The old Roman Ritual (published in 1946) is a magnificent collection of blessings and prayers. It has some of the most amazing little blessings of things it would never occur to you to find in such a collection. Along with the blessings of expected objects (e.g., statues, religious medals) are blessings, often elaborately laid out, for things such as seismographs, typewriters, printing presses, fishing boats, fire engines, stables, medicine, wells, bridges, archives, lime kilns, automobiles, mountain-climbing equipment, and electric dynamos.
In that old ritual (which it is permitted to use), there is a remarkable prayer for a telegraph—yes, a telegraph. It quite elaborately lays out psalms and antiphons, but I will only present here the prayer of gratitude at the end, just before blessing it with Holy Water.
To my mind, it is also applicable as a prayer, expression of gratitude, and blessing for a computer or for the extended “cloud” of computers known as the Internet. The prayer is both thrilling and fitting. It is a minor masterpiece if you ask me. Though written sometime prior to 1945, and likely after 1830, its basic structure fits well what we do now with the Internet.
Without further ado, here is the prayer, first in the original Latin, and then translated by Father Philip Weller:
Deus qui ámbulas super pennas ventórum, et facis mirabília solus: concéde, ut per vim huic metállo índitam fulmíneo ictu celérius huc abséntia, et hinc álio praeséntia transmíttis; ita nos invéntis novis edócti, tua grátia opitulánte, prómptius et facílius ad te veníre valeámus. Per Christum Dóminum nostrum. Amen.
O God, who walkest upon the wings of the wind, and alone workest wonders; by the power inherent in this metal, thou dost bring hither distant things quicker than lightning, and transferrest present things to distant places. Therefore, grant that, instructed by new inventions, we may merit, by thy bounteous grace, to come with greater certainty and facility to thee. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.
Sign of the Cross + and sprinkling with Holy Water
Magnificent! It almost paints a picture in the mind. Yes, such beauty, and a picture of the swiftness of information going hither and yon, like lightning, or as on the wings of the wind. May this wondrous tool serve to draw us closer to God and not be corrupted by sinful curiosity, hostility, defamation, profanation, or prurient temptations.
One word, “metal,” may need adjusting in order to use it for a computer or the Internet. What word would you suggest (perhaps silicon)? Perhaps simply “computer” would work, but more is in mind: the whole Internet is part of what we are grateful for and ask blessings for. Of course we may not be in a position to bless the entire Internet, and our blessing or prayer of gratitude is only to be directed to our computer, our one portal to the vast communication network. Anyway, this is just a thought.
The video below of the history of the telegraph reminds us that the first telegraph message sent by Samuel Morse was “What hath God wrought?” This almost seems to have influenced the prayer in the ritual!
Cardinal Sarah, in his book-length interview with Nicolas Diet, God or Nothing, has many good observations on the Sacred Liturgy. His remarks should cause all of us to think as well as to repent.
His fundamental insights are that the Sacred Liturgy is about the adoration and worship of God, and that it is our hearts that God seeks.
I will present a few quotes from the good Cardinal in bold, black italics while my meager commentary is in plain, red text.
Cardinal Sarah has the following to say about the implementation of liturgical reform:
Unfortunately, right after the Council, the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy was understood, not in terms of the fundamental primacy of adoration, of the Church humbly kneeling before the greatness of God, but rather as a book of formulas …. We have seen all sorts of “creative” liturgical planners who sought to find tricks to make the liturgy attractive, more communicative, by involving more and more people, but all the while forgetting that the liturgy is made for God. If you make God the Great Absent One, then all sorts of downward spirals are possible, from the most trivial to the most contemptible.
… If we make the liturgy for ourselves, it moves away from the divine; it becomes a ridiculous, vulgar, boring, theatrical game. We end up with liturgies that resemble variety shows …. The faithful go back home … without having encountered God personally or having heard him in the innermost depths of their heart (God or nothing, p. 105).
It is amazing to me how hard it is for us to get this simple point across today. The Liturgy is about God and the worship of God. It is listening with docility to His Word proclaimed and worshiping Him in the Word made Flesh, in the Eucharist. But you would almost never know that by walking into a typical Mass. Thomas Day summarized modern worship well when he described it as “the aware, gathered community celebrating itself.”
Cardinal Sarah presents a beautiful image of the Church and of the goal of liturgy: “the Church humbly kneeling before the greatness of God.”
And what a terrible indictment, what a “fail” that Cardinal Sarah describes: “The faithful go back home … without having encountered God personally or having heard Him in the innermost depths of their heart.”
I wonder if any pastor or liturgy committee has ever articulated so clear a goal and so clear a “fail” to be avoided. Burn all the glossy liturgy magazines with their trendy ideas! The good Cardinal has set forth everything we need to consider.
Next, the Cardinal has a call to repentance for some of us who have turned the liturgy, God’s Sacred Liturgy, into a battleground. The Cardinal describes the opposing camps: those favoring the classical liturgy and those favoring the modern. He is plain in saying that these wars are a countersign and must displease God exceedingly. His Eminence has something to say to both sides. Whichever side you are on, prepare to repent.
First, Cardinal Sarah states the problem:
God alone should be our point of reference. However, … we have different concepts of liturgy that go so far as to cause mutual rejection, hostility, or even a cold war…. Too often we are opposed, each one enclosed in his little chapel …. Ideology replaces adoration (Ibid, p. 116).
Do you see what he is saying? God is the point. But instead, we look at each other and make “the other guy” the point. We say, “He isn’t kneeling enough.” “She’s wearing a veil!” “You’re turning back the clock with all your Latin stuff.” “Listen to that hootenanny music, that Protestant hymn. Look at that dumb charismatic emotionalism. It’s so irreverent!”
Note our inward focus, our obsession with the other guy. But where is God in all this? Well, the Cardinal has our number: “ideology has replaced adoration.” I don’t have any time to adore God if I’m too busy watching what the other guy is or isn’t doing.
The Cardinal continues,
The liturgy is God’s time, and it tends to become the heart of an ideological pitched battle between different concepts [classical and modern]. It is sad to enter God’s house with one’s shoulders loaded with weapons of war and one’s heart filled with hatred … (Ibid, p. 116).
Yikes! And don’t tell me his observation isn’t fair.
Now here comes the money quote:
Indeed, beyond the rite, God looks first for human hearts….
The first rubric of any Liturgy is this: Caritas suprema lex (Charity is the highest law). God wants our love! At the end of every liturgy, whether it is your favorite form or not, did you worship God? Did you tell Him that you love Him? Did you love and adore Him? Were you grateful and astonished at His goodness and mercy?
Some years ago, as a large team of us were going into the basilica to celebrate a Solemn High Pontifical Mass in the Extraordinary Form, I was asked to offer a prayer. The liturgy is enormously complex and as I prayed that we would remain focused and remember our roles I also asked God: “Please, Lord, help us to do well. But above all, help us to remember to worship you.” I have no doubt that on that day I missed a few bows or biretta tips, but I pray that I did not forget my primary goal, which was to worship the God who loves me despite my fumbling.
Next, the Cardinal speaks to us who love the “Classical Liturgy”:
If a person respects the ancient rites of the Church but is not in love, that individual is perishing. I think that this is the situation of the most extremist adherents of the various liturgical schools. Strict, almost fundamentalist ritualism or the modernist-type deconstruction of the rite, [these] can cut people off from a true search for the love of God.
Risking the wrath of traditionalists, of which I am one, I must say that I have sometimes suffered at the hands of fellow traditionalist for not being “traditional enough.” For some, it is not enough to like the Traditional Latin Mass (TLM); one must also despise the Ordinary Form and insist on its abolition. While I love the TLM, I do not hate the Ordinary Form. And I also like gospel music. I have been discredited by some for these views. But how could I hate the Ordinary Form or gospel music? It is the form I was largely raised in, the form in which I was ordained, and the form in which I have celebrated the vast majority of the Masses of my priesthood. Gospel music has spoken to my soul every bit as much as have chant and polyphony, and gospel music is always about God, not us.
Whatever the faults of the Ordinary Form (and they are not negligible), it has fed me and has been the way I have encountered the Lord for most of my life!
But yes, I have suffered at the hands of traditionalists. And my suffering is made the more acute because I love them. But I will not hate the new Mass. I also love many others in the Church who worship in the Novus Ordo and have met the Lord there. There are some in the Neocatechumenal Way, in the Charismatic Movement, in Cursillo, and in my own parish with its vibrant gospel liturgy, who have met the Lord in non-traditional ways. The New Mass and its diversity has helped them to find a place where they could meet God.
The Cardinal’s rebuke is a call to repentance to fundamentalists and extreme adherents to tradition who would simply reject the experience of others who have found the Lord in non-traditional ways. The New Liturgy allows a lot more freedom, and if the Church allows a freedom we are wrong to excoriate others for doing what the Church permits. It may not be my favorite type of music; it may make use of liturgical options that are not my preference; but if it is allowed, for the love of God, never get between another person and God.
The Cardinal warns devotees of the modern forms, too:
In Africa, when I attend Masses that last six hours, I see only a celebration that suits personal preferences. I strongly doubt there is a true encounter with God in such moments of continual excitement and dances that are not very conducive to the encounter with the mystery. God is horrified by forms of ritualism in which man satisfies himself. Even though it is necessary to give thanks to God for the real vitality of our African liturgies … when the [paschal] mystery is encumbered with elements that are foreign to the Eucharist, it give the impression that we are celebrating ourselves. We absolutely must strive to do again what Jesus did. Let us remember his Words: “Do this in memory of me.”
[These aberrations can] lead us to the celebration of the great mystery of our faith, but are made without any recollection, without any sense of wonder, without any religious “awe” at being face to face with God. The celebrants chat and discuss all sorts of trifling things while walking [in procession] up to the altar of the Lord!
Yes, here is the major problem with the modern form: it can so easily devolve into a self-satisfying, self-absorbed liturgy in which God is barely referred to, and whose seeming purpose is to praise ourselves and lift up man rather than God. Modern liturgy too easily becomes what pleases us. But where is God? Where is the time to reflect and reverently experience that He is Lord and worthy of my worship? When do we listen during these noisy, busy liturgies? When do we ever stop all the congratulations of one another that so predominate modern liturgy? Is the Liturgy only about us, the music we like, and self-aggrandizement? What would happen if we just stopped all the lengthy Thank-yous that so burden the beginning and end of every Mass?
And thank you, Cardinal Sarah, for calling out the chattering priests who, instead of singing the hymn or worshiping God, engage in banter and delight in acknowledgments as they process up the aisle. Shame on us!
And then a final word from Cardinal Sarah:
The liturgy is a moment when God, out of love, desires to be in profound communion with men. If we truly experience these sacred moments, we can encounter God. We must not fall into the trap that tries to reduce the liturgy to a simple place of fraternal conviviality … (Ibid, p. 124).
Amen!
Here’s a song from the 1970s that I often sang in my youth. Although it is from a “goofy” period, it reminds us to remember God.
And here is a song from the classical liturgy that carries the same message:
There is a moment in the Eucharistic Prayer in the Ordinary Form of the Roman Rite at which the priest awkwardly summons the people to respond by using a sentence fragment: “The mystery of faith” (mysterium fidei). The 1970 translation from the Latin tried to complete the fragment by supplying some additional words: “Let us proclaim the mystery of faith.”
But regardless of the specifics of the wording, it seems an awkward moment, something interjected into the action of the Eucharistic Prayer.
But even in the Extraordinary Form of the Roman Rite (the traditional Latin Mass celebrated before1970) the phrase mysterium fidei “mysteriously” lurked about in the words of the consecration over the chalice:
Hic est enim calix sanguinis mei, novi et aeterni testamenti: mysterium fidei: qui pro vobis et pro multis effundetur in remissionem peccatorum.
For this is the chalice of My blood, of the new and eternal testament: the mystery of faith: which will be shed for you and for many unto the remission of sins.
What was the phrase doing there? How did it get inserted into the very words of consecration?
There are many theories but no one really knows. Father Joseph Jungmann, S.J. has studied this as much or more than anyone else and he says,
Regarding the words mysterium fidei there is absolutely no agreement. A distant parallel is to be found Apostolic Constitutions, where our Lord is made to say at the consecration of the bread: “This is the mystery of the New Testament, take of it, eat, it is my body.” … What is meant by the words mysterium fidei? Christian antiquity would not have referred them so much to the obscurity of what is here hidden from the senses … Rather it would have taken them as a reference to the grace-laden sacrament in which the entire object of faith, the whole divine order of salvation is comprised … How or when or why this insertion was made, or what external event occasioned it cannot readily be ascertained (Jungmann, Mass of the Roman Rite, Vol 2 pp. 200-201, Christian Classics).
So, the precise origin and meaning of the phrase, “the mystery of faith” is itself mysterious. It is surprising to me that this interjection, a phrase not found in any biblical account of the words of consecration by our Lord Himself, would have been introduced into such essential words. But there it is, right in the words of consecration as they have existed in the Roman Rite for a thousand years.
With little explanation, the phrase was relocated in the 1970 Missal so that it now occurs after the words of consecration. Having consecrated the wine in the Chalice, the celebrant proclaims, as a kind of detached phrase, “The mystery of faith.” And the people may answer with one of three acclamations:
We proclaim your Death, O Lord, and profess your Resurrection, until you come again.
When we eat this Bread and drink this Cup, we proclaim your Death, O Lord, until you come again.
Save us, Savior of the world, for by your Cross and Resurrection you have set us free.
The typical explanation for this is that acclamations after the consecration were common in ancient liturgical practice, especially in the East. But while Eastern liturgies contain acclamations of varying sorts after the consecration, that is true throughout those liturgies.
In the Liturgy of St John Chrysostom, there are the following set of acclamations related to the words of consecration:
Priest: Take, eat, this is my Body which is broken for you for the forgiveness of sins.
People: Amen.
Priest: Likewise, after supper, He took the cup, saying,
Priest: Drink of it all of you; this is my Blood of the new Covenant which is shed for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.
People: Amen.
Priest: Remembering, therefore, this command of the Savior, and all that came to pass for our sake, the cross, the tomb, the resurrection on the third day, the ascension into heaven, the enthronement at the right hand of the Father, and the second, glorious coming, We offer to You these gifts from Your own gifts in all and for all.
People: We praise You, we bless You, we give thanks to You, and we pray to You, Lord our God.
So, if the intention was to imitate the Eastern liturgies, why not imitate them more closely with two amens, an announcement of the paschal mystery by the priest, and a doxology by the people? Why call the practice “ancient” (despite no obvious precedent in the Roman Rite) and then introduce a modern abbreviation of an ancient Eastern practice?
Another question that arises is why borrow from the Eastern rites at all? There is a general (though not absolute) norm that we should refrain from “mixing rites.” This is because each of the rites, Western and Eastern, has its own genius and structure that should be respected. While the essential aspects of liturgy exist in all the rites, language, musical style, vestments, ceremonial details, and other particulars vary a good deal and their integrity should be respected.
In this case, a new element borrowed from the Eastern Rites was introduced, but in a kind of minimized way that some argue respects the integrity of neither the Roman nor Eastern Rites.
Add to all this that the Roman Rite actually did have a kind of acclamation (at least in sung liturgies) after the consecration that had its own genius. It was the Benedictus, the second half of the Sanctus. In sung liturgies it was a widespread practice to sing the first half of the Sanctus at the end of the preface and the second half (the Benedictus) after the consecration of the Chalice. Thus the post-consecratory acclamation was
Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord, Hosanna in the Highest!
Pope Benedict, writing as Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger in 2005, made some important but often-forgotten observations and suggestions regarding the Benedictus and its current placement, even going so far as to suggest a change, or at least another option:
Whereas the Sanctus evolved from Isaiah 6, the Benedictus is based on the New Testament rereading of Psalm 118:26 which … on Palm Sunday received a new meaning. … As the youth of Jerusalem shout this verse to Jesus they are greeting him as the Messiah. … The Sanctus [therefore] is ordered to the eternal glory of God; in contrast, the Benedictus refers to the advent of the incarnate God in our midst … For this reason, the Benedictus is meaningful … as an exclamation to the Lord who has become present in the Eucharistic Species. The great moment of his coming, the immensity of his real presence … definitely call for a response. … The reformers of the liturgy composed an acclamation of the people [We proclaim your Death, O Lord, and profess your Resurrection, until you come again] … But the question of other possible acclamations to welcome the Lord who is coming/has come, has been posed. It is evident to me that there is no more appropriate or profound acclamation, or one that is more rooted in tradition then precisely this one: “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.” It is true that splitting the Sanctus and Benedictus is not necessary, but it makes a lot of sense. The pedantic proscription [forbidding] of such a split … should be forgotten as quickly as possible (Joseph Ratzinger, Collected Works, “Theology of the Liturgy.” Ignatius, Vol 11, pp. 477-479).
And therefore we see that there is valid support for an acclamation within the tradition of the Roman Rite that does not need to borrow from other rites (thereby compromising the integrity of both).
Since the current practice has been occurring for over forty years, one need not insist on the suppression of (three) acclamations. However, what about introducing the Benedictus (the second half of the Sanctus) as a valid option when the priest summons the people by saying, “the mystery of faith”? This would respect current practice, while introducing the option of another one more in keeping with the Western, Roman Rite. Time would then tell which prevails or if both simply go forward as options.
For the record, I agree with (then) Cardinal Ratzinger that the Benedictus as a post-consecratory acclamation is a fabulous option. It perfectly describes the reality of the incarnation, a notion that befits the transubstantiation of the elements that has just occurred: the eternal Son of God, ever to be praised in the highest heavens, has now come among us. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Indeed, Hosanna in the Highest!
Some may argue that we should align with the Eastern Rites, which speak more to the full paschal mystery. But why not allow each rite to have its own genius? The Roman Rite would emphasize the incarnation, the Eastern rites the paschal mystery, each in accord with its own tradition.
Your thoughts, charitably expressed, are always appreciated.
Here are the Sanctus and Benedictus from Hassler’s Missa Secunda:
Please consider the following reflection more of a pastoral meditation than a formal exegesis. I do not seek here to compare every use of the phrase in the Scriptures but rather to ponder how we seem to have lost the connection of personal sacrifice to liturgy and worship. Scripture clearly connects them. Let’s look at a few examples from Scripture and then examine how we have strayed from the concept.
So Jesus … suffered outside the gate in order to sanctify the people through his own blood. Therefore, let us go to him outside the camp and bear the reproach he endured. For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come. Through him then let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of lips that acknowledge his name. Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God (Heb 13:12-16).
The fundamental principle is that praise (or worship) is connected to sacrifice. Scripture notes this in many places, using expressions such as “a sacrifice of praise” and “a sacrifice of thanksgiving.”
On one level, Tradition insists that there be a connection to true worship of God and to living a holy life in charity to the poor.
If anyone thinks he is religious and does not bridle his tongue but deceives his heart, this person’s religion is worthless. Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world (James 1:26-27).
Now consider this, you who forget God, Or I will tear you in pieces, and there will be none to deliver you. He who offers a sacrifice of thanksgiving honors Me. And to him who orders his way aright I shall show the salvation of God (Psalm 50).
Thus, the first meaning of a “sacrifice of praise” is that our worship, our praise and thanksgiving, must flow from a heart that is obedient to God, generous to the poor, and unsullied by worldly affections. There is an intrinsic connection between worship and holiness. The greatest risks of worship and praise are that we think we can use it to “buy God off,” or that mere lip service in worship is sufficient. True worship should lead to integrity, such that we become more and more like the One we praise.
There is also some value in pondering the sacrificial nature of the act of worship/praise itself. This is surely the case for Christ, who as our High priest is also the victim. In the Old Covenant the priest and victim were distinct, but in the New Covenant they are one and the same. Jesus did not offer up some poor animal; He offered Himself. And so, too, for us, who are baptized into the priesthood of Jesus Christ as members of the royal priesthood of the baptized or who are ordained to the ministerial priesthood.
Simply put, our worship and praise does cost something—and it should. It takes some effort; there is a cost to worshiping God in the way He is worthy of. Though it is not easy, it is our obligation; it is something that can and ought to challenge us.
This obligation is underappreciated today, when too often the notion is that “going to Church” should entertain me, feed me, minister to me, and be relevant to me. The focus is on man and what pleases him or is sensible to him, rather than on God. Liturgy today seems far more about man than about God. Modern worship too easily resembles a closed circle in which we congratulate, entertain, and excessively reference one another. Either God is something of an afterthought, or it is presumed that He will be pleased simply by the fact that we are there regardless of what we actually do when there.
The first goal seems to be to please and “reach” the faithful. The faithful are seldom asked to make sacrifices of any sort. For indeed, worship that elevates may also challenge. The challenge might be in listening to the content of the sermon, or ancient language, or complex concepts, or something lasting more than a sound bite. Many Church leaders simply reject what challenges or requires sacrifice on the part of the faithful. Heaven forfend one might be required to attend patiently to the worship of God, or to consider things that are of a higher order than the merely banal, or to devote a little time and study!
If Mass must last no longer than 45 minutes, if sermons ought not challenge, if attending Mass on holy days is “too hard,” then where is the sacrifice? And what about tithing or sacrificial giving? Is the way we worship God merely what pleases me or us? Is the purpose of liturgical music to please and edify me or is it to praise God in a dignified way? Is the liturgy today really about God or is it more about us?
Such a non-sacrificial, misdirected notion of worship is certainly much on display in certain “mega-churches,” whose services resemble rock concerts and motivational talks more than a sacrifice of praise. But these notions have infected the Catholic setting, too, in the ways described above.
Worship should involve work. It is not merely an experience akin to going to a movie or concert and sitting in one’s seat being passively entertained or pleased. Some demands should be made of us beyond the collection plate. Higher things are less easily understood than the merely mundane, and to comprehend them we must be drawn out of our comfort zone and challenged.
I was not born loving either Bach fugues or the intricacies of renaissance polyphony. But, like fine wine, they have attained pride of place in my life—through the power of the liturgy (patiently prayed and experienced) to elevate my mind and personality to higher things. Further, in my earlier years, the joy of gospel music was not relevant to me; today it is. The sacrifice of praise is not, therefore, merely arduous and painful to no end. Like most sacrifices, it brings forth new life.
Mahatma Gandhi (a Hindu) recognized the strange development in the West of worship without sacrifice and called it one of the seven deadly sins of culture. In the West, “going to church” has increasingly come to resemble entertainment. And the attitude seems to be that if things don’t please me and cater to my tastes, I have a perfect right either to go somewhere else or to not go at all.
Where is the sacrifice of praise of which Scripture speaks?
Granted, parishes should strive for excellent liturgy and preaching. Every liturgical aspect should be done well, first and foremost because it is directed to God, who is worthy of our very best. But at the end of the day, no liturgy will be 100% pleasing to everyone. It is not the job of the liturgy to please the faithful. The purpose of the liturgy is to worship God fittingly. It is my task (and dignity) to offer a sacrifice of praise to God the Father through Jesus Christ. Priest and victim are one and the same.
I will end by posing a few questions:
Do we go to the Mass with the attitude “Peel me a grape” (i.e., please me), or ready to offer God a sacrifice of praise?
Is our liturgy focused on God or merely on us?
Do the liturgy and the clergy place proper demands on God’s faithful? Are the faithful willing to accept those demands?
If you are a priest, whom do you hope to please on Sunday? Is it God or just your parishioners?
Is God central in our liturgy today? How is He or is He not?
Are we willing to accept that the primary purpose of the liturgy is not to please us or even to speak in ways relevant to us?
What do you think it means for you to offer God a sacrifice of praise?
Psalm 116 offers a good description of the attitude we should bring to worship and the Liturgy:
LORD, surely I am Your servant, I am Your servant, the son of Your handmaid, You have loosed my bonds. To You I shall offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving, And call upon the name of the LORD. I shall pay my vows to the LORD, in the presence of all His people … (Psalm 116:16-18).
What we call the Sanctus, or the Holy, Holy, Holy of the Mass is not one prayer or one acclamation, but two. And this fact presents a teachable moment for us as well as providing a defense of a practice that is often scorned by modern liturgists.
The two parts of the Sanctus are as follows:
The Sanctus – Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Hosts. Heaven and Earth are full of your Glory.
The Benedictus – Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the Highest.
The first part comes from the Book of Isaiah:
I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and the train of his robe filled the temple. Above him stood the seraphim. Each had six wings: with two he covered his face, with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew. And one called to another and said, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory!” (Is 6:1b-3)
And thus this acclamation is that of the highest heavens and the highest rank of the angels, the Seraphim (“burning ones”), who stand before the throne of God in Heaven. It is their acclamation that Isaiah overheard in the vision he felt utterly unworthy to experience.
That we, mere mortals, take up this acclamation is bold indeed. We are enabled to sing it only on account of the saving ministry of Jesus, our savior. Through Jesus, and as members of His Body, we now have access to the Holy of Holies in Heaven!
Scripture says,
But when Christ appeared as high priest of the good things that have come, passing through the greater and more perfect tent (not made with hands, that is, not of this creation) he entered once for all into the holy places, not by means of the blood of goats and calves but by means of his own blood, thus securing an eternal redemption (Heb 9:11-12).
Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain, that is, through his flesh, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water (Heb 10:19-22).
Yes our singing of this great acclamation of the highest angels is bold, but our boldness is only in Jesus. Otherwise, how could we dare to enter the Holy of Holies in Heaven and take up the song that only angels of the highest rank sing?
At every Mass, the priest (in the Preface Dialogue) bids us,Sursum Corda (Lift up your hearts). In other words: Brethren we are now in Heaven with Christ our Head and are swept up into the heavenly Liturgy. Therefore we give thanks to the Father through Christ His Son and our Lord. And with the Cherubim, the Seraphim, and all the heavenly hosts we, with one voice, proclaim, Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Hosts … This is an acclamation of great ascent of the Lord into the Holy Place.
The second half of the Sanctus is a very different acclamation. It is far more earth-bound and comes from a completely different Scripture. It is the song of the Hebrew children, who greeted Jesus as the Messiah when he entered Jerusalem, meek and humble, riding on a donkey:
Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven! (Mk 11:9-10)
How different this second half is! It is an acclamation of praise, but by men not angels. And though it resonates to the highest Heaven, it is an acclamation from the earth. It is in praise of the Lord, who has descended in the incarnation and is entering the earthly Jerusalem.
The first part of the Sanctus was of angels to the Lord who dwells in highest Heaven. The second half, the Benedictus, is of men to the Lord, who descended to these lower realms of our earth.
Thus what we call the Sanctus is a complex combination of two very different prayers, two very different scriptural acclamations, two very different contexts.
For this reason it was common in the Traditional Latin Mass (today, the Extraordinary Form of the Mass) to split the Sanctus, singing part one before the consecration and part two after it. Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, speaking in 1996 at Regensburg, mentioned this practice and explained it in the following manner:
Whereas the Sanctus evolved from Isaiah 6 and was then transferred from the heavenly to the earthly Jerusalem and so became the song of the Church, the Benedictus is based on a New Testament rereading of Psalm 118:26. In the Old Testament text this verse is a blessing at the arrival of the festive procession in the Temple. On Palm Sunday it received a new meaning … When the youths of Jerusalem shout this verse to Jesus, they are greeting him as the Messiah, as the King of the last days who enters the Holy City.
[So] the Sanctus is ordered to the eternal glory of God; in contrast, the Benedictus refers to the advent of the incarnate God in our midst. For this reason the Benedictus is meaningful both as an approach to the consecration and as an acclamation to the Lord who has become present in the Eucharistic Species (Joseph Ratzinger, Collected Works, Vol XI “Theology of the Liturgy” Ignatius Press, p. 477).
And thus the Lord, who dwells in the Highest Heaven, descends at the consecration to dwell humbly among us as our food. So, in the Old Latin Mass, it was considered the appropriate time to sing, “Blessed is He who comes in the Name of the Lord.” Yes, blessed is He who has descended from the highest Heaven and is now present among us in the Eucharist upon our Altar. May the highest praises be His!
It seems such a glorious acclamation in this sense and with this background. And so it’s no wonder that the united text of the Sanctus was “paused” midway and the second half routinely sung after the consecration.
In a way it is sad that this was altogether lost in the Ordinary Form. This seemingly perfect acclamation was replaced by newly composed acclamations called “The Mystery of Faith,” which imitate the Eastern Liturgies. They are not bad in themselves, but they wholly replaced something that was beautiful and also adequate. Most liturgists insisted that the old practice of splitting the Sanctus in two was to be stopped without exception. Cardinal Ratzinger continues,
The reformers of the Liturgy, following the Byzantine rite, composed an acclamation of the people “We proclaim your death, O Lord …” But the question of other possible acclamations … has been proposed.
It is evident to me that there is no more appropriate or more profound acclamation, or one that is more rooted in tradition than precisely this one: Blessed is He who comes in the Name of the Lord.
The pedantic proscription of such a split … should be forgotten as quickly as possible (Ibid, p. 478).
Most liturgists would severely frown on eliminating one of the Mystery of Faith acclamations from the Ordinary Form of the Mass in favor of splitting the Sanctus. But as the Cardinal, now Pope Emeritus, opines, we might wish to consider it as an option. For now, the option exists only in the Extraordinary Form of the Mass.
Yet in the end, much is gained by reflecting on the text of the Sanctus. It is actually two texts, and shows the remarkable and beautiful tension of ascension and condescension, of transcendence and immanence, of the heavenly Jerusalem and the earthly one, of angels and men.
Two texts, two songs, one Sanctus. A remarkable moment in the Liturgy!
In the realm of demonology there is a cautious balance to maintain. Sadly, an exorcist must usually inflict pain upon demons in order to drive them out. This is done through the prayers of the Rite of Exorcism and through other things recommended by the rite such as the use of holy water, the use of relics, the touch of a stole, and the use of the Holy Cross.
And yet the exorcist must be careful not to hate demons or harbor unjust anger toward them. For in so doing, they would have him; he would be drawn into their territory. If they can get him to hate and to have vengeful anger then they have made him to be like themselves; he is theirs, little better than they save for the possibility that he can still repent.
Hence the exorcist and any who would pray for deliverance from demons for themselves or others, do well to stay inside the norms of the Church and Scripture. These norms warn and set limits for those who would confront demons, lest they stray by pride or anger.
What are some of these norms? Here are just a few, but they are properly cautionary to be sure.
A lay person should never undertake to drive out demons except by the following simple formula: “I command you, all evil spirits to leave me at once in the name of Jesus Christ the Lord.” At no time should a lay person ever engage a demon in conversation, ask questions, or in any way seek information.
The same holds true for priests who engage in minor exorcisms. While they are permitted to use more elaborate imprecatory prayer found in the Manual of Minor Exorcisms, priests are not to go beyond the commands therein. They are not to ask questions or to demand names or signs from demons.
Only appointed exorcists, delegated by the bishop, may or should inquire of the names and numbers of demons, their time of entry, why they possessed the individual, their rank, and so forth. The rite makes clear that only necessary questions should be asked. Other impertinent information is both unnecessary and harmful.
Within the formal Rite of Exorcism, an exorcist does well to stick to the formulas, expressions, and norms of the rite. Banter, insulting language, and toe-to-toe debate are to be avoided. Good exorcists indicate that returning to the prayers of the rite is essential when demons seek to engage in debate, ridicule, and diversionary talk. Obmutesce pater mendacii (Be silent, father of lies) is a quick command from the rite to order the demons to be silent, and it is a good way to refuse to enter into pointless conversation or ridicule.
Scripture attests to the need to refrain from reviling demons:
For Even Michael the archangel, when he disputed with the devil and argued about the body of Moses, did not dare pronounce against him a reviling judgment, but said, “The Lord rebuke you!” (Jude 1:9)
Further, hate and ridicule of any person (angelic or human) whom God has created is an ungodly attitude. Scripture says,
For you O Lord love all things that are and loathe nothing that you have made; for you would not fashion what you hate (Wisdom 11:24).
Therefore anyone who confronts demons or suffers their oppression is warned that hatred and unjust anger, reviling and ridiculing, is no way to fight them, for if we do so we become like them.
That said, exorcists and priests must often use strong language approved by the minor and major prayers of exorcism, most of which are drawn from Scripture or Sacred Tradition.
Consider, for example, the following rebuke of Satan from Scripture:
How are you fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! How are you cut down to the ground, who did weaken the nations! For you have said in your heart, “I will ascend into heaven, I will exalt my throne above the stars of God: I will sit also upon the mount of the congregation, in the farthest sides of the north: I will ascend above the heights of the clouds; I will be like the most High.” Yet you shall be brought down to Sheol, to the depths of the lake of fire (Is 14:12-15).
These verses speak truth. They do not revile; they say what happened and they point to Lucifer’s prideful fall.
The Rite of Exorcism has collected many descriptions from Scripture and Tradition. They are not intended to ridicule or revile, but rather to remind Satan of who and what he has chosen to become. They remind him of his pride, his destruction by God’s justice, his ultimate fate, and the many ways he seeks to harm us. Consider, then, some of the “titles” and descriptions of Satan drawn from both the old and new rites of exorcism:
Thus, whether driving out Satan in a major exorcism or seeking to expel his oppression in a minor exorcism, all are cautioned not to stray from the understandings and descriptions of Satan that the Church provides in Scripture and Sacred Tradition. Again, the reason for this is that Satan seeks to draw us into his world of hatred and revilement. Do not go there in your thoughts and surely not in your heart.
It may be hard to accept, but God does not hate Satan. God does not hate even the worst of sinners. Surely justice requires God to recognize the final disposition of a person (angelic or human). Some are justly permitted to live apart from God’s kingdom in a hellacious parallel universe; that is their choice. But God does not hate fallen angels or fallen humans. God is Love and Love does not hate—and neither should we.
We ought to be sober about what sin has done to demons, fallen angels who were once glorious. But now, through the ugly disfigurement of sin, they are in darkness and are horribly contrary to the glory for which they were made. They are to be pitied and kept at a distance. They will not change (for angels choose once and for all). Their lies are to be resisted. Though they can still appear as lightsome, it is only for a time and then their terrifying state of horror and darkness roars forth.
Do not be deceived. But do not hate, either. Be sober, watchful, and distant from the once-glorious fallen angels we rightly call demons.
One of the most concise and cogent descriptions of these often strident times came from Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger in 1986. It is contained in, of all places, his treatise on the theology of sacred music in a book called The Feast of Faith (Ignatius Press, 1986). His comments have recently been republished in a larger compendium of his works: Collected Works: Theology of the Liturgy (Ignatius Press, 2014, Vol 11).
It hard to describe our times as anything but contentious. Loud, strident protests often predominate over reasoned discourse and thoughtful argumentation.
To be sure, every era has had, and needed, protest and public opposition to injustices that are too often hidden. There is a time and place for loud protest and the use of memorable sound bites.
But it is the predominance of loud protest and civil disobedience that stands out. Sound bites, slogans, and simplistic “war cries” have to a large extent replaced thoughtful, reasoned discourse. Volume, power, and visually flashy techniques are prized and used more and more. Such approaches too frequently produce more heat than light.
Consider, then, this remarkable analysis by Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, written back before the Internet and social media had turned up the volume even more. He paraphrases an insight by Gandhi, applies it to his analysis of our times, and then proposes a healing remedy to restore balance:
I would like to note a beautiful saying of Mahatma Gandhi … Gandhi refers to the three habitats of the cosmos and how each of these provides its own mode of being. The fish live in the sea, and they are silent. The animals of the earth scream and shout; but the birds, whose habitat is the heavens, sing. Silence is proper to the sea, shouting to the earth and singing to the heavens. Man has a share in all three of them. He carries the depths of the sea, the burden of the earth, and the heights of the heavens in himself. And for this reason, all three properties also belong to him: silence, shouting, and singing.
Today—I would like to add—we see only the shouting is left for the man without transcendence, since he only wants to be of the earth. …
The right liturgy, the liturgy of the Communion of the Saints, restores totality to him. It teaches him silence and singing again by opening him to the depths of the sea and teaching him to fly, the angels’ mode of being. It brings the song buried in him to sound once more by lifting up his heart. …
Right liturgy … liberates us from ordinary, everyday activity and returns to us once more the depths and the heights, silence and song … Right liturgy … sings with the angels … is silent with the expectant depths of the universe, and that is how it redeems the earth (Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger Collected Works, Vol 11, Theology of the Liturgy, Ignatius Press, p. 460).
This is a remarkable analysis and application of liturgy and cosmology to the issues and imbalances of our day! It is in the vein of “Save the Liturgy, save the world.” For indeed, only in the worship of God do we find our true selves. Only in the liturgy is our true personality formed. The human person in his glory unites the material and spiritual orders. We are capable of pregnant, expectant silence; of the joyful shout of praise and the Gospel going forth; and of the song of Heaven.
But as Ratzinger points out, we are too often reduced to a preoccupation with and a valuing of only one aspect: the shouting of the earthbound creatures of this world.
But the liturgy—good and proper liturgy—trains us in all three and accomplishes the balance that is often lost today. The liturgy is a training ground, not only for our heavenly destination, but also in what it means to be truly human.
Read the good Cardinal’s reflection; consider carefully what the Pope Emeritus teaches. It will bless your soul. I know it has blessed mine.
Here is a song of the heavens:
A recent study of more than 1400 Catholic men from over 1000 parishes indicates a substantial disconnect from the Church and a dissatisfaction with what the Church offers and how she ministers to men. The survey was conducted in the fall of 2014 and an analysis of the results was published by Matthew James Christoff, Director of The New Emangelization Project (Helping Priests Become More Effective in Evangelizing Men).
It is clear that “men” are not monolithic; they have a range of views and preferences. But overall, the men surveyed feel disengaged from the Church and sense little interest from the Church in listening to them or reaching out to them. Further, there are some concerns that, in general, are shared more by men than by women. While the study indicates a number of themes and recommendations, I will not reproduce them all here. You can and should read those at the link above.
But there are two issues on which I would like to focus, since we often discuss them here on this blog: liturgy and homilies. The men in the survey, especially in the narrative comments, had some pointed observations about both areas (see pages 9 and 20-21). And while the preferences and concerns do not break out simply into men’s opinions vs. women’s opinions, it is clear that there are overall tendencies in what men prefer or find satisfying.
Liturgy – Modern liturgy has emphasized community, warmth, welcome, inclusiveness, accessibility, and being easily understood. Parishioners are often encouraged to greet those around them warmly, shake hands, hold hands, etc. Music has often become emotive and lyrical (rather than metered and march-like) and the themes emphasize welcome, intimacy with God, reconciliation, love, etc.
None of these things are wrong in themselves, and there are masculine ways of expressing and experiencing these things, but there is a lack of balancing virtues that are often more appealing to men such as duty, call, honor, awe, reverence, respect, transcendence, sacrifice, spiritual warfare, and the struggle against evil.
Stirring, metrical hymns paired with equally vigorous verses describing virtues and themes such as adoration, obedience, faith, strength, hope, God’s power and glory, the ultimate victory of God and the faithful, tend to appeal more to men and masculine ideals.
It does not have to be one thing or the other in the liturgy; it really is about greater balance. Much of the modern liturgical fare in many (though not all) parishes is weighted toward aspects more often preferred by women. And while most men do not talk about it much, when asked, they consistently report being uncomfortable with and uninspired by modern liturgies.
It is no surprise then that men (according both to this and other polls as well as anecdotal observation) are on average more likely than women to prefer the solemn, formal liturgies of the traditional rites. The discipline, skill, and almost military-like precision appeal to many men. Tradition here need not refer only to the pre-conciliar forms, but also to newer forms that contain more traditional elements and formality.
Homilies – Most of the men polled indicated that they respond more to a homilist who sounds like a leader, summons and challenges them, calls for courage, and articulates a clear stance on the moral issues of our day.
The men surveyed noted that often the emphasis seems to be on “safe” homilies, designed not to unsettle or offend, homilies in which God’s love is emphasized more so than the challenging themes of discipleship like obedience, repentance, sacrifice, resistance to the world, and willingness to rebuke sin within our families. Soft and suggestive tones are “in,” while bold and directive sermons are harder to find.
Here, too, it need not be one or the other, with one being bad the other being good. Rather, it is the lack of balance that is the problem. Men do not ordinarily speak about these views, but, when asked, are fairly consistent in their sense that the balance is off. They feel that sermons do not seem to be aimed at them and do not involve themes or topics that are most interesting to them.
You can read more at the link above, paying special attention to page 9 and pages 20-21.
Clearly, whenever we speak of liturgy we are hitting the “third rail” and blood can boil. Just remember that this is a discussion and the goal is to listen and to find balance. There is obviously overlap in what men and women think. All men don’t feel the same way any more than all women feel the same way. Let’s also avoid reducing this to a matter of right vs. left, pre-conciliar vs. post-conciliar, etc. Say what you mean, and mean what you say, but don’t say it mean.
The old Roman Ritual (published in 1946) is a magnificent collection of blessings and prayers. It has some of the most amazing little blessings of things it would never occur to you to find in such a collection. Along with the blessings of expected objects (e.g., statues, religious medals) are blessings, often elaborately laid out, for things such as seismographs, typewriters, printing presses, fishing boats, fire engines, stables, medicine, wells, bridges, archives, lime kilns, automobiles, mountain-climbing equipment, and electric dynamos.
