Reason 4 For Why the "New Mass" Is Superior to the Old Rite

The Monks of Notre Dame d'Acey Gather For
the Liturgy 

 I am a faithful reader of New Liturgical Movement, a blog which is somewhat unique in the world of the Katholik Krazies in as that the articles are usually well researched and informative expositions on the history of the Liturgy. Gregory DiPippo, the managing editor, does an especially fine job in mining the arcane for information which is, while not relevant to anything in the Church’s mission of witnessing to the Kingdom of God, of considerable interest to historian and antiquarian alike.  In fact, I first discovered New Liturgical Movement when it took exception to something that Dom Anthony Ruff of Saint John’s Abbey, Collegeville—a noted liturgical scholar and one of established reputation—wrote regarding my objections to the “offertory” rite of the pre-Conciliar Mass.  Mr. DiPippo produced a series of excellent article on the various late medieval rites that support his thesis—and my objection—that scholastic and post-scholastic theology introduces the non-orthodox (i.e. contrary to the Patristic Tradition) notion of a double sacrifice in the Mass: a   sacrifice of bread and wine offered to God by the priest that is preliminary to the Sacrifice of Christ which Christ has offered on the Cross and to which we become present in the Mass.  The “offertory rites” are a particular bone of contention for those who reject the 1970 Missal which more or less replaces the “offertory” (sacrificial) with a “preparation of the gifts” which is exactly what it says it is: a preparation of the bread and wine which will then become the mysterium by which we become participants in Christ’s once and for all Sacrifice on the Cross. 

Sadly, not all of New Liturgical Movement’s entries meet Mr. DiPippo’s standards of research and theological reflection.  Peter Kasiniewski recently did an entry on ten reasons why one should choose the pre-Conciliar “Extraordinary Form” over the 1970 “Ordinary Form.”  He made some outrageously unsupported claims for the usus antiquior that, to my mind, express exactly why the old rite should not only not be preferred but be suppressed altogether.  But it has triggered this series of equally unresearched and data-free reflections on why the “New Mass” is superior to the old rite.  I have already posted reasons one through three: now we go for four. 

Reason 4 For Why the “New Mass” Is Superior to the Old Rite

True and authentic prayer is intelligible. 

Saint Teresa of Avila—whose fifth centenary of birth we celebrate this year—describes prayer as “an intimate conversation with Him whom we know loves us.”  What a great description!  Saint Therese of the Child Jesus, a spiritual daughter of Teresa of Avila, wrote in her journal about prayer: “I say very simply to God what I wish to say, without composing beautiful sentences, and he always understands me.  For me, prayer is an aspiration of the heart, it is a simple glance directed to heaven, it is something great, supernatural, which expands my soul and unites me to Jesus.” She elaborates on this in another place and says: “I say quite simply to the good God what I want to tell Him, and He always understands me.”

This makes me question why we feel the need to gild the lily beyond recognition and make our chief prayer, the Mass, into something artificial and even arcane.  It seems to me that the more prayerful the Liturgy the more nobly simple the celebration.  I am not saying that the Mass should not be beautiful—I firmly believe that it should be gorgeous in its every detail; I only believe that its beauty shines out most brilliantly when its essential nature is not buried beneath the baroque trapping that have overlaid it for the last five centuries. 

I remember seeing a production of Madama Butterfly at the Houston Opera forty some years ago.  I have seen this exquisite opera by Puccini many times in many venues: the Rome Opera House, La Fenice in Venice, The Met in New York, the Lyric in Chicago.  What makes the Houston production stand out in my memory from all the others was the utter simplicity of the production.  The story, as you probably know, takes place in Japan at the turn of the 20^th century.  The Houston production, in line with Japanese artistic tradition, was rich in quality but absolutely minimalist in the sets which allowed the music to gleam without distraction.  I don’t think I will ever be able to forget the aria Un Bel Di in Scene II where Butterfly sings of her anticipation for Pinkerton’s return. The stage was awash in blue light but otherwise bare except for the drooping pink branches of a weeping cherry.  This incredible aria totally captured one’s attention with the only competition being the brilliant pink of Butterfly’s Kimona stage left and the delicate pink branches stage right and the rich blue light making the plain background look alive in moonlight.  Reducing the beauty of the Opera to its purest essence impressed it most deeply on both the emotions and the memory. 

I had a similar experience some years later while staying at the Abbey of Notre Dame de Aiguebelle near Avignon.  That first March evening as the monks filed in for Vespers, I was reminded of Houston’s Madama Butterfly.  Cistercian architecture permits no extra ornamentation.  The slow toll of a single bass bell in the tower signaled the hour for prayer.  The abbey church is devoid of all decoration except for a statue of the Blessed Virgin in a recessed chapel to the left of the altar and a large crucifix on the northern wall of the choir.  Plain frosted glass fills the windows.  There are but two fat wax candles at the altar, both in holders made of iron and a carved wooden processional crucifix standing to the altar’s right.  The monks entered clad simply in their white cowls.  The walls are unrelieved white stone as is the pavement.  Only the wooden staff he carried distinguished the abbot from the other monks.  There was no organ, only the human voice which, once all were in their place, exploded into breathtaking prayer.  There was no ceremony save a single monk coming up and spooning incense into an iron censer at the Magnificat.  It was pure, unadorned prayer.  You could feel the spiritual energy gathered beneath the ancient vaults of the 12^th century church.  The memories of Puccini’s opera faded fast as the psalms of vespers overtook my memories of Butterfly and began to speak their pressing but plaintive message to look within the heart and surrender all to the mercy of God. 

The next morning at Mass—and subsequent mornings of my visit—the Mass spoke profoundly.  Only the cross and its Divine Burden, wooden and roughly carved, stood at the altar to remind us of what we were about.   There was an absolute economy of movement and an avoidance of any hint of ritual for ritual’s sake.  Four priests and a deacon stood alone at the altar, three in cowls and one in an enveloping but unadorned chasuble of deep purple.  On the altar stood a large silver cup and a silver bowl of rough unleavened bread. The bare bones of the liturgy, sung in a deep but somewhat wistful chant by the monks, kept us focused on the Sacrifice being offered.  There was no fuss and bother, no bowing and scraping, no brocades and jewels.  There was no booming organ.  There certainly was no corpulent Cardinal trailing yards of scarlet silk.  There were only men standing, eyes focused on the altar, deep in prayer as they sang the Church’s prayer. 

I know that the average Joe and Josie in the pews need a bit richer diet than this Spartan Trappist spiritual fare offers, but I think that there is too much a danger today of priests becoming old aunts—or let me rephrase that—I have seen too many priests today becoming old aunts who fuss over lacey petticoat-albs and copes that look like they were cut from funeral home drapes as they prance around and bob up and down and bend over wiggling their hind-quarters as they lisp the Sacred Words that should focus our attention not on them but on the Holy Spirit descending upon bread and wine and into stony hearts alike to transform all into Christ.  I don’t mean to leave the ladies out of the equation, but please give us men who are strong, loving, and wise to speak clearly and simply to God and lead us, in our hearts, to do the same.

And yes, I am aware that that it isn’t only the Tridentine Tinkerbelles that are the problem.  Equally awful are the liturgical left’s Jimmy Kimmel wanna-bees who think their job is to entertain us.  I mean, I don’t mind a few laughs during the homily as long as there is some Gospel substance, but I want someone who can lead us in prayer—who is aware that God is part of this equation and that means there needs to be some degree of gravitas.  And I may disagree with the neo-cons about what constitutes beauty in art, architecture, and music—just like there are those philistines who want their Madama Butterfly in a garish red kimono and on a flower laden hilltop with a busy harbor beneath filled with ships sailing to and fro just like it probably was at La Scala that night in 1904 when Butterfly was first sung.  But please don’t make me sing “Here I am, Lord” one more time.  And I don’t want word-strewn felt banners hanging where the statues used to stand.  And I don’t want cheap pottery any more than I want those cheap Knights of Columbus chalices on the altar.  But in all honesty, I find that sort of crap in fewer and fewer places.  I think we still have a long way to go to make the Liturgy as conducive to prayer as it can be, but we have come a long way from the days when a hung-over Monsignor stood scratching his Roman chasubled behind while he stood facing away from us reading the epistle on the right side of the altar.  We have a ways to go yet, but we have come a long way and like Moses said to the children of Israel: I ain’t goin’ back.  

Merry Christmas--God So Loved The World That He Sent His Only Son

Well, we finally finished the series on what an evangelical renewal of Religious Life might look at.  I was relieved to hear from one reader, Olllddude, that he (I presume a he) “really enjoyed” it because my readership went waaaay down over the two weeks or so I was posting it. It just isn’t as sexy as calling out the krazies or hitting issues like who gets to go to Holy Communion or just how many silk worms have laid down their lives so that Cardinal Burke can cut his dashing figure at Christmas Midnight Mass.   Nevertheless, I am glad to have written it because I believe that the renewal of Religious Life is a top priority for a renewal of the Church.  Love ‘em or leave ‘em, the Nuns on the Bus and the LCWR mavens arguing with the plump prelates of the CDF get the rest of us thinking, arguing, and looking at the issues.  And if these same women—and the guy Religious too—got their act together in terms of a truly evangelical life-style that shook the rest of us out of our cultural complacency, I think our Church would be something very different.  Not only would our favorite member of the Sacred College find himself under inpatient care for his wardrobe affectations that are somewhat of a hybrid of Louis XIV and Lady Gaga, but we would be freed of the web woven by the culture wars that are confusing the platform of the Religious Right for the Gospel of Jesus Christ in how we reach out to Gays, the Remarried, the Cohabitating, and those for whom English is a second language.  But enough about all that for now.  I want to get to the purpose of this particular posting. 

Purpose of this particular posting, Oh! I almost forgot: Merry Christmas.  Let’s remember that God so loved the world that he sent his only Son that whoever believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.  God did not send his Son to condemn the World, but so that the World might be saved through him.  Not my original idea, but it works so well, I want to borrow it.

About a week and a half ago I had a response from a reader named Christopher.  Christopher got a little itchy about my not responding right away, but that was, I assured him, because I didn’t want just to do a response hidden away beneath the posting to which he was reacting, but to do a posting on the questions he raised  about several of my entries, and in particular about my claim that the translation “for many” is not a good translation of the “pro multis” found in the Latin text of the Mass because the “pro multis” itself is a faulty translation of the Greek original.  But before I go further, let me post Christopher’s remarks. 

I've read your back posts concerning 'pro multis', and you're simply mistaken in your reading of the Greek. The phrase which is rendered into Latin as 'pro multis' is not, as you state, 'hoi polloi' ("the many" or "the multitude") but 'peri pollwn', which can only mean "for many" or "on behalf of many" (which is why it's rendered precisely as such in modern translations of the New Testament, which are based directly on the Greek). And while "for many" CAN be interpreted with a Calvinist slant, it need not be. It's perfectly consistent with the Catholic belief that those who, in fact, are reprobate need not have been and could have freely availed themselves of salvation through Christ. Your preferred translation of "for all," however, is extremely problematic, since the only way you can rule out universal salvation (if indeed you wish to rule it out) is to say that Christ's suffering was at least partially in vain (i.e., his suffering for those who would nonetheless reject salvation on Foundations of the Anglican Church XCVIX

Well, let me begin by coming clean.  When I referred to the Greek word πολλοι I referred to it in the nominative case. (Greek, unlike English, is a highly inflected language, which means that a word changes its case (nouns or adjectives) or tense (verb) depending on its role in the sentence.  A noun, or the adjective that agrees with it, which is the subject of the sentence is in the “nominative case.”  A noun (and its adjectives) which is object of the action of the verb, is in the “accusative case.” And so on, there being distinct cases for indirect objects, to imply possession, to follow certain prepositions etc.  This exists only barely in English but we can find remnants of inflection in pronouns: “I” am the subject of this sentence.   But when you are talking about “me” you might need to use the accusative case following the preposition “about.”  When you give “me” a gift you also would use the accusative case since “me” refers to the object of the action of the verb “give.”   (Actually, that could be a dative since I am the indirect object and not the direct object of the verb, but we don’t have a dative in English and thus the indirect object in English is in the accusative case. And now of course that gift is “mine” which is the possessive form of the pronoun “I.”   I hope you get this concept because in all honesty as a freshman in high school starting Latin I, it was the most difficult concept for me to grasp.  Even though I instinctively get it right in English 99.9% of the time, I never really understood it until well into Latin III.  And then there was Greek.  And German.  And Hebrew.  Fortunately French and Italian are not so highly inflected—they are more like English but you still have to watch out a bit. 

In any case, when referring to a noun in a foreign language the convention is that one refers to it in the nominative case regardless of how it is used in the sentence.  And so I referred to ‘οι πολλοι in the nominative when in fact it is, as Christopher points out πολλϖν, the genitive (possessive) case in the Greek.  The reason that it is in the genitive is that it follows the preposition περι which means, “concerning” and περι takes the genitive case when it means “about” or “concerning.”   That provides us with the first level of our answer. (Just in case you feel like we have slipped through the looking glass, be assured that in academics this surrealism is our version of normal.  Just think of what it would have been like if Sheldon Cooper had gone into Liberal Arts rather than Physics.) 

It has been a long time since I studied last studied Greek (44 years to be precise) though I do remember hashing all this out again when I did my theological work. But just to be sure, I went over the classical languages department and sat down with one of our Greek scholars and had him review it with me. 

Whereas when one refers to a noun in the nominative in Greek, as in English, one usually places the article, in this case ‘οι (which means “the”), the article would not normally be used in Koine Greek after the preposition περι.  (Koine is the Greek dialect used throughout much of the eastern end of the Roman Empire at the time the Christian Scriptures [as well as the Old Testament Septuagint] were composed.  Koine distinguishes the popular Greek of the Graeco-Roman world from the Attic Greek of Thucydides (5^th century BC) or the archaic Ionic of Homer in an even earlier period.  The significance is not in the absence of the yet implied “‘οι” in the word πολλοι (genitive: πολλϖν) itself.  While it means “many” it is not, as it is in English, an adjective nor as in the Words of Institution, an adjective acting as a noun (poured out for you and for many).  The word πολλοι, or more properly, ‘οι πολλοι is a noun and it  means not “many” in a restrictive sense, but “a multitude,” or “the masses,” or in the phrase of Edward George Earle Bulwer Lytton Bulwer (only an Englishman could carry such a name) and much cherished by Winston Churchill: “the great unwashed.”  There is not a universality but an inclusivity built into the word at which the English “many” fails.

So how do we translate it.  The French have, I believe, done it best: pour la multitude.   The problem with a prayer that says that Christ’s blood was shed for “many” is that Christ did not die for many.  He in fact died for all.  This does not mean that all accept the salvation offered them in Christ’s blood, but it is our Catholic faith that the Redemptive Sacrifice offered by Christ on Calvary and renewed in each Mass is sufficient for the salvation of humankind. 

The problem with universal salvation—that all will be saved—is that ultimately it denies freedom of the will.  If we are all saved then we have no choice but to accept the Love of God.  Going back to the beginning of the third century, the Christian tradition condemned this teaching that all are saved precisely because it robs us of our freedom of the will.  Universal salvation requires that we are ultimately compelled to love God and be loved by him for all eternity.  There is no shortage of Catholics greats—including Saint Thérèse if Lisieux who, in forfeit of proper catechesis, so believed however.  And of course, while we cannot hold that all people will be saved we can hope that each person will be saved, the end result being somewhat the same while the later formula leaves the individual’s freedom of will intact. 

When Innocent X condemned Jansenism in 1653 this issue of Christ dying for all, many, some, or a few was raised.  The Jansenists, who in their Catholic mutation of Calvin’s heresy of double predestination, claimed that it conformed to the Semipelagian heresy to claim that Christ died or shed his blood for all men.  Pope Innocent condemned that proposition of Janesnism, and in so doing established that our Catholic faith does indeed claim that Christ died/shed his blood, for all.  Kontemporary Katholic Krazieism today is nothing other than a strain of Jansenism redivivus.  The fuss over the Words of Institution asserting that Christ died for all was a thorn in their double-predestination side as it means that all people are (potentially) saved in as much as Christ’s redemptive act is sufficient for the salvation of all.  Again, remember, though that our free will enables us to reject the gift.    And since the inadequate “for many” translation has been revived in the current translation of the Roman Missal, the krazies in their sermons, talks, blogs, and videos have used the liturgical text to advance their Jansenist poison claiming that the liturgy makes it clear that Christ did not die for all but only for those who will be saved.  I have noticed that since the ascendency of Pope Francis, more and more elements of the previous translation are slipping back into the Mass.  I for one am glad to see many priests going back to the “for all.” 

That being said, let’s slip from the rabbit hole back into the light of day—Christmas Day—and celebrate that wonderful mysterium fidei:  God so loved the world that he sent his only Son that whoever believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.  God did not send his Son to condemn the World, but so that the World might be saved through him.   God’s Will, whatever our freedom, is that all people be saved.  

Michael Voris on the Road to Hell

Bishop Patrick Ahern 

I am sorry to have been away from the blog for a few days—some unexpected travel came up and I can’t make a lot of promises for the next few days as I am swamped at work—but I do want to make at least one posting this weekend and while I intend to get back to the story of the Anglica Church (even though we have gotten to the point where ol’ Henry has separated from Rome,we are only about half-way through) and we have only begun to look at the text of Pope Francis’ interview with La Civilta Cattolica and the reason it has the wing-nuts running scared, I want to deal with the crazy blogs and their new nemesis—Father Robert Barron.  It seems that Fr. Barron has triggered a bit of, shall we say a “firestorm” by posing the hypothsis that hell may be empty.  That is enough for Michael Voris to send his legions of flying monkeys over Oz scouring the countryside for any lions, strawmen, tin cans or other “heretics.”  

First of all, in case you are unfamiliar with him, Father Barron is today’s leading Catholic Evangelist.  He holds his Masters in Theology from the Catholic University of America, his Licentiate in Sacred Theology from Saint Mary’s of the Lake and his Doctorate (Pontifical) from the Institute Catholique in Paris.  He is fluent in English, French, German, Spanish, and Latin.  He holds several honorary degrees and has lectured at the Angelicum in Rome in addition to serving on the faculty of Saint Mary of the Lake University in Mundelein IL which is the seminary of the Archdiocese of Chicago.  At Cardinal George’s appointment, he currently serves as Rector of the University.  He is most famous for his extensive media apostolate and in particular for the highly recommended series Catholicism which was broadcast on many PBS stations across the US and in DVD format has been used in countless parishes for adult faith formation and RCIA programs. 

Mr. Voris, who holds a bachelors degree in Theology from an American campus of the Angelicum (the same Roman university where Dr. Barron frequently lectures), has gone after Barron for his statement that while there is a hell, it is not in the teaching of the Church that anyone has been condemned to it.  An empty hell is just too much for Voris and his flying blogger-monkeys to abide.  What good is hell if countless souls aren’t imprisoned there without hope, much less mercy?  What kind of a God would it be who didn’t delight in punishing the unfaithful with unspeakable torments for all eternity?

Now I am not saying that there isn’t a hell—that is, I believe, a defined dogma of the Church.  And I am not saying that hell is empty.  I frankly don’t know.  But I am amused that Mr. Voris simply can’t live with that possibility.  I have often pointed to Voris as an example of the Jansenism that still lingers in the American Catholic experience. 

About fifteen years ago I was interviewing Bishop Patrick Ahern  (1919-2011), late auxiliary of New York and leading scholars on St. Thérèse of Lisieux for a video we were producing on St. Thérèse who was being named a Doctor of the Church.  Bishop Ahern said in the preliminary interview that the prospective Doctor of the Church believed that everyone would be saved.  I warned Bishop Ahern about saying this when the camera was rolling as it was one of the points for which the great theologian Origen was condemned and I didn’t want to scotch Thérèse’s Doctorate on this point.  The Bishop agreed, but he told me—“but she did believe this—she believed that God’s love would triumph over our sinfulness in every single case.” 

I am not a theologian and I am not going to get involved in arguments above my pay grade.  Of course, unlike Father Barron, Mr. Voris is not a theologian either.  But I am amazed how Father Barron or Father James Martin—the popular Jesuit author, speaker, and editor—and other voices who are such vital proponents of the new evangelization can trigger the crazies into an absolute rage.  For some people the Good News (Εναγγελιοη, news of a victory ) simply has to be turned into the bad news of condemnation.  As for me, I am with Fr. Barron.   I was never too sure of Michael Voris’s being on Catholic focus in the days of Benedict XVI—I am sure that in the days of Pope Francis Voris is marching to the tune of his own drummer.