The lovely old mass
Well I've been away for a while chaps. But I am prompted to write on an important issue that's close to my cold English heart:
I have recently returned from a splendid holiday in Greece, a now almost un-broken run (apart from a misguided hiatus in Lefkas) has taken me to the same little corner of Crete for the last six years. It is relaxing, it is exceptionally quiet, there is no underground railway. It is also deliciously unusual amongst many holiday destinations in having a close, pleasant, and – if painfully un-airconditioned – inviting Catholic Church. At last Sundays on holiday go by guilt free. “You’re excused if you’re travelling, aren’t you?” no longer has to ring out for all (especially the spirits of long deceased grandparents and aunts) to hear. The sumptuous post-worship breakfast still provokes a tinge of guilt for entirely different reasons, however every Sunday is a feast in honour of our Lord’s resurrection, so that’s fine.
There is something uniquely comforting about going to Mass on holiday. Whilst no-one wants to go home early, the disruption of routine is unsettling, and causes its own merry form of tension. Going to Mass provides a return to sanity, a familiar environment, with enough differences in exact décor, layout and style of delivery to keep it exotic. That is why for the five years prior to this I have relished participating in parts of the Mass in Latin on these sun-baked religious excursions. I swell with a certain pride when looking around I see Poles, Germans, French, English, Japanese (they really do get everywhere don’t they) belting out these parts of the mass with Ethel Merman-esque abandon. I am filled with a sense of grace and thanksgiving that almost everywhere on the planet someone is joining in these prayers. The differing nationalities, and disparate backgrounds of the congregation are united by a unifying liturgical force and singularity of purpose. Well, almost everyone is, but I notice the English kids have difficulty with the Latin, it’s unfamiliar, taboo even, pushed under the carpet. The Polish and Japanese children are singing happily away, joined with their brothers and sisters in Christ. The English look sullen, bored and sun-burnt, except one child, oh no, he’s American, you can tell – the parents both have exceptionally good teeth.
In England we have almost entirely abandoned this part of our heritage as Catholics, certainly in the diocese of Arundel and Brighton where I grew up. Admitting a fondness for any part of the Mass in Latin is considered by many parish communities in this country as being right up there with adultery, murder and wearing white socks in any possible list of heinous crimes. It seems ridiculous in asocial climate that adores Genealogical research, restoring old buildings and slapping preservation orders on fallow fields. We like old things in general but won’t hear of embracing our religious heritage. Now, I luckily didn’t have to live through the 60s. Considering how addicted I’ve become to pistachio nuts over the last week I doubt I’d have survived. I didn’t witness the huge change of suddenly hearing the mass in the vernacular nor did I spend my childhood “bored stiff and not understanding a damn thing”. However I don’t quite get the vilification of the old rite, and of Latin in general (because after all saying the novus ordo in Latin used to be an attempt to get as close to the old rite as possible without the Bishop noticing). The same people that turn purple with rage over what is a very simple issue of language wouldn’t dream of attending a performance of Carmen by the ENO, because, “English is such a harsh language to sing in, and why make a fiery Gypsy girl sound as if she’s from Derby?!” Similarly those same people adore Mozart in theatres but abhor it in churches. Imitation pop is favoured instead, Abba Father indeed.
It strikes me that people simply can’t be bothered with Latin anymore, despite its beauty and intrigue. I personally prefer Mass in Latin, the difference of language keeps me on my toes, and it becomes far harder to shift into auto-pilot. As my Latin improves that's becoming slightly less of an issue so I may have to switch to French soon and by 2020 I’ll be desperately seeking out Mass in Egyptian but that's by-the-by. In addition to this heightened sense of awareness, it also means that when you travel abroad everyone can be ‘singing from the same hymn sheet’. It provides a powerful sense of belonging. It’s very sad that this experience is largely impossible for little English twerps who simply haven’t encountered the Latin. What’s more the English translations of the Latin in the book don’t help much either, because there isn’t even a united voice in English liturgy. Instead there are nigh on 8 million English approximations of the Agnus Dei. Man's artifice manages to translate three simple lines of Latin into quite literally God knows how many verses of saccharine tripe - I think the Sunday before last I heard them sing “Jesus socks and shoes, Jesus peace of cheese”, but I may have been mistaken. It seems worryingly paradoxical to think that something which promotes such unity in a Greek holiday town can create such discord on home turf. It is equally upsetting that the experiences of our religious forefathers have been swept away. It’s the equivalent of finding Granny's best dinner service and saying “oh smash it, it’s outdated”, whereas it could benefit everyone if you dusted it off and took it along to Antiques Roadshow.
This is why it upset me greatly this year upon returning to my holiday haunt for a slice of spiritual normality to find that they’d elected to remove the Latin. Mass was in Greek, the opening and closing numbers were in English, and a communion hymn to Our Lady was sung in Polish, at least I think it was Polish, there were lots of ‘z’s’. The joyful unity I had witnessed in previous years had been replaced by a veritable tower of Babel. Oh everyone managed the sign of the cross and, those paying attention, or with a small knowledge of Greek managed the odd ‘Amen’ in the right place. People enjoyed having their own little bits in their native tongue, but did not join together at any point. Call me sentimental but I'd been looking forward to a communal affirmation of identity, instead I got confusion.
I am almost certain that the lack of Latin, and incense, and the astonishing goggle-eyed, flapping exuberance of the priest was a direct backlash against the pope’s recent motu proprio authorising the old rite. Whilst bishops panic that power is slipping away, congregations panic that altars are going to be rammed against walls and everything will be muttered quietly in Latin. However surely in a society where acceptance is meant to be key this is a progressive step allowing people to worship in the way they see fit. Furthermore in order for any sort of ecumenical agenda to work it is necessary for us to reaffirm our identity with each other as Roman Catholics. Latin and the Old Mass are not things to shove under the carpet, they represent our religious heritage – as the Vatican said in a recent press release “the Old Mass is the treasure of the Church". It’s not an embarrassing skeleton in the closet, nor is participating in the liturgy in Latin a backwards step. It is only difficult and exclusive when people have deliberately not been taught it. I for one have never felt so part of the Universal Church as when singing the creed in Latin with people of around ten nationalities and the promise of a good breakfast ahead of me. Now it seems my only chance of unified worship abroad will be if Esperanto suddenly takes off, which unless the church is full of computer-geeks seems highly unlikely.
I have recently returned from a splendid holiday in Greece, a now almost un-broken run (apart from a misguided hiatus in Lefkas) has taken me to the same little corner of Crete for the last six years. It is relaxing, it is exceptionally quiet, there is no underground railway. It is also deliciously unusual amongst many holiday destinations in having a close, pleasant, and – if painfully un-airconditioned – inviting Catholic Church. At last Sundays on holiday go by guilt free. “You’re excused if you’re travelling, aren’t you?” no longer has to ring out for all (especially the spirits of long deceased grandparents and aunts) to hear. The sumptuous post-worship breakfast still provokes a tinge of guilt for entirely different reasons, however every Sunday is a feast in honour of our Lord’s resurrection, so that’s fine.
There is something uniquely comforting about going to Mass on holiday. Whilst no-one wants to go home early, the disruption of routine is unsettling, and causes its own merry form of tension. Going to Mass provides a return to sanity, a familiar environment, with enough differences in exact décor, layout and style of delivery to keep it exotic. That is why for the five years prior to this I have relished participating in parts of the Mass in Latin on these sun-baked religious excursions. I swell with a certain pride when looking around I see Poles, Germans, French, English, Japanese (they really do get everywhere don’t they) belting out these parts of the mass with Ethel Merman-esque abandon. I am filled with a sense of grace and thanksgiving that almost everywhere on the planet someone is joining in these prayers. The differing nationalities, and disparate backgrounds of the congregation are united by a unifying liturgical force and singularity of purpose. Well, almost everyone is, but I notice the English kids have difficulty with the Latin, it’s unfamiliar, taboo even, pushed under the carpet. The Polish and Japanese children are singing happily away, joined with their brothers and sisters in Christ. The English look sullen, bored and sun-burnt, except one child, oh no, he’s American, you can tell – the parents both have exceptionally good teeth.
In England we have almost entirely abandoned this part of our heritage as Catholics, certainly in the diocese of Arundel and Brighton where I grew up. Admitting a fondness for any part of the Mass in Latin is considered by many parish communities in this country as being right up there with adultery, murder and wearing white socks in any possible list of heinous crimes. It seems ridiculous in asocial climate that adores Genealogical research, restoring old buildings and slapping preservation orders on fallow fields. We like old things in general but won’t hear of embracing our religious heritage. Now, I luckily didn’t have to live through the 60s. Considering how addicted I’ve become to pistachio nuts over the last week I doubt I’d have survived. I didn’t witness the huge change of suddenly hearing the mass in the vernacular nor did I spend my childhood “bored stiff and not understanding a damn thing”. However I don’t quite get the vilification of the old rite, and of Latin in general (because after all saying the novus ordo in Latin used to be an attempt to get as close to the old rite as possible without the Bishop noticing). The same people that turn purple with rage over what is a very simple issue of language wouldn’t dream of attending a performance of Carmen by the ENO, because, “English is such a harsh language to sing in, and why make a fiery Gypsy girl sound as if she’s from Derby?!” Similarly those same people adore Mozart in theatres but abhor it in churches. Imitation pop is favoured instead, Abba Father indeed.
It strikes me that people simply can’t be bothered with Latin anymore, despite its beauty and intrigue. I personally prefer Mass in Latin, the difference of language keeps me on my toes, and it becomes far harder to shift into auto-pilot. As my Latin improves that's becoming slightly less of an issue so I may have to switch to French soon and by 2020 I’ll be desperately seeking out Mass in Egyptian but that's by-the-by. In addition to this heightened sense of awareness, it also means that when you travel abroad everyone can be ‘singing from the same hymn sheet’. It provides a powerful sense of belonging. It’s very sad that this experience is largely impossible for little English twerps who simply haven’t encountered the Latin. What’s more the English translations of the Latin in the book don’t help much either, because there isn’t even a united voice in English liturgy. Instead there are nigh on 8 million English approximations of the Agnus Dei. Man's artifice manages to translate three simple lines of Latin into quite literally God knows how many verses of saccharine tripe - I think the Sunday before last I heard them sing “Jesus socks and shoes, Jesus peace of cheese”, but I may have been mistaken. It seems worryingly paradoxical to think that something which promotes such unity in a Greek holiday town can create such discord on home turf. It is equally upsetting that the experiences of our religious forefathers have been swept away. It’s the equivalent of finding Granny's best dinner service and saying “oh smash it, it’s outdated”, whereas it could benefit everyone if you dusted it off and took it along to Antiques Roadshow.
This is why it upset me greatly this year upon returning to my holiday haunt for a slice of spiritual normality to find that they’d elected to remove the Latin. Mass was in Greek, the opening and closing numbers were in English, and a communion hymn to Our Lady was sung in Polish, at least I think it was Polish, there were lots of ‘z’s’. The joyful unity I had witnessed in previous years had been replaced by a veritable tower of Babel. Oh everyone managed the sign of the cross and, those paying attention, or with a small knowledge of Greek managed the odd ‘Amen’ in the right place. People enjoyed having their own little bits in their native tongue, but did not join together at any point. Call me sentimental but I'd been looking forward to a communal affirmation of identity, instead I got confusion.
I am almost certain that the lack of Latin, and incense, and the astonishing goggle-eyed, flapping exuberance of the priest was a direct backlash against the pope’s recent motu proprio authorising the old rite. Whilst bishops panic that power is slipping away, congregations panic that altars are going to be rammed against walls and everything will be muttered quietly in Latin. However surely in a society where acceptance is meant to be key this is a progressive step allowing people to worship in the way they see fit. Furthermore in order for any sort of ecumenical agenda to work it is necessary for us to reaffirm our identity with each other as Roman Catholics. Latin and the Old Mass are not things to shove under the carpet, they represent our religious heritage – as the Vatican said in a recent press release “the Old Mass is the treasure of the Church". It’s not an embarrassing skeleton in the closet, nor is participating in the liturgy in Latin a backwards step. It is only difficult and exclusive when people have deliberately not been taught it. I for one have never felt so part of the Universal Church as when singing the creed in Latin with people of around ten nationalities and the promise of a good breakfast ahead of me. Now it seems my only chance of unified worship abroad will be if Esperanto suddenly takes off, which unless the church is full of computer-geeks seems highly unlikely.
posted by Dom at 9:39 am
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