resurrectionis et ascensionis Domini nostri Jesu Christi: et in honore Sanctissimae Dei Genitricis Virginis Mariae, et sanctorum, quorum hodie festivitas celebratur, et quorum hic nomina et reliquiae habentur, necnon et omnium sanctorum tuorum, qui tibi placuerunt ab initio mundi; ut proveniat illis ad honorem, nobis autem et omnibus fidelibus, vivis et defunctis, ad salutem, et ad remissionem omnium peccatorum. Et ut illi omnes pro nobis intercedere dignentur in caelis, quorum memoriam facimus in terris.
Receive, o holy Trinity, this offering, which we offer to Thee in memory of the Passion, Resurrection and Ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, and in honor of the most holy Mother of God, the Virgin Mary, of the Saints whose festivity is celebrated today, and whose names and relics are kept here, and also of all the Saints who have pleased Thee from the beginning of the world, that it may profit unto their honor, and to us, and all the faithful, living and deceased, unto salvation, and unto the forgiveness of all sins; and that all those, whose memory we keep on earth, may deign to intercede for us in heaven. Through the same Christ, our Lord.

The Use of Liège

An episcopal see in 344 A.D. was founded at the city of Tongres in what is now the north-east of Belgium, but translated a few decades later to Maastricht, now in the Netherlands. At the very beginning of the 8th century, the bishop of Maastricht, St Lambert, was martyred; the reason is not agreed upon in his different biographies, but devotion to him was very great throughout northern Europe. His successor, St Hubert, brought his body to Liège, and built a basilica to house his relics, and the See of Maastricht-Tongres was then transferred there. As mentioned above, it retained its proper Use until the very end of the 18th century, although its liturgical books were revised in some respects on the model of the Roman Tridentine books. The Missal I follow here was printed at Speier in Germany in 1502. As in Cologne and Utrecht, the rubrics are fairly sparse, saying nothing about the preparation of the chalice; however, the prayers accompanying the incensation are given.

The Cathedral of Saint Lambert in Liège, from an engraving of 1735. The building was begun after a fire destroyed an earlier structure in 1185, and completed in 1433. It was destroyed over the course of several years, beginning in 1794, in the wake of the French Revolution and invasion; the collegiate church of St Paul has served as the city’s cathedral since 1812.

The Offertory begins with the priest at the middle of the altar, saying with hands joined “Veni, quaeso, sanctificator, omnipotens aeterne Deus - come, I ask, o sanctifier, almighty eternal God”, and then making the sign of the Cross over the chalice as he says “Et bene+dic hoc sacrificium tuo tibi praeparatum. - And bless + this sacrifice prepared unto Thee.” He joins his hands again and says, “What shall I render...” as above, then takes the chalice with the paten on it in his hands and says, “I will take the chalice of salvation...”, again as above.

He then lifts up the chalice and paten together, and says the Suscipe Sancta Trinitas;

Suscipe, sancta Trinitas, hanc oblationem, quam tibi offerimus in memoriam incarnationis, nativitatis, passionis, resurrectionis et ascensionis Domini nostri Jesu Christi: adventusque Spiritus Sancti: et in honore sanctae Mariae Virginis, et omnium sanctorum, ut illis proficiat ad honorem, nobis autem ad salutem, et omnibus fidelibus, vivis et defunctis; illique pro nobis intercedere dignentur in caelis, quorum memoriam facimus in terris. Per eundum Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen.
Receive, o holy Trinity, this offering, which we offer to Thee in memory of the Incarnation, Birth, Passion, Resurrection and Ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, and of the coming of the Holy Spirit, and in holy Mary the Virgin, and of all the Saints that it may profit unto their honor, and to us, and all the faithful, living and deceased, unto salvation; and may those, whose memory we keep on earth, deign to intercede for us in heaven. Through the same Christ, our Lord. Amen.

Making the sign of the Cross with chalice and paten, he places it on the corporal, saying,“In nomine Domini nostri Jesu Christi, sit sacrificium istud immaculatum - In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, may this sacrifice be without blemish” Taking the paten with both hands, he places the host before the chalice, and then signs himself with the paten, saying (continuing the previous sentence) “et a te solo Deo vivo et vero adunatum - and by Thee alone, God living and true, united”; he then makes the sign of the Cross over the offering, saying “et benedic+tum. - and + blessed.”

The prayer for the incense is very simple: “Incensum istud a te sit, Domine, bene+dictum. - May this incense be + blessed by Thee, o Lord.” By analogy with other Uses, it seems that the words that follow from Psalm 140 were said at the incensation: “Let my prayer ascend to Thee, O lord, as incense in thy sight; the lifting up of my hands, as an evening sacrifice.”

Bowing before the altar, he says the prayer In spiritu humilitatis as at Cologne. The Orate fratres is slightly different from the Cologne version.  “Orate pro me fratres et sorores, indigno famulo Dei, ut meum pariter et vestrum sacrificium acceptum sit omnipotenti Deo. - Pray for me, brothers and sisters, the unworthy servant of God, that my sacrifice and yours may be accepted of almighty God.” No response is made.

In Much Wisdom Is Much Vexation

Sacred Scripture says: “In much wisdom is much vexation, and he who increases knowledge increases sorrow” (Ecclesiastes 1:18). The more a devout Catholic studies the history, theology, and spirituality of the Roman liturgy, the more he or she tends to become deeply discontented with the current state of affairs; and if this student has been fortunate enough to discover in a personal way the traditional Latin Mass, Divine Office, sacramental rites, blessings, processions, and so forth, sharp melancholy and intense indignation are bound to ensue. How could it be otherwise? One comes to see the vast, rich treasures that were squandered; one comes to see the shallow, brittle academic novelties that were set up in their place. One sees how it is a replay of Esau trading his birthright for a mess of pottage (or a pot of message), except that this time, it was, grievously, Jacob who did the trading. The Novus Ordo becomes, in a sense, largely spoiled for those who, making an earnest inquiry into the history of the Roman Rite, acquire a keen awareness of the imaginative archaeologisms and audacious innovations introduced by the Consilium in the 1960s and 1970s.[1]

For example, knowing how and why the new “preparation of the gifts” was put together and the old Offertory abolished makes it all the more distracting, even distressing, to hear in person those quasi-Jewish prayers of blessing, which are a total and complete fabrication and aberration in the Roman Rite (or really, in any classical rite).[2] Or knowing how and why the venerable Roman Canon, most ancient of anaphoras, was criticized, nearly cancelled out, and, although retained, eventually marginalized by other manufactured anaphoras that have zero place in the Roman liturgical tradition is enough to make one shudder every time the shorty-sporty Eucharistic Prayer II is selected.[3] It is not easy to go back through those church doors, time after time, fully aware of the spectacle of rupture and discontinuity playing out before one’s eyes and ears in so many texts and gestures — or more often, in so many screaming absences of text and gesture.

How easy, how fruitful, how consoling it would be if one could simply attend the traditional Latin Mass, and peacefully drink in its secrets, its wealth of prayer, its its pure and holy adoration. Yet we are still very far from a situation in which it is possible for most Catholics to attend the TLM on a regular basis.

In fortunate cases, I can find “pegs” in the new liturgy to hang on to, which enable me to yield myself to the liturgical action without too much critical reflection. If, for example, Mass is celebrated in such a way that the preparation of the gifts is done silently while the Offertory antiphon is being sung, I am able to forget about the quasi-Jewish blessing, since my attention is being drawn to the chant, which is truly an element of continuity. Cloaked in this way, the silent Offertory almost looks like the real thing; there is, one might say, a welcome illusion of continuity with the Roman tradition. In general, if Gregorian chants are sung, if there are times of silence, if people kneel for communion, and, above all, if the priest is facing ad orientem, any or all of the above becomes a very substantial help to me in maintaining an interior calm and a focus on the Lord. One ceases to be the theater critic[4] and becomes the simple believer. But when these traditional elements are mostly or altogether absent (as they too often are), what hits me in the face is the massive fact of discontinuity, together with my knowledge of the dubious and, at times, modernist reasons for that discontinuity.

One is hit, as it were, with a left hook and a right hook — an immediate, aesthetic, intuitive reaction, and an intellectual, spiritual, reflective reaction, both negative. And that makes the time at church poorly spent: one can become frustrated and annoyed, and feel that one does not have the right dispositions for receiving Holy Communion. Is it not true for a large number of the faithful — larger than officialdom would ever admit — that the Ordinary Form as typically celebrated puts a serious, almost fatal cap on our genuine “active participation”? Far from helping us along on the road to perfection, attracting us with its inner mystery and outward beauty, such a Mass is an event we just try to get through as quickly and painlessly as possible, hoping we will not think too much about anything we are seeing or hearing. How ironic, that a rite so drastically overhauled and reworked with a view to “reaching the people at last” and soliciting their hearty involvement has, in reality, turned off and distanced so many of the faithful over the decades and made distasteful the very concept of active participation — in spite of the utterly traditional understanding and pedigree of this venerable principle.[5]

With all this spiritual trouble that my decades of studying the liturgy have brought, do I ever find myself wishing that I didn’t know the various things I now know? If I could turn back the clock to a point in time when I naïvely thought the reformed Mass was the cat’s meow, would I prefer that state of ignorance, in order to have an easier time worshiping in this impoverished zone, this region of dissimilitude?

No, in all honesty, I can’t say that. My spiritual life would never have grown as it did, nor my grasp of sacred theology, had it not been for the beauty, reverence, and profundity of the traditional liturgy that I discovered as a young man, fell in love with, and now long for ceaselessly.[6] I would not today be a Benedictine Oblate praying the Divine Office, which is a source of tremendous vitality, light, and consolation to me. My situation is far from optimal, due to the irregular availability of the traditional liturgy in my community, but I do not regret bearing the cross of knowledge, which has opened to me a whole world of wonders to which I would otherwise be blind. It is a flowering cross, and I imagine the same is true for many who love traditional ways.

Sometimes people ask me why it makes such a difference whether one attends the Ordinary Form or the Extraordinary Form. Aren’t they essentially the same — the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass? Don’t you “get Jesus” at either?

Usually the one asking this common question does not really grasp how great the difference is between the forms, and how much they actually form us, how much they express and shape the very content our faith.[7] The liturgy is an ethical-aesthetic event, it’s not a supernatural slot-machine for receiving a sacrament. How we worship is itself a definite exercise of faith, hope, and charity, one that prepares us well or ill for union with the object of these virtues. Liturgy is a certain icon of Christ and, in a way, an icon of man approaching Christ. Our very self-understanding and our orientation to God, our assimilation of His mysteries, is determined by the rite. One reaches the mystery through the liturgy; the mystery is proportioned to the mind and heart by the texts, actions, music, silence. In a sense, the mystery is given shape by the liturgy, even as it gives shape to the worshiper. Hence, pace the egalitarian conservatives, it is not as simple as “overlooking” the human instruments to allow the divine agent to work; that would be like saying one could overlook one’s wife because she is, after all, a secondary cause, while God is the real primary cause. No child will be conceived that way, nor any marriage problem solved!

It is far more like the relationship between the meaning of a play, the words of it, and the way the words are presented — or even better, between a piece of music and its performance. The music has its real existence in the performance, and one accesses it through the performance. In an odd way, the music has no real existence apart from the performance, and neither has the liturgy some objective or generic essence by which we are perfected, in abstraction from the subjective and specific experience of liturgy here and now, in this or that form. We are perfected by the thing as it actually exists and functions, not by its technical validity or licitness. Attending the Ordinary Form is, in most cases, like listening to amateurs acting out a Shakespeare play bowdlerized by Victorians, or listening to a string quartet badly out of tune and time.

The reduction of liturgy to validity and licitness is truly one of the most subtle and pernicious reductionisms of the modern age, since it has long prevented urgently necessary conversations about the mystical-ascetical ascent to God through the contemplative dimension of the liturgy, with its companion goods of fidelity to tradition and cultural excellence. This is the conversation that we must have, precisely for the sake of encountering the real Christ, the just and merciful Pantokrator, and for the preaching of Him to our contemporaries.


NOTES

[1] I certainly don’t deny that similarly dark business took place in the 1948-1955 revision of Holy Week, as documented in a number of places, such as Don Stefano Carusi’s extensive essay. Nevertheless, even this revision cannot compare with what was done across the board to the entire order of Mass, lections, calendar, liturgy of the hours, Rituale, Pontificale, etc. in the 1960s.

[2] As Bishop Athanasius Schneider said: “The third wound is the new Offertory prayers. They are an entirely new creation and had never been used in the Church. They do less to express the mystery of the sacrifice of the Cross than that of a banquet; thus they recall the prayers of the Jewish Sabbath meal. In the more than thousand-year tradition of the Church in both East and West, the Offertory prayers have always been expressly oriented to the mystery of the sacrifice of the Cross (see e.g. Paul Tirot, Histoire des prières d’offertoire dans la liturgie romaine du VIIème au XVIème siècle [Rome, 1985]). There is no doubt that such an absolutely new creation contradicts the clear formulation of Vatican II that states: “Innovationes ne fiant . . . novae formae ex formis iam exstantibus organice crescant” (Sacrosanctum Concilium, 23).”

[3] Eucharistic Prayer II is an example of both “the exaggerated and senseless antiquarianism” and the “search for novelty” condemned by Pope Pius XII in Mediator Dei (8; 59-64): cobbled together from bits of Hippolytus thought (mistakenly, as it turns out) to be an early Christian anaphora, given a last desperate edit at a Roman restaurant the night before its due date, and nevertheless so inadequate in conveying the theology of the Mass as a true and proper sacrifice that its content was found perfectly unobjectionable by Protestant consultants. The learned and judicious Fr. Hunwicke has written more than once on the groundless innovation of multiple anaphoras in the Roman Rite.

[4] As Mosebach would put it: see my article “Mosebach's Paradox."

[5] On the correct understanding of "active participation," see, inter alia, "A Note on Participation: What Can We Learn from the Word Actuosa?" and "Is Lack of Solemnity a Cause or a Symptom of Our Problems?"

[6] See “A Young Father at Mass in Linz, circa 2000.”

[7] See “Two Different Treasure Chests” and “Is the Mass ‘Just’ the Mass?”

The Theology of the Offertory - Part 7.8 - Two Prayers from the 1565 Missal of Seville

As noted in the most recent articles of this series, the Missals of Toledo and Seville are quite unusual in having preserved so late as the mid-16th century a type of prayer called an “Apologia”, in which the priest protests his unworthiness to approach the altar and offer the Eucharistic sacrifice. At Toledo, two of them remained in the place which they originally had when they were created, as part of the Offertory, although their use was optional. In the Missal of Seville, which has four of them, they are printed between the prayers said before the altar at the beginning of Mass and the blessing before the Gospel. This missal has far fewer rubrics than that of Toledo, and gives no indication as to when these prayers were to be said. Only the last one has a rubric before it, which states that the priest says it “before the sacred things, or when he wishes.”

It was a custom in some places in the Middle Ages for the priest to say prayers silently when he was seated and the choir was singing. The prayer Summe sacerdos et vere Pontifex, a common prayer of preparation for Mass, is preceded in some editions of the Sarum Missal by a rubric which says that it is “to be said during the Mass (‘in missa’) while the Office (the Sarum term for the Introit), Kyrie, Gloria and Creed are sung.” (It continues by saying “or the whole prayer is said before the Mass, which is better.”) That such a custom should have arisen is not surprising, given the extreme length of many polyphonic works of the 15th and 16th centuries.

The retable of the high altar of Seville Cathedral, showing various episodes from the Life of Christ. The project was begun by a Flemish artist, Pierre Dancart, in 1482, who continued worked on it for ten years. It was continued by others after his death and completed in 1564. (Image from wikipedia by Shawn Lipowski.)

The position in which the Apologias are printed in the Missal of Seville indicates that they were used in the same way, as optional prayers to say if the singing was very long. The first prayer is labelled as “A Prayer of St. Ambrose”, as was commonly done in the Middle Ages. It comes from the 9th-century manuscript known as the Sacramentary of St. Gatien of Tours in France, and is also found in the Missal of Sarum inter alia.

Deus, qui de indignis dignos, de peccatoribus justos, de immundis facis mundos; munda cor meum et corpus meum ab omni sorde et cogitatione peccati: et fac me dignum atque strenuum sanctis altaribus ministrum: et praesta, ut in hoc altari ad quod indignus accedere praesumo, acceptabiles tibi hostias offeram pro peccatis et offensionibus, et innumeris quotidianis meis excessibus, et pro peccatis omnium viventium, et defunctorum fidelium, et eorum qui se meis commendaverunt orationibus: et per eum tibi meum sit acceptabile votum: qui se tibi Deo Patri pro nobis obtulit in sacrificium: qui est omnium opifex et solus sine peccati macula Pontifex, Jesus Christus Filius tuus Dominus noster. Qui tecum etc.

O God, who makest worthy men of the unworthy, just men of sinners, and clean of the unclean: cleanse my heart and my body from all filth and thought of sin: and make me a fitting and vigorous minister for Thy Holy Altars: and grant that upon this altar, which I, though unworthy, dare to approach, I may offer Thee acceptable sacrifices for my sins and offenses, and my daily and innumerable excesses, and for the sins of all the living, and of the faithful departed, and of those that have commended themselves to my prayers, and may my prayer be acceptable to Thee, through Him who for us offered Himself in sacrifice to Thee, God the Father, who is the maker of all things, and the only High Priest without the stain of sin: Jesus Christ, Your Son, our Lord. Who lives etc.

This is followed by a brief prayer of a different type, and then another Apologia.

Domine Jesu Christe, Fili Dei vivi, immensam clementiam tuam humili devotione deposco, ne irascaris mihi indigno famulo tuo, pro eo quod immundus mente et corpore domum tuam sanctam intrare, et ad corpus sanguinemque tuum sumendum accedere praesumo indignus, et multis flagitiis obrutus. Sed reconciliare mihi, Domine Jesu Christe, Fili Dei vivi, qui mulierem fluxum sanguinis patientem a tactu gloriosissimae fimbriae vestimenti tui non prohibuisti. Illam quoque peccatricem ac paenitentem a sanctorum pedum tuorum osculo non sprevisti. Ita nec me, Domine, pro innumerabilibus sceleribus meis a communione tanti mysterii velut immundum repellas, sed paenitentiam mihi dignam agere, fontemque lacrimarum habere concedas; ut pura mente et casto corpore, non jam ad judicium, sed ad remissionem omnium peccatorum meorum te miserante illud percipere merear, Salvator mundi. Qui cum Patre etc.

Lord Jesus Christ, son of the Living God, with humble devotion I ask Thy boundless clemency; that Thou be not wroth with me, Thy unworthy servant, that unclean in mind and body, I presume to enter Thy holy house, and come to receive Thy body and blood, though unworthy and overwhelmed by many shameful deeds. But be Thou reconciled to me, Lord Jesus Christ, son of the Living God, who kept not the woman that suffered the issue of blood from the touch of the most glorious hem of Thy garment. Thou also didst not spurn the sinful and penitent woman from the kiss of Thy holy feet. So also drive me not away, o Lord, as one unclean because of my innumerable crimes from partaking in so great a mystery, but grant me to do worthy penance, and have a fount of tears; that with pure mind and chaste body, I may merit to receive it no longer unto judgment, but unto the remission of all my sins, in Thy mercy, o Savior of the world. Who with the Father etc.

After this comes the Apologia prayer Si tantum Domine, which I have already given in Latin and English à propos of the Missal of Toledo. Unlike that of Toledo, the Missal of Seville does include Suscipe Sancta Trinitas, the medieval Offertory prayer par excellence, and in fact has a second version of it, which I believe is unique to that Use, which is to be said at Requiem Masses. Seville is also unique in placing both versions among the Apologias, and not in the Offertory; they are given in Latin and English in the previous article of this series. This group of prayers concludes with another Apologia, Deus, qui non mortem, which has also been given previously in Latin and English from the Missal of Toledo.