Tempertures are running high among those who feel that Pope Francis' recent documents are robbing them of what they feel is an essential as Catholics and Christians - the traditional Latin mass. One might respond to this conviction by asking, 'Why would we want our Catholic (Catholic=universal) worship to be in a language that the vast majority of the world doesn't understand and no one speaks?' To fight for this and to feel that it is an essential part of a religion that expressly desires inculturation and unity seems almost perverse.
But this trend is not so strange when one observes how snugly it fits into a widespread cultural phenomenon in Western society - the taste for 'retro'. Steampunk is huge; pseudo-historical fantasy has gone global with Game of Thrones and Lord of the Rings. But the majority of those who follow the fashion of what can only be seen as Catholic Kitsch (or perhaps Katholic Kitsch) - what Anglican friends of mine call 'smells and bells' - are young enough - and some very young - not to have lived through the great changes that brought about the Second Vatican Council.
I, on the other hand, lived through the reforms of Vatican II. I was twelve when it began. From the time of the Counter Reformation in the sixteenth century, the Catholic Church had enclosed itself in an ivory tower. To some, of course, that appealed, but, of course, it certainly was not what Jesus had intended for his followers. The intention of Pope John XXIII - the truly great pope of the twentieth century (listen on Youtube to his 'moon speech' on the opening evening of the Council) was to throw open the windows of the Church. And the achievement of this - which was a two-way process, - made Vatican II not just a climactic event in the Catholic Church but also the world. Suddenly the Catholic Church which had seemded absurdly old-fashioned, even quaint, became a massive force for good, speaking a language - not only in the mass - but in the documents of the Council that the 'world' could understand.
I learned Latin at school and found it an extremely valuable tool in linguistics - whether in the case of English, Romance languages and many other languages. I love its weight, and its amazing concision and precision. As an aspiring altar boy, I started to learn the responses for the Latin mass when I was six, although I couldn't actually start serving on the altar until I was seven and had made my first communion. An older altar boy would come to our home and teach me the responses by heart. There was no suggestion that I should understand what they meant, all that was expected was that I could repeat them parrot-fashion. This was the ethos of the Latin mass in the fifties and early sixties. I was there and it's an illusion, in fact a case of historical negationism, to suggest otherwise or depict the pre-Council era as one of greater devotion. Many mass-goers, for instance, would say the rosary over and over again - or look through the holy pictures in their missals, or read from their prayer-books - while the mass proceeded on its merry way between the priest and the altar servers - all with their backs to the congregation. The congregation was separate from the celebration of the mass and from each other. Catholic edcuctaion and practice was also pervaded by much superstition, with angels and saints given more prominence than Jesus and the essential gospel message. At primary school we were told apocryphal stories, passed off as the truth, that priests were greater than angels. Absolute nonsense that had nothing to do with the gospel messag.
When, years later, I became fluent in Italian, I would run over the Latin responses (which I still knew - and know - by heart) and, for the first time, understand their beautiful significance. But mass in the vernacular is meaningful communal worship - for me, the ultimate connection between the faithful and the divine, both spiritually and physically.
I think that one of the big mistakes in the controversy over the Latin mass is that those who are so attached to it, fail to see that the attachment - like my own enduring love for church Latin and secular Latin - is purely, or mainly aesthetic. If you want a great aesthetic experience, why not stage Beethoven's Missa Solemnis or a Schubert mass every Sunday? In fact, the church - even before the Council - never gaver permission for concert masses to be celebrated liturgically. Could they be a spiritual experience? Of course. Listening to a Mahler symphony can be an overwhelming spiritual experience. Hearing Judy Garland sing It Never was You (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IQlwINqlHFE) by Kurt Weill is a spiritual experience, at least for some of us. But in communal worship, the aesthetics are a distraction from what really matters. Liturgical reform (which began long before the Second Vatican Council, particularly under Pius XII, not now thought of as an innovator) is about communal worship and making it as genuine and meaningful to all those participating - and therefore more sincere.
A very clear illustration of this confusion is the fact that one of the most prominent protesters against the move to the vernacular in the late 1960s was Leonard Bernsteion who so loved the Latin mass as the language of composers and glorious works of art such as those of Beethoven, Bach, Mozart and Verdi. His concern was purely aesthetic. He wasn't a Catholic although he may well have also been captivated by the externals of Catholicism, its symbolism and ritual. So his main concern certainly wasn't with how suitable the mass was as a form of worship for Catholics throughout the world. It's interesting, however, that when Bernstein was commissioned by Jackie Kennedy-Onassis to write his celebrated Mass in memeory of John Kennedy, it was extremely contemporary, mainly in English and close in style to one of his Broadway musicals, because his aim was communication.
One of the reasons the Gospels, the Acts of the Apostles and epistles are still so real (probably more so to those whose sensitivities have not been dulled by over-exposure to them in contexts such as school and church and who have made no attempt to appraise them afresh as adults) is their utter simplicity. Jesus was one of the world's greatest communicators. He spoke simply to simple people. He was also one of literature's great story-tellers, using the unique power of narrative to convey ideas (a power which will surely always remain one of the conerstones of being human). It's enough to think of the many works in the arts representing or inspired by one of the parables - the good Samaritan, the prodigal son. One of the most striking aspects of Jesus teachings is the incredible insight into the human condition that pervades them - the understanding of human motivation, both good and bad. I am often reminded of those very practical observations in my everyday life, observing how people behave. They still hold good.
This directness, this urge to communicate, can also be seen in the way the New Testament is written. C.S. Lewis pointed out - and it's important to remember that his main profession was as Professor of English Literature at Oxford and, later, Cambridge - that if the gospels are fakes, it's puzzling how four different people in the first century A.D. somehow acquired the skills of modern novel-wrting that were only to emerge in others almost 2,000 years later. What could be more simple and direct than the story of the Passion of Jesus? It blends with stark realism, a complex, but precise reflection of the politics of the times in Judea; a savage story of hatred aimed at a person who was marked by his poverty, tenderness, compassion and rejection of power; horrific physical and spirtual suffering culminaring in one of the most painful and humiliating forms of execution ever devised by mankind - but ultimately revealing a shattering spiritual strength, which, whether or not you are a believer, proved to be stronger than death.
The age-old heresy of Gnosticism, or Manicheeism, keeps on raising its head in Christianity, century after century - the concept that secret knowledge of hidden mysteries is more important than living the gospel message of love. This approach has its origins in pre-Christian practices such as the Eleusinian mysteries of ancient Greece, with its ceremonies which were kept so sceret that no record of them remains. I pointed this out 30 years ago in my book The Pope's Armada in which I exposed in some detail the gnostic practices of so-called 'new movements' in the Catholic Church. I was amazed to discover quite recently that this very subject has become one of Pope Francis' main concerns, referred to in many of his documents and speeches (https://popesarmada25.blogspot.com/2021/03/catholic-gnosticism-according-to-pope.html). Francis' warns that 'contemporary gnosticism' makes people feel that they are 'special', different - better than others. I fear that this is an element of clinging to the Latin mass - in a language no else understands, performing rituals no one can see. I think this sense of 'mystery' that people seem to find in the Latin mass is dangerous and can lead to completely missing the essence of what Christianity and the mass is about: love and communication in its most direct and simple form. The hatred and bitterness, even towards Pope Francis himself, that I find in the words of belligerent Latin-mass supporters - including bishops and Cardinals - certainly don't express that.
More than ever, the world, and not just Catholics, need the gospel's utterly simple, essential message of love which the vernacular mass, with all the practical difficuities it has had to surmount, is striving towards. This was the decision of the Second Vatican Council in its attempt to return to the simplicity of the gospel, the renewal that Pope John XXIII envisaged. Anything else is a detour to nowhere. Everything must start and finish, with the simplicity of the gospel and Jesus.
No comments:
Post a Comment