Clericalism, Part Deux

I wrote a piece a few weeks back on the notion of women cardinals and the clericalism inherent in that desire. The essence of clericalism is the assumption that status and power determine one's worth in the Church, a far cry from Jesus' insistence that the meek will inherit the earth and the childlike will enter the kingdom of God. This attitude seems to be animating the call for female clergy or cardinals, and it is not a healthy one.

A few other examples of clericalism that I've encountered recently came to mind, and focus on matters liturgical.

Once while at our daily Mass, I noticed that one concelebrating priest, a visitor, was wearing a large ring which looked rather like a bishop's ring. The celebrant mentioned during the Mass that we were honored to have a bishop visiting us, and gestured to the man whose ring I had spotted. This confused me. According to the Church's liturgical rubrics (i.e. its rules and instructions for how Mass is to be celebrated), a bishop should not concelebrate at a Mass celebrated by a priest, but rather should sit "in choir" (i.e. dressed in simple liturgical robes, seated in a place of honor, and participating in the Mass much as a regular congregant would, but with certain differences), because the bishop is of a higher order than a priest--he (usually) heads a whole diocese, he ordains priests and bishops, he is a successor to the apostles. It would be like a CEO sitting in on a meeting run by a junior VP and acting like he's just another employee. When I asked an elder member of my community why this bishop didn't sit in choir, he smiled and said, "He's a bishop; he can do whatever he wants."

Another time, I attended a Mass being offered for a special intention (a justice issue of some sort, I think), and it was presided over by a visiting bishop. But rather than use the readings for the day, or some other readings from the lectionary, the bishop chose a few texts he thought fitting and had them read from a Bible. Now, the General Instruction of the Roman Missal does say, "In Masses with special groups, the priest is allowed to choose texts more suited to the particular celebration," but it adds the caveat "provided they are taken from the texts of an approved lectionary." It does not seem permitted to simply choose Scriptural texts you like and use them in the liturgy. When I asked someone about this, I was told, "He's a bishop; he can do whatever he wants."

Two aberrations from the Church's liturgy (granted, they are relatively minor) are given the same response: "He's a bishop; he can do whatever he wants." This, my friends, is clericalism. The liturgy belongs to the whole Church, and thus the competent authority has taken great care to set certain boundaries to liturgical practice (while allowing for a certain amount of freedom to adapt to particular situations) so that the liturgy is recognizable from place to place and thus easy for the faithful to participate in, and so that the words and actions of the liturgy accurately reflect the truths of the Catholic faith--every movement and positioning, every line spoken, communicates something of the faith. Yet a certain mindset, a clericalist mindset, would hold that because a bishop or priest is in a position of authority, they may do what they please, and alter the liturgy as they see fit. Might makes right. But no! The Second Vatican Council says,

Regulation of the sacred liturgy depends solely on the authority of the Church, that is, on the Apostolic See and, as laws may determine, on the bishop. In virtue of power conceded by the law, the regulation of the liturgy within certain defined limits belongs also to various kinds of competent territorial bodies of bishops legitimately established. Therefore no other person, even if he be a priest, may add, remove, or change anything in the liturgy on his own authority. (Sacrosanctum Concilium 22) 

Nor can any individual bishop, as the Code of Canon Law says, "no one on personal authority may add, remove or change anything in them." (CIC 846) 

Bishops just as much as anyone else are beholden to the Church's laws, traditions, and beliefs. Their place in the Church as successors to the apostles is to pass on the Good News of salvation, to teach the teaching of Christ, to care for the flock entrusted to them, to sanctify them by the sacraments; and all of this in continuity with the Church's tradition, its long memory, its ever-ancient and ever-new faith. But some, the clericalists, take it that the bishop decides by his own whim what is true and what is not; that he commands and rules his people according to his caprice rather than tending them for their own good; that the sacraments may be molded and adjusted and overhauled according to their tastes. This is false. Power is not for the exercise of one's will or desires; power is for furthering the flourishing of one's self or those in one's care. Not even the pope is a truly absolute monarch in the Church, for he, too, is answerable to revelation, tradition, and to God. He is the servus servorum Dei, the "servant of the servants of God." As is every cleric. 

What We Forget at Funerals

"Uncle Harry has gone home to the Lord. He's gone on to his eternal destiny."

When we've lost a loved one, we use such phrases to comfort ourselves. While they are right in expressing the Christian hope that death does not have the final word, each of them is missing a key piece of our belief about what happens after we die.

"Uncle Harry has gone home to the Lord."

This says that Uncle Harry is now in heaven. I don't want to be a Negative or Nitpicky Nicky here, but we don't know the fate of any person when they die. None of us can know whether Uncle Harry died in a state of grace, in the friendship of God, with no unconfessed mortal sin; and even if he did, he may well have to spend some time in purgatory, excising those last bits of attachment to sin and making his soul all-holy before approaching the throne of God. There are two potential dangers, then, inherent in this phrase:

1. We fall into an implicit universalism where we assume that everyone will be saved, or at least a near-universalism where we assume everyone will be saved as long as they're basically good and didn't kill anybody or anything. 
2. By assuming they go to heaven right away, we neglect our absolutely essential duty to pray for the souls of the faithful departed, that we might aid their sanctification and help them get from the waiting room of purgatory into their heavenly home. (My girlfriend's family include's a prayer for the dead whenever they pray before meals, which I think is beautiful and practical--then you're sure to pray for the dead three times a day!)

"He's gone on to his eternal destiny."

From hearing this and other similar phrases, you get the sense that our "eternal destiny," our final end, is to spend eternity as a disembodied soul; your ol' body lies a-moldering in the grave, but your soul goes marching on, as though your body were a spacesuit being used temporarily to let your soul function in this alien environment, ultimately separate from you and disposable. But your body is not an accidental attachment to you; it is you. The human person is a composite of soul and body; each is incomplete without the other. You are an embodied soul, an ensouled body. As such, your eternal destiny must also include your body, and that is precisely what we believe as Christians. It's right there in the Creed: "I look forward to the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come." At the end of time, there will be a new heavens and a new earth, and we will have glorified bodies, like Jesus' resurrected body (this is why St. Paul calls Jesus "the firstfruits of the resurrection"), to live with God in this renewed state for all eternity; this is what the Anglican theologian N.T. Wright calls "life after life after death." Spirit and flesh no longer striving against each other, but joined in harmony and integrity, forever enjoying the beatific vision of God Himself, sharing in His very life. That is our eternal destiny.

Don't forget it!

Church Chat: Liturgical Edition

It seems that many Catholics are unfamiliar with the names of the various items used or worn in the liturgy. It’s quite understandable: you may see these things on a weekly basis, but you don’t necessarily hear them referenced or addressed. I thought I’d share a few of these with you.

(Unlike previous versions of “Church Chat,” I won’t be giving the roots of these words.)

For Mass, the priest is vested with several pieces of liturgical accoutrement: sometimes a priest will wear a garment called an amice, which covers the shoulders and ties around the torso, so that his regular clothes are not visible; the long-sleeved white garment which reaches from neck to ankles is the alb; if the alb is loose-fitting, it is bound by a cord around the waist called the cincture; the long neckband which reaches the shins or ankles (depending on the height of the priest) is the stole; the over-garment, the one you really see, is the chasuble. 

When leading another sort of liturgy other than Mass, the priest might wear a long black robe called a cassock, with a white over-garment reaching the waist or knees called a surplice, as well as the aforementioned stole. For some events he may wear a cape, confusingly called a cope (really, we change one vowel?).

A deacon, in addition to the aforementioned alb, has a stole of a different style, which sits on one shoulder and is draped across the torso, being fastened at the waist. He may also wear a dalmatic, which looks somewhat like a chasuble, except that it has sleeves.

A bishop, in addition to the usual priestly vestments, has a few other noticeable items: the staff he carries, meant to resemble a shepherd’s crook, is called a crozier. The tall hat with the tassels in the back is called a miter. The smaller, yarmulke-looking item that covers the top of the head is called a zucchetto. An archbishop will wear a band which encircles his neck and has a short protrusion at opposite ends; this is the pallium.

Several items are used in offering the sacrifice of the Mass. The cup which holds the Precious Blood is a chalice. The small, shallow plate which holds the hosts is the paten. Other hosts are held in a bowl-like or chalice-like container called a ciborium. On the altar one will find a corporal, a small white cloth on which the chalice and paten are set. The water and wine used for the consecration are held in small (usually glass) containers called cruets. 

Hope this helps!

The Pope We Need

On Tuesday of this week, the 115 cardinal-electors will begin the process of fulfilling their most sacred office: the election of the bishop of Rome, the Supreme Pontiff, the Holy Father; that is, the Pope. The princes of the Church will pray and reflect and deliberate about which among them would best fit the Shoes of the Fisherman for this time in the life of the Church. What will they be looking for?

Were you to listen to the voices of the professional public speculators, they will tell you (based on little more information than you or I have) that the cardinals will seek to find a figure from the Third World to symbolize the Church's burgeoning population there; or that they will determine which of the Italians is most palatable, so as to return the See of Rome to the hands of a native son; or that they will desire an "ideological moderate" who can bridge the gap between the fractious and contentious camps that divide the Church. (I'm more inclined to think that the divisions in the Church are less about "conservatives vs. liberals," or "conviction Catholics vs. cafeteria Catholics," but rather "the passionate vs. the apathetic." That's a subject for another time.)

Whether this is the case, I couldn't tell you. Some news reports from fairly reliable sources indicate that many of the cardinals' top priorities include cleaning up the Vatican bureaucracy, being able to engage the secular world, and being a good exemplar of strength of character and personal holiness. These are all certainly desirable traits, and I think they relate to a larger theological vision of the pope we need.

Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who taught us the truth, died for our sins, rose from the dead, and brought life to the world, is the Messiah promised by God to His people Israel. The Messiah was to unite in himself the three most important duties of Israel: priest, prophet, and king. He was to offer sacrifice for the propitiation of sin, to announce God's word to humanity, and to rule over it in justice. Not only that, He Himself is the sacrifice offered, the Word that is preached, the Justice that is rendered.

Christ established a Church to carry out the continuation of this mission. He established his Twelve Apostles as the cornerstones of His Church ("as the Father has sent me, so I send you"), and St. Peter as their head, the Rock ("upon this Rock I will build my Church"). He ordained that they (and Peter especially) should be the heads of His people, teaching them true doctrine, governing them in harmony and justice, sanctifying them through the sacraments. The Apostles were to carry on these messianic offices for God's people. The Apostles, in turn, appointed the bishops and priests who would follow them, and instructed them to do likewise. So the bishops, and most especially the bishop of Rome, the successor of St. Peter, from then to do today have carried on fulfilling the prophetic, kingly, and priestly roles of teaching, governing, and sanctifying, participating in the one prophetic spirit, the one priesthood, the one kingship of Christ.

The pope we need is the man who will best teach, govern, and sanctify the Church. The pope we need will spread the Good News of salvation in Jesus Christ with passion and joy, teaching the truth with clarity and charity. The pope we need will rule the universal Church with justice, redressing wrongs and protecting rights, maintaining ordered harmony within the Body of Christ. The pope we need will be a model of holiness and devotion, fostering frequent reception of the sacraments and reverent celebration of their rites, bringing people to the fountain of God's grace and helping them to be properly disposed to their worthy reception.

Cleaning up the Curia would be a good act of governance. Encouraging the New Evangelization would be a good act of prophecy. Being an exemplar of holiness would be a good act of priestliness. Would it be nice if the man elected were from a Third World country? Sure, but only provided first, as with any potential candidate, that he fit the above description. I don't know which of the men entering the Sistine Chapel on Tuesday would best fulfill this role. I only pray that the Holy Spirit guide them into choosing him.

The Right Tool for the Right Job

Picture a scene: a wooded glade on a warm spring day. Birds are chirping. Bunny rabbits are darting into the thicket. A family is there, having a picnic, Pop and his son playing a good ol' game of catch. The mood is cheerful, contented, and happy. And overlaid is this sound:

That doesn't quite fit, does it? Hearing that, you'd expect the Luftwaffe to fly over and starting bombing the place, or something equally unpleasant to happen. If it didn't, the scene wouldn't make sense.

***

Picture another scene: a dungeon, dark and dank. Prisoners in rags, unwashed, unshaved. A storm rages outside, complete with thunder and lightning. The mood is depressed, hopeless, and despairing. And overlaid is this sound:

That doesn't quite fit, does it? Hearing that, you'd expect the storm to break, and the sunlight to penetrate the barred window of the prison, and the jailer to enter and announce that all the prisoners have been pardoned. If it didn't, something would seem... wrong.

***

I use these examples to illustrate a truth of which we're all aware: certain types of music fit certain moods and situations. I don't know enough about musicology, psychology, or physiology to explain why this is, but I trust you all can recognize it as a bare fact and can accept it as such. We can recognize pieces as "sad," "happy," even "sassy" or "demented." TV and movie producers make use of this to accentuate their visual products with the appropriate sounds. A romantic scene will have music in a major key, slower, sweeping; if it's supposed to be a bittersweet love scene, it might move into a minor key, but still light in tone. A death scene will probably be in a minor key, perhaps moving a little faster, a little heavier in tone. In the two examples given at the top, the scenes described would be much better illustrated by swapping pieces. As they are now, the music doesn't fit the situation.

George Harrison once wrote that music adds another dimension to the words of a song. It's important, then, that it adds the right sort of dimension so that we don't lose the initial shape or texture of what we had at first. If it adds the wrong dimension, it's like trying to taking a two-dimensional square and add a third dimension to turn it into a sphere--you lose the original "squareness."

***

Picture one more scene: the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass is taking place. The priest is leading the faithful to the Throne of Mercy and presenting the Father with the Sacrifice of Our Lord, that we may receive forgiveness for our sins, and that we may be renewed in our spiritual life by being fed with the true nourishment of the Body and Blood of Christ. Time and space are compressed, and we are brought to Calvary 2,000 years ago, and to the Heavenly Jerusalem at the end of days, all at the same time. This is an event of glory, splendor, solemnity, and reverence. So, I ask you, does this sound match?

Does this sound say "glory and splendor"?

Does this sound say "solemnity and reverence"?

The songs may or may not be aesthetically pleasing considered in themselves-- a debatable point, but not the one at hand. The words may (or may not) be loosely based on Scripture--also not the point at the moment. Just consider the event they are supposed to illustrate. Consider the moment they are to adorn. They don't match. The music doesn't fit the mood. Playing a song that sounds like it's from a Broadway musical during the Mass is like decorating your house with Christmas lights for the 4th of July.

The people who composed this music, and the people who play it at parishes, may very well be devout and holy servants who are simply trying to praise God with their musical abilities. I don't question their motives or their intentions. I do think their sensibilities are off. If this is what they think would properly illustrate the Mass, I have to wonder if they have a proper conception of what the Mass really is all about. If that's the case, I attribute no malice to them; most likely they've simply been ill-formed.

Music of this sort affects the Mass such that it makes it harder to perceive the Mass for what it is. Music that sounds like pop music makes the Mass feel like a form of entertainment instead of worship. Music that sounds banal makes the Mass seem commonplace, yawn-inducing. Music that's saccharine is giving our ears cotton candy instead of the real sonic sustenance that will nourish them.

I think a lot of people agree with these sentiments, consciously or unconsciously, and are voting with their voices, or rather protesting with their silence: they don't sing.

Attention music directors: there are loads and loads of hymns out there with uplifting words and beautiful music befitting the Sacred Liturgy. Please use them. Please play them. You might just find folks will sing along.

The Week in Review: Masses and Movies

Last week my friend Tony and I attended Mass at the church of St. Dominic in San Francisco. It looks a little out of place in the middle of San Francisco with its neo-Gothic architecture, but it is so beautiful compared to its surroundings that it might be better to say that St. Dominic's makes the other buildings look out of place--"What are you even doing here, O pedestrian product of 1970's fashions?" The inside is filled with the stained glass, statues, and other ornate intricacies one would expect of a church of this sort. As an added bonus, the music for that Mass (Epiphany Sunday) was from the Ceremony of Carols by the 20th century British composer Benjamin Britten. (The choir director at the church is himself a Brit.) A very English feel to the compositions, which is a good thing in my book, as I love the English choral tradition. The sights and sounds lent a serenity and a solemnity to the Mass, just as the aesthetic dimensions of the liturgy ought.

Mass was followed by lunch at an Italian sandwich shop in the City called Giordano's. The place is famed for its "all in one" sandwiches: for example, we each got a kielbasa and capacola sandwich with coleslaw, french fries, and a fried egg all between the two slices of bread. It was massive and delicious and will probably cut three months off of my lifespan.

We also stopped by the shrine of St. Francis in the city that bears his name. The shrine includes an exact replica of the Portiuncula church which Francis restored in the town of Assisi 900 years ago. The replica is even constructed of stones brought back from Assisi!

Alas, the next day was a sad day as my beloved Fighting Irish had the tar knocked out of them by the dynastic Crimson Tide of Alabama. Next year, Irish... next year. Good season, boys.

Apart from working, seeing as how there were few folks around since it's still early in the winter break (classes don't start again until February 4), I took the opportunity to see a few movies I'd wanted to see for a while, including:

Gone with the Wind - One of the greatest movies ever made and the all-time box office champ when numbers are adjusted for inflation. Every major element of a movie is done exceedingly well in this one. Good story? Check. Good acting? Check. Good scenery and cinematography? Check. Good character development? Check. Good dialogue? Check. Featuring a total dish like Vivien Leigh? Check. I can see what all the hubbub is about.

The Searchers - Widely regarded as the best western ever made, it tells the story of a man (John Wayne) who spends years searching for his niece who has been kidnapped by Comanches. It's simultaneously gritty and funny and has a romantic subplot that works well where similar attempts in other movies feel forced or flat.

Lincoln - Yes, I do see new movies on occasion, too. I'd been waiting for this one for a while, and it didn't disappoint. It addresses the greatest crisis in our nation's history and does it justice, historically and dramatically. Daniel Day-Lewis is a lock to win Best Actor for capturing our greatest president so well: Lincoln the lawyer, Lincoln the story-teller, Lincoln the devoted father, Lincoln the crusader, Lincoln the compromiser. If you haven't seen it, DO SO.

Church Chat II

The first edition of "Church Chat," in which I explained the meanings and etymologies of a number of Church-related words, was by far the most read post I've made on this site. Given its popularity, I thought it worthwhile to bring you another round of ecclesiastical vocabulary.

Confirmation -- from Latin confirmare, "to strengthen." In the Sacrament of Confirmation, we are strengthened in the gift of the Holy Spirit which we received at our Baptism. In the ancient world, oil was used to aid in healing injuries (as we still use ointments today for the same purpose); that is, it was used to make a sick person stronger. Sin is a sickness of the soul, and the anointing of this sacrament (as well as the Anointing of the Sick) acts as a sort of booster shot to fortify our our spiritual immune system. (This is not an exhaustive explanation of this sacrament, but it does describe an aspect of it.)

Grace -- from the Latin gratia, which, apart from itself meaning grace, means "favor, thanks, goodwill." The grace of God is not something I can adequately explain in a paragraph, but suffice it to say: it is God's sharing of His own life with us. It is His free gift to us, unearned and undeserved, a demonstration of His favor and goodwill. Here would need to follow a whole treatise on the distinction between earning and meriting, on how God's gracious action in us does not take away our freedom but rather grants freedom to us, and a host of other issues, but you might be better served by reading the section in the Catechism on grace. Say, that's a good one...

Catechism -- from the Greek katechesis, meaning "oral instruction," more literally "to sound down (into the ears)." Perhaps it's something of an oddity to use a word meaning "oral instruction" for a written text, but remember that the purpose of a catechetical text is use in teaching. This is much more evident in the format of past versions such as the Baltimore Catechism with its question-and-answer format. Catechisms are used in catechesis to hand on the faith. Say, that reminds me....

Tradition -- from the Latin tradere, "to hand over." Tradition, then, is that which is handed on, often used in a generational context: one generation bequeaths something to another. This word is used to describe the way in which the Christian faith is transmitted to succeeding generations, through teaching, example, and religious practice (especially the liturgy), and written works such as Scripture. (It seems to me that instead of drawing this divide between Scripture and Tradition, it would be more accurate to describe Scripture as part of and a product of the Tradition.) Note: The Latin word's flexibility allows it to mean both handing something on, like an heirloom, or handing someone over, as in betrayal. (If you look at the Latin text of the Mass, you'll see in the Eucharistic Prayers that when it says "on the night [Jesus] was betrayed" the Latin word is tradebatur, "he was handed over/betrayed.")

Reconciliation -- (I've mentioned this one in a previous post, but it's good enough to include again.) from Latin re-, "again," con-, "with," and cilia, "eyelash." To be reconciled, then, is to literally be eyelash to eyelash with someone once again. It is regaining a closeness you once had. And you can't be much closer to someone than having your eyelashes entangled. Think of a parent and child with their foreheads pressed together, or a couple kissing. That kind of intimate closeness. That's what reconciliation is about.

Saint -- from Latin sanctus, "holy." Like many Latin adjectives, sanctus is a verb form, the perfect passive participle. That fancy term means it's a word expressing an action that happened to a subject in the past, the effect of which continues into the present; in this case, sanctus is "one who has been made holy (and is still holy)." The saints are those who have received God's sanctifying grace and have cooperated with it and been made holy.

Liturgy -- from the Greek laos, "people," and ergon, "work." Liturgy is "the work of the people," or "a public service." Public services are done to satisfy obligations either owed to the people or required to be done by the people. We are obliged to worship God. But the obligation to worship God is not arbitrary or external, but necessary or internal. We need to worship God like we need to eat, or breath, or be with our loved ones. Too often, though, we substitute the good food of God for the junk food of lesser goods or goods twisted into evils (whether it be sleeping in rather than getting up and going to Mass, or seeking God's love through others via lust instead of self-giving love). We choose what might taste good for a moment, but will make us less healthy spiritually in the long run. This does give us what we need. The Mass, the Sacred Liturgy, is the pre-eminent place in which we get what we most need, for there we receive the true food, the Bread of Life and the Chalice of Salvation, the Body and Blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ. For unless we eat His flesh and drink His blood, we have no life within us.

The Hidden Prayers of the Mass

Some of my favorite prayers of the Mass are the ones you don’t usually hear. Throughout the Mass, there are many prayers that the priest says inaudibly. Why is this, you might ask? Why should the priest pray prayers in the midst of a communal, public liturgy that no one else can hear? Couldn’t the people whom he’s leading in worship benefit from hearing those prayers? Quite possibly. I know that I have been given ample fodder for reflection on this prayer, as one example, said during the preparation rite:

“By the mystery of this water and wine, may we come to share in the divinity of Christ, who humbled himself to share in our humanity."

Here in this one sentence we’ve managed to pack in references to the Incarnation, the dual natures of Christ, transubstantiation, and apotheosis. That’s theological density equivalent to a neutron star. That’s a family fun-pack of divine truths in one convenient carrying case. It’s beautiful and profound (unlike my previous two sentences).

And you’ve probably heard it before. Many a priest will say out loud some or all of these prayers which the priest, according to the rubrics, is meant to say in audibly. Why do they do this? And why does the instruction say to pray the prayers inaudibly in the first place? I think both have to do with liturgical orientation. By that, I mean the direction toward which one is aimed during the liturgy. I mean essentially one’s interior disposition, though it can be expressed outwardly and physically (that’s the nature of sacramental worship—visible signs of invisible realities). One could put it as simply as, “What are you focused on during the Mass?”

A concrete and obvious example: in the Extraordinary Form of the Mass in the Latin Rite, the priest faces in the same direction as the congregation, while in the Ordinary Form, the priest faces the congregation themselves. The relationship between priest and people in these two orientations has a different look to it, and seems to send different messages. One could assign both a negative and a positive meaning to each. With ad orientem worship, one could call it (as people often do) “the priest with his back to the people,” as though he is scorning the lowly non-ordained plebs while he does the real work of worship; or one could call it “facing east,” as the great Advent hymn invites us to do, evoking the patristic notions of worshiping the Lord by facing the direction from which it was thought He would come again, with priest and people together looking at the rising sun as a sign of the Risen Son. With versus populum worship, one could see it as an unhealthy enclosure, the Christian community turning in on itself with the result that they see only themselves, singing, “We are called, we are chosen,” and forgetting who chose them or what they were called for; or one could see it as the appointed shepherd calling out to his flock, inviting them back to their home in the sheepfold—and one doesn’t call out to someone by facing away from them. These different views have the capacity to convey either a beautiful Christian truth or an ugly distortion of it. It’s possible within those two liturgical postures to develop one of the orientations described above: either self-exaltation standing on the backs of the peasants, or being the guide leading his people home; either the self-worshipping community, or the father addressing his spiritual children.

And notice similarities between the two positive and the two negative views: each of the positive views envision the priest doing a service for the people in the quest to commune with God, while each of the negative views envision priest and people losing sight of God and becoming self-obsessed. Whether the priest and people are facing one another or facing liturgical east, they must be focused on God; wherever the eyes of their heads are looking, the eyes of their hearts must be searching to behold the Lord.

So, back to the original question: why does the priest say some prayers inaudibly? Because they are intended to help him focus. These prayers serve as markers which can help the priest to maintain the proper liturgical orientation and stay on course. (Yes, priests’ minds can wander during Mass, too.) When the priest addresses a prayer to God quietly, instead of addressing a prayer to God out loud, the temptation to “play to the crowd,” to become focused on the congregation such that one loses sight of God, is thwarted. Now, obviously, the priest should be focused on the congregation to some degree, since it his duty to lead them in worship during the liturgy. But the relationship at the center of the Mass is not that of the priest with the people, but between the priest and people together with God.

Enough prelude, then. What are some of these “hidden prayers” of the Mass?

When the deacon reads the Gospel at Mass, you may notice that he bows before the priest and receives a blessing before going to the ambo. The priest blesses him, saying:

May the Lord be in your heart and on your lips,
that you may proclaim his Gospel worthily and well,
in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.

When the priest reads the Gospel, he bows before the altar on his way to the ambo and prays:

Cleanse my heart and my lips, almighty God,
that I may worthily proclaim your holy Gospel.

After reading the Gospel, he kisses the book and says:

Through the words of the Gospel
may our sins be wiped away.

After the Offertory prayers (the two that begin “Blessed are you, Lord God of all creation”), the priest bows to the altar and prays:

With humble spirit and contrite heart
may we be accepted by you, O Lord,
and may our sacrifice in your sight this day
be pleasing to you, Lord God.

When he washes his hands, he prays:

Wash me, O Lord, from my iniquity
and cleanse me from my sin.

Just before the Agnus Dei, when the priest breaks a small piece from the host and puts it into the chalice, he prays:

May this mingling of the Body and Blood
of our Lord Jesus Christ
bring eternal life to us who receive it.

Just before saying “Behold the Lamb of God,” the priest prays one of these two prayers:

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God,
who, by the will of the Father
and the work of the Holy Spirit,
through your Death gave life to the world,
free me by this, your most holy Body and Blood,
from all my sins and from every evil;
keep me always faithful to your commandments,
and never let me be parted from you.

Or:

May the receiving of your Body and Blood,
Lord Jesus Christ,
not bring me to judgment and condemnation,
but through your loving mercy
be for me protection in mind and body
and a healing remedy.

Before he receives Communion, the priest prays:

May the Body of Christ
keep me safe for eternal life.

And:

May the Blood of Christ
keep me safe for eternal life.

While purifying the vessels after Communion, the priest prays:

What has passed our lips as food, O Lord,
may we possess in purity of heart,
that what has been given to us in time
may be our healing for eternity.

I’ve given you these one after another, without comment from me, so that the texts could speak for themselves, and so you’d get a sense of the overall feel of them. These prayers, as with all the prayers of the Mass, are signals and reminders to us that when we are at Mass, we’re not at the meeting of a social club, or a show at a theatre: we are, all of us, participating in the presentation of Christ’s sacrifice to the Father for the forgiveness and healing of our sins, communing with God through the reception of His Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity, receiving a taste of heaven. It can be hard to keep that in mind, for any of the billions of reasons that we get distracted in anything that we do. So let the prayers of the Mass keep you focused on what is at hand. Pay attention to what is being said and what you are saying. There are profound and beautiful truths there, if only we have the mental presence to realize it.

The Week in Review: Mass and Class

This last Thursday I experienced my first Dominican Rite Mass. “What’s a Dominican Rite Mass?” you ask. A little background may be helpful here.

For much of the Church’s history, there were all sorts of officially approved forms of the Mass, called “rites”: rites for different regions, different religious orders, different languages. In the late sixteenth century, at the Council of Trent, the Church decided to try to standardize the form of the Mass for the entire Latin-speaking part of the Church. (When you hear the “old Latin Mass” or what we now call the “extraordinary form” referred to as the “Tridentine Mass,” it’s because it came out of the Council of Trent. Tridentine, Trent… get it?) But the Church allowed some groups to retain their own rites if they were old enough, and the Dominicans were one of them.

The Dominican Rite is very similar to the Tridentine Mass. Well, I’m sure that people more expert than myself on things liturgical would be able to point out all sorts of little differences, but I think I’m safe in saying that it’s much more similar to the Tridentine Mass than to our current form of Mass (often referred to as the “novus ordo” or “new order” of Mass). But here are some of the basic features that might stand out to someone:

--The priest and the congregation face the same direction for most of the Mass. Some folks will refer to this as “the priest with his back to the people,” but that gives the impression he’s snubbing the congregation. One should think of it as the priest leading the people in prayer, and when you’re leading someone, you’re facing the same direction as them. You might argue “A tour guide faces people when leading them,” but a priest is not a tour guide; he’s a trail guide, leading the people to heaven.

--Most of the Mass is in Latin, and much of it is said quietly by the priest. Some people might respond to that by saying, “Well, what’s the point? I don’t speak Latin, how am I supposed to understand him? And even if he were speaking English, he’s whispering for much of it.” This may sound like a rude response, but I say it to make a point: Why do you need to understand him or hear him? He’s not talking to you. Yes, he’s praying to God for us and on our behalf, so it would be nice to understand what he’s saying, which is why hand missals with the translation of the Mass texts are provided. But Latin is a beautiful-sounding language, and that combined with the soft-spoken tone of the Mass produce a very peaceful effect upon the hearer.

--The Mass ends with the reading of the prologue of the Gospel of St. John. (“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…” or in Latin, In principio erat Verbum, et erat Verbum apud Deum, et Verbum erat Deum.)

An added bonus was that the Mass was celebrated by Fr. Anselm Ramelow, OP, one of the professors at DSPT. Fr. Anselm is from Germany, and let me tell you, if you’ve never heard Latin spoken in a German accent, you’re missing out on a fascinating aural experience.

Anyway, it’s a beautiful way to pray. For those who are interested, you can find a series of YouTube videos detailing and explaining the Dominican Rite Mass beginning here.

Interesting things from classes this last week…

History of Ancient Philosophy: Fr. Eugene stated that Socrates was credited by Aristotle with being the inventor of inductive reasoning. He then gave what I thought was a great explanation of inductive reasoning: Let’s say I have a box on the desk here containing every flea in the world. How many legs does a flea have? How do I find out? Well, I pick up one, let’s see… one, two, three, four, five, six: this one has six… I pick up another… one, two, three, four, five, six: this one has six, too.... Eventually, I find enough fleas with six legs that I can be reasonably certain that it is usually true for all fleas that they have six legs. That’s the inductive method: reasoning from a set of particular instances toward a general conclusion about them. The assumption that sufficiently large sample sizes can give you a high degree of certainty about something is the basis for the scientific method. Be sure to thank Socrates some time for it.

Philosophy of Nature: We’re starting to read about and discuss Aristotle’s theories of change. I think I’m going to hold off for a bit until I have a better grasp on the material before I try to present it here. But it’s fascinating stuff.

Intro to New Testament: There’s a lot that we miss by not knowing the languages in which the biblical texts were originally composed. As one example, in the Book of Genesis it says that Adam and Eve were given clothes made of skins after their fall from grace. It makes you wonder, “What were they clothed in before that?” One answer could be, “Well, nothing, duh,” but another is given by looking at the Hebrew text. If you flip one letter in the Hebrew word for “skin,” you get the Hebrew word for “light.” Adam and Eve were clothed in light: they shone with the glory of God before their fall. Makes you think a little more about the consequences of sin, eh? These sorts of plays on words apparently are quite common in the Bible, if only you know how to look for them.

Aristotelian Logic: Last week we were discussing how words can be used univocally, equivocally, or analogously. To use a word “univocally” in regard to two different things means we mean that word in the same way for both things; so, if I saw of both Nolan Ryan and Greg Maddux “they are pitchers,” I’m using the word “pitcher” univocally. But if I say of both Nolan Ryan and the jug holding water “They are pitchers,” I’m using the word “pitcher” equivocally; the same word is being used to mean different things. There’s a middle way between these two, however. If I refer to both a stone in my garden and St. Peter as a “rock,” I don’t mean it exactly the same way for each, but there is some link between the way I’m using the word in each case; I’m trying to relate some quality in the rock to some quality in St. Peter. This is a case of using a word analogously. If you pay attention, you’ll notice that an awful lot of the problems people have when communicating with each other comes from equivocal or misunderstood analogous usages of words: people using the same word to mean two different things, or someone trying to use a word analogously without the other party grasping it. Keep a look out for these things and see what you find.