Usus Antiquior

Having just attended our first Traditional Latin Mass on Sunday at Holy Family Parish in Columbus, Ohio, I felt compelled to write a post on some initial reflections while the memories are still fresh in my mind. Perhaps the best place to start is with the comment of my three-year-old son. After the priest, deacon, sub deacon, and servers processed out of the Church, my boy leaned over to his mother and, with a smile from ear to ear, exclaimed confidently, “That was a great one!”

Despite popular belief, the Traditional Latin Mass, of course, is not a Latin translation of the Mass that we have been attending week in and week out (known as the Novus Ordo). In fact, the differences between the two forms of the rite (termed by His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI, the “ordinary” and “extraordinary” forms) extend well beyond the three hot-button issues, those being (1) the orientation of the priest, (2) the almost exclusive use of the Latin language, and (3) the singing of Gregorian Chant in the place of the banal music we hear in the typical parish setting. No, if there is one prominent reaction with which I left the Church this morning, it was, “This is not the same Mass.” In fact, when I mentioned this to a friend of mine, he asked, “What was so different?” to which I could only respond, “It would be easier to tell you what was the same.” Yes, there was the Kyrie, the Confiteor, the Sanctus, the Agnus Dei, and the Pater Noster, and certainly there was the Roman Canon which contained the words of consecration (though the Canon was said in silence). Therein lies the end of the similarities. However, instead of taking the reader through a tour of the 1962 Missal, I would like to make only a few observations regarding some specific differences and leave the rest to your own reading and (hopefully) experience. Above all, I would encourage those who have the extraordinary form available to them to take advantage of it. I assure you, at the very least, experiencing the old form of the rite will help you to pray the Novus Ordo more authentically.

One of the first obvious differences between the two rites is the number of readings. In the old form, there are only two, an Epistle (New Testament Reading) and a Gospel text. This in itself is nothing groundbreaking. What was quite different in actual experience is the fact that both readings were chanted in Latin. Thus, as a member of the congregation who is not fluent in Latin, I did not understand what was being sung. In fact, at times, the chanting was quiet enough that I image even a well-trained Latin speaker (or listener rather) would not be able to follow the text. I say this not as a criticism. In fact, I say it as quite the opposite. In the Novus Ordo we have come to see every action that takes place as taking place for us. The music is there for us. The prayers are being said for our benefit. And certainly the readings are there for our own understanding. In the extraordinary form, it is clear that the Sacred Texts are being read as a sort of theophany. They are being proclaimed, prayed, and treated as (dare I say it) Holy. The proclaiming of the Epistle and the Gospel are themselves a prayer directed towards God. They are not merely bits of wisdom to be imparted upon the faithful, but instead are the very Word of God being sung in the language of His Church. Understanding and internalizing Scripture is important, and this can be accomplished in the Homily or (unheard of) on one’s own time with one’s own Bible. However, before we can understand, before we can apply God’s Word to our lives, we must first internalize it for what it is: Holy, Sacred, authored by the Third Person of the Blessed Trinity. Otherwise, we risk reducing Sacred Scripture to one of many self help books available at the local book store. The extraordinary form, even in a single Mass, help me to re-realize the sacredness of the texts being sung. Having first instilled deep within in me the importance of such texts it then inspired me to want to understand what was being said and how it relates to my life.

The second difference is the Eucharistic Prayer. The prayer itself, including the consecration, was said in complete silence. The priest, facing the same direction as the people, offered the Sacred Victim to the Father. There was no temptation for performance; there was no ambiguity between the role of the priest and the role of the people. It was clear that the priest was there to lead the pilgrim people of God on their way to Christ by offering the sacrifice of Christ while standing in the person of Christ. Christ was at the center of everything. It was clear that this moment was not about a friendly meal, but was about participating in the one true sacrifice on Calvary. True, because of the silence, one had to intentionally engage oneself in the holy rituals being undertaken. It helped tremendously to hear the silence pierced by the sound of bells at those precious moments during the Canon indicating a deeper entrance into the sacrifice by both priest and people. The whole thing was far more dramatic than I was used to, and I mean that in a very positive way. It was clear that we were no inventing or creating, but that we were being drawn up into an ancient rite, and in a way were being given a taste of the very inner life of the Trinity.

Finally, I have a word on the language that is used. Without going through example after example, I can only say that the ornate Baroque language used throughout the Mass makes the current translation of the Novus Ordo seem like ... I cannot find a better phrase than this ... seem like “Sesame Street.” (I borrowed that phrase from a friend of mine.) In the amount of space I have here, allow me to mentioned just one example. When approaching the priest to receive communion in the Novus Ordo we are accustomed to hearing the familiar, “The Body of Christ.” The words in the extraordinary form came as a pleasant surprise. As I knelt down in a posture of total adoration and prepared to receive our Blessed Lord on my tongue, I expected to hear the Latin, “Corpus Christi,” that corresponds to the familiar English. Instead, the priest, in pure reverence for the mystery of the Eucharist, said, “Corpus Domini nostri Jesu Christi custodiat animam tuam in vitam aeternam. Amen.” Translated, “May the Body of our Lord Jesus Christ guard your soul unto eternal life. Amen.” This is just but one example of how the extraordinary form seeks to convey in its language the objective beauty of the sacred actions being played out.

Over all, I cannot say that I followed everything that was happening, but I can say that this in no way hampered my ability to pray the Mass. I cannot say that I understood the significance of every action and symbol, but I can say that I understood every action and symbol to be of great significance. I cannot say that there were not things that struck me as odd, or at least unfamiliar, but I can say, along with my three-year-old son, “That was a great one.”