Category: Liturgy

There is a legend that explains how the liturgy and the faith took hold in Rus (Russia):

Prince Vladimir of Kiev, seeking a right worship for his people, sent representatives to look into various faiths as well as liturgies. When emissaries went south to observe the Greek Christian Liturgy, they returned saying that they were not sure if they had been in Heaven or on Earth, so beautiful was what they had seen in the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople. They were sure that God dwelt there among men.

The roots of Christian faith among the Russians are obviously a lot more complicated. However, the legend does capture the fact that the Byzantine Liturgy of the Eastern Church was a significant factor in advancing Christianity among the people who populate what is today Russia, the Ukraine, Georgia, and other nearby lands.

Joseph Ratzinger (Benedict XVI), although noting the legendary quality of the story, underscored that the Sacred Liturgy can and does have a missionary quality that can inspire and draw others to the one true God.

Exactly how the liturgy does this, however, is a matter of debate. Some say that it is essentially the beauty of the liturgy and its ability to draw us away from the mundane that leads people to God. Others emphasize the liturgy’s ability to teach; the elements of the liturgy must be intelligible and easily grasped by the faithful and made applicable to daily life.

Of course we want to avoid a false dichotomy, in which one vision must be chosen to the exclusion of the other. Both notions have important insights. Yet in our time it is clear that at least in the Roman Liturgy, the emphasis has fallen on making the liturgy more intelligible and “relevant” to modern life, than ethereal and meant to draw us up and out of the ordinary through sublime beauty.

Cardinal Ratzinger, writing in 2005, said of this trend,

The way of thinking about “missionary liturgy” that became widespread in the fifties is, at the least, ambiguous and problematical. In many circles, among people concerned with liturgy, it led, in a quite inappropriate fashion, to turning a didactic element in the liturgy, and its comprehensibility even for outsiders, into the primary standard for shaping liturgical celebrations. Likewise, the saying that the choice of liturgical forms must be made with respect to “pastoral” points of view betrays the same anthropocentric error. The liturgy is then being constructed entirely for men. … Thus suggestions for styling liturgy became profane models, drawn for instance from the way meetings are held … or socialization rituals. God does not actually play a role there; it is all concerned with winning people over, or keeping them happy and satisfying their demands. … No faith [is] aroused in that way (Theology of the Liturgy, p. 332).

His language is quite strong here. Yet the influence of anthropocentricism (the belief that man rather than God is the central or most important entity in existence) in liturgy remains a consistent, troubling trend. It is a hard mentality to break in a culture so centered on consumerism and “pleasing the customer.” This may work well in markets, but in faith and to some degree in education, it is a harmful trend. God, the liturgy, and truth itself do not exist to please us, but rather to summon us to challenging heights, beyond our mere pleasures and passions.

I have written about anthropocentrism in greater detail before (here). While we obviously cannot wholly abandon a notion of the liturgy being intelligible, we are ultimately being drawn into mysteries above and beyond us. Thus, the liturgy should have mysterious and sublime aspects.

In the same essay, Cardinal Ratzinger wrote,

What persuaded the emissaries of the Russian Prince of the truth of the faith celebrated in the … liturgy was not … arguments that seemed clearer than those of other religions. What moved them was in fact the mystery as such, which demonstrated the power of the truth actually, transcending the arguments of reason … The Byzantine liturgy was not, and is not, concerned to indoctrinate other people or show them how pleasing and entertaining it might be. What was impressive about it was particularly its sheer lack of practical purpose, the fact that it was being done for God and not for spectators. … It was simply striving to be pleasing to God as the sacrifice of Abel had been pleasing to God … turning the gaze toward God was what allowed God’s light to stream down [and] … be detected even by outsiders (Ibid, p. 331-332).

And there is the money quote: it was being done for God and not for spectators. … It was simply striving to be pleasing to God.

How different this is from today, when the liturgy seems so focused on us! Everything must be understood (using the vernacular both literally and figuratively). Music must not be too taxing; it must be something the people can easily sing along with. Rituals must not be too elaborate. Ironically, in the one place where intelligibility is most important (the homily), it is often said that it should be brief, more exhortatory than instructive.

None of these things are intrinsically bad, but they are out of balance. There is little notion that the liturgy is directed first and foremost to God, that it is worship of God, that the rituals are for Him and are a sacrifice of praise, not merely a ceremony that pleases us.

It is fair to say that in the older form of the Roman Rite (especially low Mass) the people were so uninvolved as to be almost unnecessary, an afterthought. Everything was done by the priest and the servers. But perhaps we have overcorrected. Turning toward the people, introducing more vernacular, and simplifying the rites were seen as a way to involve and reintegrate the whole people of God, the whole Body of Christ, into the sacred action of Christ as Head and High Priest giving perfect worship to the Father.

Now may be the time for us to consider bringing back the balance we have lost, reintroducing sacred language, and teaching that God and the worship of Him are the essential focus of our liturgy. A gentle reintroduction of orienting especially the Eucharistic Prayer toward God through a unified posture and direction of all toward the cross may be helpful (under the guidance of the bishop). The Liturgy of the Word can and should remain directed toward the people, for they are the target of this proclamation.

Many will debate exactly what should be done and how quickly, but it seems clear that balance needs to be restored in most parish settings. The ultimate goal, as Cardinal Ratzinger wrote, is that our Liturgy be done for God more so than for man, that we simply strive to be pleasing to God. The inclusion of God’s people is important, but not in a way that neglects our collective purpose of worshiping God, who is worthy of our sacrifice of praise. The liturgy should not be reduced merely to what pleases us.

Pope Benedict observed elsewhere that for those who prefer traditional Liturgy there is also a risk in reducing the liturgy to mere aestheticism, in which what is considered beautiful and more ancient is preferred for only those reasons. The manifestation may be loftier and less worldly, but the error is the same: that the liturgy’s purpose is to cater to man’s tastes. Things in the traditional arena can get very particular, such that Roman vs. Gothic vestments, tabernacle veils vs. none, or a missed genuflection by the celebrant can become contentious issues and lead to uncharitable remarks after Mass.

There is not room in this post to lay out the essentials of liturgy as Scripture sets them forth. (I have done that on the blog in the past: here.) God gave at least the essentials to Moses on Mount Sinai, to His disciples at the Last Supper, and to John in Revelation 4, 5, and 8. From these essentials we build and set our focus on what pleases God.

The deepest questions to answer after any liturgy should be these: “Was God worshipped?” and “Was God the true focus of our hearts?”.

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!

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: