The Microphone as a Social Actor

“Let’s Throw the Microphone Out of the Church!”

Paweł Jarnicki

Part 2

(See Part 1)

McLuhan coined two well-known phrases, the first being “global village” and the second “medium is the message.” While it is easy to understand that, due to the rapid circulation of information, we all live in a “global village” today, it is more difficult to comprehend that the medium itself is also a message. McLuhan meant that the medium itself has a strong influence on the audience. It is not that, for example, the type of telephone affects the content of everyday conversations, because intuitively this influence seems minimal, but that the telephone (especially in the form of a “smartphone”) has changed the nature of interpersonal relationships in the long term and even influences our personality and perception. The impact of landline telephones was not as easily noticeable as the impact of instant messaging on the peer relationships and state of mind of young people is today, as seen from the perspective of people in their forties and fifties.

Some inventions profoundly change life in the world, in ways we cannot predict at the time of their implementation. This was obvious to McLuhan in the 1970s. A decade later, Bruno Latour popularized this idea by developing the “actor-network theory.” In this theory, society is not just people, but a network of “actors” that influence it, including material objects and... abstract concepts.

When society adopts a new technology, it does not usually discuss the possible long-term consequences of the actions of such an inhuman actor. We have imposed a series of tests on the production of new drugs, but we did not discuss the possible effects of social media before its introduction. Only after some time do we begin to realize the consequences of including them in our network: serious analyses appear that show that these new actors have a destructive effect on democratic systems, and artists also begin to explore the topic of their negative impact on young people (let us mention the recent success of the difficult mini-series Adolescence).

In the actor-network theory, the concept of bacteria is also such a social actor. It is not that bacteria did not exist before this concept. The point is that the organization of the human world did not take this concept into account. And when this concept became an actor in our societies, our behaviors and habits in terms of hygiene changed fundamentally.

The Church had always been very cautious about introducing technical innovations, especially in churches, so the influence of such worldly, soulless actors on the liturgy was relatively small. And sometimes the Church was able to harness technical innovations to achieve its own goals. When it came to “media” inventions, this was certainly the case with the invention of printing.

NOM, Vilnius (Lithuania), Sanctuary of the Divine Mercy. At the new Mass, everyone must hear and see everything.

The Church’s reactions to the inventions of printing and the microphone

For McLuhan, as a media theorist, two inventions were revolutionary for our civilization: the printing press and the microphone. He realized that these (from today’s perspective) simple creations radically changed the world we live in, and changed it in ways that the people who witnessed the introduction of these inventions could not have predicted. These two inventions have twice reinforced the position of vernacular languages, i.e., the languages we speak every day.

The first reinforcement was visual, because printing completed the process initiated by the invention of the phonetic alphabet and caused us to move from an oral-acoustic culture to a visual-linear culture. It sounds complicated, but the point is that sight became the dominant sense in our perception of the world and in our culture. Earlier culture was more “auditory,” centered around hearing, and in fact multisensory with a slight advantage for hearing. According to McLuhan, printing has led us to a visual culture, one in which sight clearly dominates. What is the difference?

Hearing does not “see” contours [1] and works more synthetically. It integrates our experience of the world into a whole; we also hear from many sides at once. Sight sees contours, analyzes and divides our experience of the world into pieces – it has made our perception more sequential and abstract; we also focus our sight in one direction. Thus, our perception of the world and our culture have changed, which, thanks to printing – thanks to the shift in emphasis to visuality – has gained unprecedented momentum. But at the same time, all contours have become more important: divisions, segmentations, specializations, and in the longer term... nationalisms.

These cultural changes also had an impact on liturgy. As McLuhan writes, it might seem that “the demand for a vernacular liturgy arose spontaneously in the sixteenth century, but it isn’t so. In fact, that demand was linked to the invention of print, an invention that accentuated people’s need to push towards individualism and nationalism. Add to that the fact that printed texts gave rise to textual exegesis from the pulpit. And finally, the new accent on the visual favored placing the celebrant face to face with the congregation: we needed to see him and he wanted to be seen.” [2] According to McLuhan, the fact that greater emphasis was placed on preaching in the 16th century and that Protestant priests turned to face the people was a consequence of the invention of printing. According to him, “Medieval liturgy was mostly acoustic,” and in Reformed churches it became more visual.

In response to the invention of printing, the Council of Trent developed the Decretum de edendis sanctis litteris et facultate utendi iis, and Pius V issued the apostolic constitution Quo primum tempore, thus defining the rules for the use of the new invention and regulating its use during ceremonies. Thanks to this, Catholics living in the world after the invention of printing, in the (as McLuhan describes it) “Gutenberg Galaxy,” that is, those who already had the need to see everything, accepted that there are certain things that cannot be seen in the sacred liturgy of the Church. This is important because we use our sight to construct the world as a set of static, permanent objects that have contours (for the ear, everything is more “fluid”), so making everything visible, to put it mildly, did not facilitate belief in the transubstantiation and Real Presence of God in the sacrament of the Altar. When you see the contours, it is more difficult to believe that the host is transformed into the Body of Christ. The effects of shifting the emphasis to visuality are clearly visible among Protestants, who have lost their belief in the Real Presence.

In the 16th century, the Roman Catholic Church not only resisted the worldly impact of the invention of printing, but also harnessed the new technology to standardize and consolidate existing liturgical practices and centralize the one and only Church. And how the Church transformed the worldly emphasis on visuality, i.e., the need to see that was created among the laity living in the world, can still be seen today in Baroque churches.

NOM, Vilnius (Lithuania), Catholic church; I don’t remember which one. This beautiful high altar surmounted by a crucifix became simply a decorative background.

The second historical reinforcement – auditory – was given to vernacular languages by the microphone.

First, new mass media appeared, thanks to the microphone, radio and television developed. The circulation of information, this time also in the form of sounds, accelerated even more. In public spaces, we began to hear different sounds from all sides at the same time. Television began to use sight like hearing, and we began to perceive images as sound, with our eyes focused on a single point, we could begin to see and hear the entire scene.

Secondly, the nature of mass events changed: without the microphone, there would be no numerous competitions and championships, popular concerts, or demonstrations.

Thirdly, thanks to the microphone, new figures emerged. As McLuhan significantly notes, without the microphone there would have been no Gandhi or Hitler. The vernacular began to reign supreme in the public sphere, in a version increasingly close to colloquial language.

According to McLuhan, the overall impact of the microphone on culture is the opposite of that of print; because of the microphone, we have begun to return to an acoustic culture. Today’s culture is in some ways more reminiscent of that of the pre-literate era; we are returning from individualism to tribalism (we are more empathetic today, but only towards people from our own “tribe”); our perception has become non-sequential (non-linear), but immediate and holistic (rather than abstract, because it is difficult to “hear” contours).

So how could a microphone, which reversed the “visual” effects of printing on culture, cause the same “visual” changes in Catholic liturgy that printing caused among Protestants? Although the overall impact of the microphone on culture seems to be the opposite, both inventions have intensified the mediatization of our experience of the world. Today, we have a deeply rooted need to see and hear everything through the media, which are like extensions of our senses. If we cannot see and hear something through the media, we find it difficult to believe in it. [3] And since, with the microphone, we introduced into the Church the worldly need to hear everything, its older sister – the need to see everything – came along with it. And that is why, in the liturgical dimension, thanks to the microphone, the Church quickly “made up” for what it had previously “neglected” during the first visual reinforcement of vernacular languages. Priests who turn to the people and speak in their vernacular often behave as if they do not believe in the Real Presence.

The Church did not notice that the microphone was a new “actor.” Although the Second Vatican Council issued the decree Inter mirifica in 1963, it concerns social media, i.e., those used in the world. [4] The last council did not issue any document that would harness the microphone for the Church’s own purposes. And since the Church did not consider the issue of the microphone, this new worldly “actor” has been influencing the liturgy for almost a hundred years in the same way that it influences the world. And Catholics born into servitude should know who rules this world.

This approach sheds light on the contemporary crisis of the Church without attributing ill will to anybody, and explains the reason for the pentecostalization described in contemporary academic literature, i.e., the similarities between contemporary Catholic liturgical practices and Protestant practices. Some “traditionalists” (I believe in good faith) suggest that the new Masses imitate Protestants. This superficial observation often rightly outrages “new Catholics.”

In fact, these are deeper processes. “New Catholics” do not imitate Martin Luther, but succumb to the worldly influences of printing technology and microphones; they enter God’s temples with the same expectations there as they have in the world. Moreover, even many Church documents from the second half of the 20th century say that the faithful should “hear without difficulty.” [5] However, no one has considered whether it is really necessary for the faithful to hear everything during Mass. Isn’t it enough for them to assist at Mass, as they have done for eons?

By placing microphones on altars – in the place where God appears – we have introduced a Trojan horse into the Church: the microphone, and in it, the worldly need to hear and see everything. However, just as it is not necessary to see everything during Mass, it is also not necessary to hear everything. It is enough to look, listen, and... believe.

Against appearances, these are not subtle but fundamental differences, because the need to see and hear everything introduced into the Church by microphones has serious consequences. In Part 3, I will discuss two of them: those concerning the Community and those concerning the Word. [6] 

NOM, Vilnius (Lithuania), Our Lady of the Gate of Dawn. If the altar can’t be turned around, the speaker will ensure that everyone can hear everything

NOTES

^[1] The piano keyboard is an artificial creation.

^[2] Pierre Babin, Liturgy and Media: (Marshall McLuhan’s) Third Conversation with Pierre Babin, in: Eric McLuhan and Jacek Szklarek (eds.), The medium and the light: Reflections on Religion, Toronto: Stoddart 1999, p. 142.

^[3] This trend will most likely be reversed by artificial intelligence; see footnote 22.

^[4] Subsequently, based on Inter mirifica, a very enthusiastic pastoral instruction on the means of social communication, Communio et progressio, was developed in 1971 (“So, ‘among the wonderful technical inventions’ (Inter mirifica) which foster communication among human beings, Christians find means that have been devised under God’s Providence for the encouragement of social relations during their pilgrimage on earth”). On its twentieth anniversary, another instruction was published, entitled Aetatis Novae, which is no longer so enthusiastic (“the application of communications technology has been a mixed blessing”), but fails to identify the cause of the problem. These documents are about the press, radio, and television, and do not recognize the inventions from which they originated. It is like considering the impact of various computer programs without noticing the invention of the computer.

^[5]General Introduction to the Roman Missal (2010), point 311: “Care should be taken to ensure that the faithful be able not only to see the Priest, the Deacon, and the readers but also, with the aid of modern technical means, to hear them without difficulty.” See also no. 34 in the General Introduction to the Lectionary (1981): “Provision must also be made for the readers to have enough light to read the text and, as required, to have modern sound equipment enabling the faithful to hear them without difficulty.”

^[6] I will present more arguments against microphones in churches in a separate text, which will be included in an anthology that I will publish in Polish.

The Folklore of Pentecost

We continue to learn from Fr. Francis X. Weiser, this time regarding the ancient customs of Pentecost.

Holy Ghost Dove

From the earliest centuries of the Christian era preachers and writers have mentioned the dove as a symbol of the Holy Spirit. This symbolism, of course, was inspired by the Gospel report of Christ's baptism. (Luke 3, 21-22) The dove, as a symbol of the Holy Spirit, may be seen in churches, on priestly vestments, on altars, tabernacles, sacred utensils, and in many religious paintings.

In medieval times the figure of a dove was widely used to enact in a dramatic way the descent of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost Sunday. When the priest had arrived at the sequence, he sang the first words in a loud and solemn voice: Veni Sancte Spiritus (Come, Holy Ghost). Immediately there arose in the church a sound “as of a violent wind blowing.” (Acts 2, 2) This noise was produced in some countries, like France, by the blowing of trumpets; in others by the choirboys, who hissed, hummed, pressed windbags, and rattled the benches. All eyes turned toward the ceiling of the church where from an opening called the “Holy Ghost Hole” there appeared a disc the size of a cart wheel, which slowly descended in horizontal position, swinging in ever-widening circles. Upon a blue background, broken by bundles of golden rays, it bore on its underside the figure of a white dove. Meanwhile, the choir sang the sequence. At its conclusion the dove came to rest, hanging suspended in the middle of the church. There followed a “rain” of flowers indicating the gifts of the Holy Spirit, and of water symbolizing baptism. In some towns of central Europe people even went so far as to drop pieces of burning wick or straw from the Holy Ghost Hole, to represent the flaming tongues of Pentecost. This practice, however, was eventually stopped because it tended to put the people on fire externally, instead of internally as the Holy Spirit had done at Jerusalem. In the thirteenth century in many cathedrals of France real white pigeons were released during the singing of the sequence and flew around in the church while roses were dropped from the Holy Ghost Hole.

Like all such religious pageants this dramatic addition to the liturgy of Whitsunday was attacked and ridiculed by the Lutheran reformers. Among other instances there is a report from the town of Biberach in Germany describing how in 1545 children broke the Holy Ghost Dove of the local church and carried the pieces in a mock procession through the streets.

A fairly general custom in medieval times, and one still practiced in many sections of central and eastern Europe, is the use of artfully carved and painted wooden doves, representing the Holy Spirit. Usually this figure is suspended over the dining table. Often it is encased in a globe of glass, into which it has been assembled with painstaking effort, a constant reminder for the members of the family to venerate the Holy Spirit. [Editor's note: I have tried to find one of these through internet and eBay searches, but have had no luck. Anyone else?]

Other Customs

Like Easter night, the night of Pentecost is considered one of the great “blessed nights” of the year. In many sections of Europe it is still the custom to ascend hilltops and mountains during the early dawn of Whitsunday to pray. People call this observance “catching the Holy Ghost.” Thus they express in symbolic language the spiritual fact that only by means of prayer can the divine dove be “”caught” and the graces of the Holy Spirit obtained.

In rural sections of northern Europe superstitions ascribe a special power of healing to the dew that falls during Pentecost night. To obtain these blessings people walk barefoot through the grass on the early morning of the feast. They also collect the dew on pieces of bread which afterward are fed to their domestic animals as a protection against disease and accidents. In many places, all through Whitsunday night can be heard the noise of shooting (Pfingstschiessen) and cracking of whips (Pfingstschnalzen). In pre-Christian times this observance was held to frighten harmful powers away from home and harvest; in Christian times it assumed the character of a salute to the great feast.

The modern version of the ancient spring festival (maypole and May Queen) is connected with Pentecost in many sections of Europe. The queen is called “Pentecost Bride” (Pfingstbraut). Other relics of the Indo-European spring festival are the games, dances, and races held at Whitsuntide. This tradition used to be most popular everywhere in the Middle Ages, and still is in central Europe. In England, Pentecost Sunday was a day of horse races, plays, and feasting (Whitsun ale). In Germany, too, people would hold banquets (Pfingstgelage) and drink “Pentecost beer.” Finally, there exists a Christian version of ancient nature lore in the custom of blessing flowers, fields, and fruit trees on the Vigil of Pentecost. In German-speaking countries the red peony (paeonia officinalis) bears the name Pfingstrose (Rose of Pentecost), and the oriole (oriolus oriolus) is called Pfingstvogel (Pentecost bird).

The Cathedral of Ss Peter and Paul in Troyes, France

These pictures of the cathedral of Ss Peter and Paul in Troyes, France, about 100 miles to the south south-east of Paris, were taken by a friend during a recent visit. If you are a regular reader of NLM, you know we generally seek to accentuate the positive, and that isn’t going to change. However, this photo set does also include pictures of the comically hideous modern fixtures which have defaced parts of the church’s interior, as a reminder of some of the reasons why the New Pentecost™ turned out a little different from the previous one. They are all grouped together in the lower part of the post under the label “The Ugly Stuff”, so if you don’t want to see them, that’s where you should stop scrolling down. You have been warned...

The current Gothic building is the fourth version of the cathedral, begun in the very last years of the 12th century after a huge fire that destroyed much of the town in 1188. Like many such projects, the construction lasted for centuries; the west front was not completed until 1554, and the north tower, named for St Peter, was only finished in 1634, while the south tower, as you can see, was never even begun.

The chevet has six fairly large chapels radiating out of it, and the buttresses are weighted down with extra spires; these are actually new constructions of the 19th century.

This plaque commemorates St Joan of Arc, who attended Mass here on July 10, 1429, during the period when she was accompanying the Dauphin Charles VII to his coronation at Rheims.

The central nave.

The south nave.

Continue Reading this Article. . .

The Octave of the Ascension 2026

From St Gregory the Great’s 29th Homily on the Gospels, read in the Breviary of St Pius V on the Octave Day of the Ascension.

Concerning this glory of (the Lord’s) Ascension, Habakkuk said (3, 11), “The sun was raised up, and the moon stood in its order.” Who is indicated by the name of the sun, if not the Lord, and who by the name of the moon, if not the Church? For until the Lord ascended into heaven, His Holy Church was in every way fearful of its enemies in the world; but after She was fortified by His Ascension, She openly preached what She had come to believe in secret. (Luke 12, 3) Therefore “the sun was raised up, and the moon stood in its order”, because when the Lord repaired to heaven, His Holy Church grew in the authority of her preaching.

The Ascension of Christ, by Andrea Mantegna, 1460-64

Hence through Solomon is it said in the voice of the Church, “Behold He cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping over the hills.” (Canticle 2, 8) For She looked upon the heights of such great works, and said “Behold he cometh leaping upon the mountains,” since in coming for our salvation, He made certain leaps … From heaven He came into the womb, from the womb to the manger, from the manger to the Cross, from the cross to the tomb, from the tomb He returned to heaven. Behold, that He might set us to run after Him, the Truth made manifest though the flesh made these leaps for us, for “He rejoiced as a giant to run His way” (Ps. 18, 6), that we might say to Him from the heart, “Draw us: we will run after thee to the odor of thy ointments.” (Canticle 1, 3)

Therefore, dearest brethren, it is necessary that we follow Him in our hearts to that place where we believe He ascended in the body. Let us flee earthly desires; let nothing here below now delight us, who have a Father in heaven. And we must also consider this very carefully, that He who ascended peaceably will be terrible in His return, and whatsoever He commanded us with mildness, He will demand of us with severity. Let no one therefore take little account of the times of penance granted to us, let no one fail to take care for himself while he can; for Our Redeemer will come to judgment all the more strictly, according as He first show greater patience to us before the judgment.

The Ascension Dome of the Basilica of St Mark in Venice; mosaics ca. 1175-1200. (click to enlarge) The words written in a circle that separate Christ and the four angels around him from the Virgin Mary and Apostles are four hexameters, “Dicite quid statis, quid in aethere consideratis. / Filius iste Dei, Christus, cives Galilaei, / Sumptus ut a vobis abit et sic arbiter orbis / Judicii cura veniet dare debita jura.” (Tell us what you are standing and looking at in Heaven. This Son of God, Christ, o ye citizens of Galilee, being taken from you, goes; and so He will come as the judge of the world, with right judgment to give all their due.)

We may note here that St Gregory cites the Prophet Habakkuk according to the text of the Old Latin version of the Bible, the translation made from the Greek text of the Septuagint, while the citations from the Song of Songs are taken from St Jerome’s version, which we now call the Vulgate. Just as several of Jerome’s Biblical commentaries explain both versions of the text, so also the Church Fathers continued to use both, and of course, there are many texts throughout the liturgy, in the Mass, Office and elsewhere, which still use the Old Latin to this very day. Likewise, the first citation from the Song of Songs, (or “Canticle of Canticles” as it is traditionally called in the Vulgate), follows St Jerome’s version, but the second mixes the two, “Draw us” instead of “Draw me.” St Gregory also takes it for granted, as do all the Fathers, that the Song of Songs is a dialogue between Christ and the Church; many early printed Bibles actually contain notes added into the text which explain “This is the voice of the Church speaking to Christ”, or “Christ here says to the Church” etc.

From a Breviary according to the Use of Bamberg, Germany, printed in 1501, part of the Office for the feast of the Nativity of the Virgin Mary. In the left column, a bit below the middle, begin the Matins readings from the Song of Songs, with the interpretive notes, “The voice of Christ to the Church”, “The voice of the bride to the young women”, etc.

Could the Introduction of Microphones Have Caused the Reform of the Mass?

We are very pleased to share the following thought-provoking essay by Paweł Jarnicki, which was first published in Polish at Christianitas. The text has been translated into English with the support of machine translation and will be published at NLM in three installments, this week and next. It is one of the most insightful treatments of the question I have ever seen, and deserves a careful read. – PAK

“Let’s Throw the Microphone Out of the Church!”

Paweł Jarnicki

Part 1

I narrated battles
bastilles and ships…
and forgot about tamarisk. [1]

Eleven years ago, shortly after my conversion, as I listened to a priest muttering a bland sermon, a postulate arose in my mind that has returned to me regularly ever since: Take the microphones away from the priests! After all, if this priest spoke without a microphone, he couldn’t mutter like that. He would have to know what he wanted to say. He would have to speak loudly and clearly. He would have to exert his body... Since when have there been microphones in churches anyway?... I looked around. There were definitely no microphones when this church was built. How did everything work before microphones came along? At that time, I knew nothing about the reform of the Mass.

I talked to several people about my postulate from time to time, and even started taking some notes, but it was only a year ago that I checked if anyone had already written anything on the subject. I searched exclusively on the Internet. I found literally a few valuable texts in English and a few paragraphs in Polish. I am trying to put my own thoughts and what I have read into a coherent whole here. This is by no means an academic text or a complete study of the subject, but rather a text written by a believer in the hope that it will spark discussion and provoke more competent people to conduct in-depth research and take action.

Let’s start with what is certain. It is certain that microphones are found in almost every Catholic church today — at organs, pulpits, ambo, and altars. Sometimes portable microphones are also used. They are accompanied, of course, by an amplifier (usually in the sacristy or near the organist) and loudspeakers — at least a few — even in the smallest churches and chapels.

It is also certain that for the vast majority of time, there were no microphones in churches. Although the carbon microphone was invented in the 1870s, and the first sound systems (microphone + amplifier + loudspeaker) were developed in the mid-1910s, they were not installed in churches until the 1920s and 1930s.

Available publications indicate that there were no serious discussions about the use of microphones in churches. And yet, at that time, there were disputes about broadcasting Mass on the radio or introducing projectors and players... But microphones? It seems that they were treated as something natural and fundamentally good. Just as glasses allow us to see more clearly, microphones allow us to hear more clearly. What could be wrong with hearing better?

In official church documents, the first mention of the amplification system can be found in the 1958 instruction On Music. It prohibits the use of automatic organ, phonograph, radio, tape or wire recorders, and other similar machines (71), and projectors (73), but “loudspeakers may be used even during liturgical functions, and private devotions for the purpose of amplifying the living voice of the priest-celebrant or the commentator” (72). [2] The microphone was therefore treated as something that merely “amplifies the living voice,” as an object as neutral, in fact, as a pair of glasses. Later documents that I have been able to find treat the “altar microphone” as something so obvious that they only require a second, separate microphone to be placed on the pulpit. [3]

Today, practically no one is surprised by microphones in churches, because they are ubiquitous in the world, transparent, and we swim like fish in water in amplified sounds, both in public and private spaces. Since microphones and loudspeakers are everywhere, it seems normal that they are also in churches. However, reading texts about microphones by other authors led me to the surprising thesis that the microphone caused the reform of the Holy Mass. I have read a lot about the reform over the last nine years, but that it was caused by the microphone?

NOM, Łukęcin (Poland), Church of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Queen of Poland. In newly built churches, the cross is usually placed next to the altar, and the microphone becomes the axis of the celebration.

Two narratives about the reform of the Mass

In order to reconstruct the impact of the microphone on the 1969 reform of the Mass, it is good to familiarize ourselves with the current narratives about this reform. Especially since many contemporary Catholics know nothing about it, even though many “epics” have already been written about the controversy surrounding it... There are basically two narratives. Those enthusiastic about the reform and its critics. The enthusiastic narrative says: The reform of the Mass is the work of the Council, so it is good. The critical narrative says: The reform of the Mass is a consequence of the invasion of modernism, so it is bad. Although today (after Benedict XVI) the enthusiasts of the reform more often speak of continuity, and its critics of a break, there are also reverse variants. There were and are enthusiasts of the reform who speak of a break, and there are also critics of the reform who acknowledge continuity.

Critics of the reform argue that the world and people have not changed in essence, so there was no need to change the Mass, yet it was changed significantly. Enthusiasts of the reform say that as a result of increased well-being and technological development, “times” have changed, so the reform of the Mass was necessary to adapt it to contemporary pastoral needs, and only the envelope has changed, not the essence of the Mass.

The most radical critical narrative can be found among sedevacantists (those who believe that there is currently no legitimate pope) — recognizing the new Mass as invalid must also undermine recent pontificates, because several popes have already celebrated the new Mass. Therefore, the greatest concern of humble critics of the reform is how to criticize the reform without denying the validity of the new Mass and the continuity of the Church as an institution headed by the pope, and how not to cast the Second Vatican Council as the “villain.” The latter term allows reform enthusiasts to easily place critics outside the Church, because the Holy Spirit is at work during the council, and it is clear on whose side those who fight against the Divine Person are.

More moderate critics of the reform point out that the conciliar constitution on the liturgy neither recommended that the priest turn towards the people (versus populum) nor recommended a complete transition to vernacular languages. This was only done by the Consilium led by Annibale Bugnini — the reform is therefore a “distortion” of the Council’s decisions. Enthusiasts say that the Consilium implemented the “spirit” of the Council, while critics say that there is no such thing — that its “letter” has been violated. More radical critics point out that the errors of modernism (the omission of some ideas and the vague formulation of others) were already present in the conciliar documents and that the last council was not dogmatic, but only pastoral.

In any case, the common denominator of both narratives is the awareness of a crisis in the Church, the most striking manifestation of which is the decline in the number of priestly vocations. And no one has any idea how to break out of the trenches of their own convictions. Those on one side of the dispute see aggressive madmen, while those on the other see thoughtless blind men. This inability to reach an agreement confirms that some kind of break has indeed occurred. After all, it is easy to see that the new Mass is unlike the old one and that Catholics behave differently during the new and old Masses. Catholics raised on the new Mass who are unaware of the reform, when they encounter the old Mass, even have the impression that it is some kind of “different faith.” In the critical narrative, it is pointed out that since the way we pray has changed, our faith has changed (lex orandi lex credendi), but enthusiasts treat these critics as a threat to the unity of the Church, which today prays mostly according to the new Mass. These “accomplished facts” are the final argument of new Mass enthusiasts, but critics who emphasize continuity consider them dishonest because they imply a profound break — can the Mass on which the saints from before the last council were raised be so bad that it is forbidden to celebrate it in all parish churches? There seems to be no possibility of agreement.

The weaker, critical side feels — not without reason — that it is a victim of institutional violence (which to some extent explains, but does not excuse, the “aggressive” behavior of “traditionalist” circles). The problem, or perhaps its solution, is that here the “perpetrators” may also turn out to be victims of deception... For both narratives, both radical and moderate, forget about the microphone... which, like a Trojan horse, we ourselves introduced into the Church without considering the possible consequences.

NOM, Wrocław (Poland), St. Faustina Church. The object between the altar and the cross is not a Paschal candle but a portable loudspeaker.

Could the microphone have caused the reform of the Mass?

Although the hierarchs did not debate the issue of microphones, there was one layman who, in 1974, five years after the reform of the Mass, wrote:

“Many people will lament the disappearance of the Latin Mass from the Catholic Church without realizing that it was a victim of the microphone on the altar.” [4] And he repeated this thought three years later: “Latin wasn’t the victim of Vatican II; it was done in by introducing the microphone. A lot of people, the Church hierarchy included, have been lamenting the disappearance of Latin without understanding that it was the result of introducing a piece of technology that they accepted so enthusiastically.” [5]

The statements of Marshall McLuhan (1911–1980) have gone almost completely unnoticed, even in today’s so-called “traditionalist” circles. [6] Why? I think that the rest of his text is too “dense.” It is a challenging text, difficult to understand even for readers educated in the humanities. Although McLuhan was a Catholic, he was neither a historian nor a theologian; his voice was the voice of a representative of what was then a new discipline of knowledge — media theory. What McLuhan says in this text also contradicts the (enthusiastic) intellectual mood that prevailed after the Council and for decades thereafter — McLuhan points to church architecture as a second victim of the microphone, alongside the Latin Mass, and predicts that the publication of the Holy Scriptures in vernacular languages by official committees will be counterproductive to the spread of the Good News. In a situation where literature adapts subsequent variations of the living colloquial national language, the Church rigidifies the vernacular in its official and archaic translation. And yet every vernacular continues to evolve, so rigidifying it detaches faith from the living language of national communities and significantly hinders the transmission of faith.

McLuhan says all this in a deliberately vague way, wanting to force readers to make a cognitive effort. In addition, it seems that in the following years, the prevailing belief was that the widespread use of microphones in churches was a consequence of the reform of the Mass (chronologically, microphones were first introduced in more important churches, and only after the reform in all churches).

It was only Nico Fassino’s article three years ago that showed that McLuhan may be right, that the opposite may be true [7] – that there would be no new Mass if it weren’t for the microphone. Not only because during the Council it could had been turned off and Cardinal Ottaviani silenced, [8] but above all because the microphone was placed on the altar.

Fassino’s article is, so far, the only one that begins to describe the process of introducing microphones into churches from a historical perspective. Thanks to him, we know that in the 1920s, microphones began to be used in pulpits and the first Masses were broadcast on the radio. However, the first radio broadcasts did not necessarily involve sound systems in the church itself. It was probably Pius XII, who had been in office since 1939 and still celebrated the old Mass, who was the first pope to place microphones on the altar. [9] We do not yet know the exact date when this happened, but it was most likely between 1939 and 1945. And since microphones were placed on the papal altar, this must have gradually become more common practice in the post-war years.

But could such a seemingly neutral object have brought about a reform of the Mass? How? In the following reconstruction, I draw heavily on McLuhan’s text:

1. The microphone on the altar made the Latin texts audible, which until then had largely reached the faithful only as incomprehensible whispers and murmurs (especially during quiet Masses celebrated on weekdays, but also during the quiet parts of solemn Masses on holidays).

2. The amplification of the words spoken in Latin created a need to hear them clearly — if someone amplifies sound, it means that they want to be heard, that there is something that needs to be heard). [10]

3. And since the faithful began to hear words rather than murmurs, the need to hear clearly was followed by the need to understand what was being heard [11], and thus

4. the need to speak during Mass in the languages used in everyday life, in languages known to the faithful — in their vernacular languages.

5. And since the faithful began to hear and needed to understand every word, the impression arose that it was they who were being addressed.

6. This led to an inconsistency in the communication situation — when someone speaks to us and we speak to someone, it is natural to expect that we will have our faces turned towards each other.

The priest’s reversal was therefore a consequence of placing a microphone on the altar. But at the same time, it also reinforced the needs created by the use of the microphone – hearing and understanding – and thus speaking in an understandable vernacular language. This is why reversing the Mass reform seems impossible today – the faithful must now see and hear everything. In any case, it was the microphone that set off the avalanche of the reform. If anyone doubts this, let them imagine the new Mass at the sanctuary in Łagiewniki, Krakow – without a sound system. [12]

Wait a minute, someone will say, microphones are now used even in “Latin rite ministries”. I think that microphones at traditional Masses are only acceptable in “ghettos” where rebellious believers are sent, who are not only resigned to hearing Latin, but actually consciously want to hear it (which is often the basis of their sense of superiority, and for “new Catholics” this “exaltation” is an unacceptable barrier). Moreover, microphones have become so ubiquitous in the world today that almost no one – even the most ardent “traditionalists” — would dream of questioning their use. Why should we give up the achievements of science and technology?

This question will be taken up in Part 2.

NOM, Jarnice (Poland), St. James Church. Today, sound systems are installed even in the smallest churches (both inside and often outside).

NOTES

[1] Zbigniew Herbert, Tamarisk, 1961.

^[2]Instruction on Sacred Music and Sacred Liturgy of the Sacred Congregation for Rites according to the guidelines of Pope Pius XII’s encyclicals Musicae Sacrae Disciplina and Mediator Dei of September 3, 1958. The role of the commentator may seem peculiar today, but it was someone who translated what the priest was doing and saying (in Latin) into the vernacular.

^[3] See, for example, the Polish Episcopate’s Instruction in connection with the publication of the new altar missal of March 11, 1987.

^[4] Marshall McLuhan, Liturgy and the Microphone. First published in: “The Critic” 1974, vol. 33, no. 1, October-December, pp. 12–17; reprinted in: Eric McLuhan and Jacek Szklarek (eds.), The medium and the light: Reflections on Religion, Toronto: Stoddart 1999, pp. 107-116, quote from p. 112.

^[5] Pierre Babin, (Marshall McLuhan’s) Third Conversation with Pierre Babin, in: Eric McLuhan and Jacek Szklarek (eds.), The Medium and the Light: Reflections on Religion, Toronto: Stoddart 1999, pp. 141-149, quote from p. 143.

^[6] It seems that the issues surrounding the microphone escaped even Marcel Lefebvre, the most vocal critic of the Mass reform, and even the Society of St. Pius X uses microphones in its chapels and churches.

^[7] Nico Fassino, Lift up thy voice with strength, handmissalhistory, October 10, 2022, https://handmissalhistory.com/feature-microphones/, September 25, 2025.

^[8] As an aside, let us ask ourselves how earlier councils were possible without microphones? If there had been no microphones, would the “progressive” faction have been audible enough to significantly change the preliminary documents?

^[9] “By 1945, Pope Pius XII regularly celebrated mass with four microphones installed on the high altar in St. Peter’s Basilica and even had two microphones on the altar in his private chapel.” [Nico Fassino, Lift up thy voice with strength, handmissalhistory, October 10, 2022, https://handmissalhistory.com/feature-microphones/, September 25, 2025]

^[10] Nico Fassino notes that, paradoxically, the microphone has led to the creation of “cry rooms” for children in American churches. If the words spoken by the priest are to be heard, other sounds, especially noisy children, must not interfere.

^[11] To understand what this is all about, it is enough to experience at least once a new Mass in a country where the language is so foreign that we are unable to distinguish individual words from the stream of speech (for me, these were Latvian and Finnish). During such a Mass, it is difficult not to ask yourself the question: “What am I doing here?”

^[12] The Basilica of Divine Mercy in Łagiewniki (Kraków, Poland), consecrated in 2002, elliptical in shape, the interior — covering approximately 5,000 square meters and accommodating around 5,000 worshippers.

The Minor Litanies in the Ambrosian Rite

This post comes entirely from notes written by our Ambrosian expert, Nicola de’ Grandi. The photos were taken yesterday at the church of Santa Maria della Consolazione in Milan, where the traditional rite is celebrated, and which observed the Minor Litanies with a procession and a station within the church. (In previous years it has been held outside, but yesterday it was raining.) Last month, I posted the liturgical texts of the Ambrosian form of the Major Litanies. Special thanks to Mr Andrea Riva for providing the video of the Litany of the Saints given below. 

In the Ambrosian Rite, the Minor Litanies are celebrated on the Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday after the Ascension, not before as in the Roman Rite. This custom is attested in the very oldest Ambrosian liturgical books, and was observed from very ancient times throughout the north of Italy, not just at Milan, as seen in a liturgical manuscript at Friuli, in the Veneto region, already in the 6th century. They were originally known as the “Major Litanies”, since they were instituted before the observance on April 25th that now bears that name, but which is not attested in the Ambrosian Rite before the 11th century.

An Ambrosian liturgical manuscript of the 13th century.

Although St Ambrose himself writes that it was not the custom of the Church to fast during the Easter season (Exposition of the Gospel of St Luke 25), a fact which was adduced in criticism of the Milanese custom in the Middle Ages, it was defended in the later 11th century by a cleric of the city named Landolfo, who refers to what Christ says when asked why His disciples did not fast. “The days will come, when the bridegroom shall be taken away from them, and then they shall fast.” (Matthew 9, 15) The three day fast after the Ascension, the departure of the Bridegroom, therefore imitates what the Apostles did while waiting for the coming of the Holy Spirit. A contemporary of St Ambrose, St Philastrius of Brescia, attests to exactly this same custom, and for exactly the same reasons, already in the mid-5th century. The Mozarabic liturgy also traditionally observes a fast of three days in the week after the Ascension, on the Wednesday, Thursday and Friday before the vigil of Pentecost.

From the most ancient times, the Church administered baptism on Pentecost with the same rites as on Easter; this is attested in a letter of Pope St Siricius (384-99) to Himerius, bishop of Tarragon in Spain (cap. 2), and one of Pope St Leo the Great (440-461), in which he exhorts the bishops of Sicily to follow the Church’s custom and the example of the Apostle Peter, who baptized three thousand persons on Pentecost day. (Epist. 16)

In accordance with this universal custom, the traditional Ambrosian celebration of the Minor Litanies, as they are now called, has many elements in common with Lent, the season par excellence for baptismal preparation. During the processions, there are stations at various churches; at each station, lessons are read as part of the catechumenal preparation for baptism, exactly as was done in Lent. Black vestments are used as on the ferias of Lent, and in the Office, all of the characteristic features of the Easter season (the Paschal hymns, antiphons consisting of just the word “Alleluia”, etc.) are replaced with those of the season per annum. The Ambrosian Rite has no Ash Wednesday, and only much later did it adopt the imposition of ashes on the first Monday of Lent; the blessing and imposition of ashes is in fact historically done on the first day of the Minor Litanies.

In the Middle Ages, when the Minor Litanies were still kept with great solemnity, on each of the three days, the archbishop, the cathedral chapter and the entire clergy of the city participated in a procession which departed from the cathedral, and stopped at twelve different stational churches along the way, each group within the clergy walking behind its own processional cross. An enormous number of processional antiphons were sung, interspersed between the verses of the longest Psalm in the Psalter, Beati immaculati (118). At each station, a synaxis was held in a form which is common to various penitential functions in the Ambrosian Rite such as vigils and the ferias of Lent: twelve Kyrie eleisons, followed by a prayer, a reading of the Old Testament, a responsory, and a Gospel. In 1767, the diary of the master of ceremonies of the Duomo records that the full ceremony lasted for just under 5 hours!

The procession

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Catholic Art School Incorporates Benedictine Spirituality into its Daily Routine

Chanting the Psalms daily and refectory reading are part of the artistic community’s own Way of Beauty

For those looking to train as artists in a Catholic environment, I recommend the Stabat Mater Atelier (see A Catholic Art School with Full Four-Year Training in Classical Naturalism), which teaches the traditional, rigorous drawing and painting known as the ‘Academic’ method. I was privileged to visit them in Tyler, Texas, last Fall and to address the students and faculty.

Recently, the director, artist Robert Puschautz, asked if I would publish a short article by him about the implementation of what I had discussed, as he was pleased with its impact on the students and faculty. Of course, I was happy to do so. It is posted below. He describes how the students taught themselves, based on my original instructions, to chant the psalms. I recommended they do this as part of their spiritual life as Christians, of course, but also as a way to stimulate their creative imaginations as artists and open their hearts to inspiration from God, should He choose to offer it. The musical method is described in my upcoming book, Musica Domestica, a two-volume book of music for the domestic church, co-authored with Andrew Goldstein of the Vigil Project, and to be published by Word on Fire in fall of this year.

Robert wrote:

“At the beginning of the 2025 academic year, David Clayton, Scala Foundation Artist in Residence, Provost of Pontifax, iconographer, and writer, visited the Stabat Mater Studio to offer a series of talks highlighting the essentials of training in visual Sacred Art. He discussed using technical mastery of drawing and painting to serve a Christian worldview, one that points beyond the natural world. He also spent a good deal of time championing the use of chant and a simplified version of the liturgy of the hours. David emphasized that an artist creating work for the Catholic Church’s liturgy ought to be immersed in it daily. After hearing David, a number of students and teachers decided to spend additional time learning his simple method for chanting the psalms in the Gregorian modes.

“I was skeptical that we could implement much of what David taught us, despite his generous sharing of the psalms and materials. Furthermore, lacking musical training, I didn’t feel confident leading the charge to incorporate the practice. I was surprised, however, to find that some students were eager to take the lead and start our days with a version of Morning Prayer. We started very simply with one tone and one leader, and the remaining students mimicked the same tone on the following verse. It took some time for us to develop the habit of praying consistently and beautifully, but each trimester we improve and have introduced an additional mode for singing. Slowly but surely, it has become an essential part of how we start the morning at our studio.

“Inspired by the monastic tradition of table reading, we, in addition to our morning prayer routine, read aloud to the students during their lunch hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays from texts relevant to their artistic and Catholic development. Recently, we have been reading through David’s The Way of Beauty. This has led to great discussions afterward about the importance of idealization for sacred artists, the study of geometry, and the necessity of beauty in all aspects of life. Although most of our time is spent developing technical mastery in drawing and painting, we believe that these simple practices of chanting and prayer in community will deeply form students into artists imbued with a sense of the sacred and as part of the Body of Christ.”

For more information on Stabat Mater Atelier and to see Robert’s work, go to stabatmater.org.

Robert Puschautz in the studio, with a student beyond him

The Good Samaritan After Morot by Rachel Perry, 35 x 47 oil on canvas, 2025. This was her ‘masterpiece’, the detailed imitation of a great work of the past, done as part of her training.

Vestments from the Archdiocesan Museum of Warsaw (Part 2)

This is the second set of photos taken by a friend, Mr Anatole Upart, at the museum of the archdiocese of Warsaw, Poland, during a recent visit. In the first part, which I posted on Saturday, most of the vestments were liturgical white, here we have a wide variety of colors, including blue. Among the Slavs who use the Byzantine Rite, blue has become de facto the standard color for feasts of the Virgin Mary, and I have been told by a very knowledgeable scholar that they picked this custom up from their Polish neighbors. The dates range from the mid-17th to mid-19th century.

This chasuble detailed with the coat of arms of Poland was donated to the cathedral by Cecilia Renata, the Austrian queen of King Władysław IV Vasa (1611-44).

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The Sunday after the Ascension

Hear, o Lord, my voice, with which I have cried to thee.” After the first anointing, which they had received in the death of Christ, as He breathed upon them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit”, the Apostles awaited the second anointing which the Lord had promised, saying, “If I shall go; I shall send the Paraclete to you.” Therefore, as they await, they sing in the Introit, “Hear.”

Introitus Ps 26 Exaudi, Dómine, vocem meam, qua clamávi ad te, allelúia: tibi dixit cor meum, quaesívi vultum tuum, vultum tuum, Dómine, requíram: ne avertas faciem tuam a me, allelúia, allelúia. V. Dóminus illuminatio mea et salus mea: quem timébo? Glória Patri... Exáudi, Dómine...

Introit Ps. 26 Hear, O Lord, my voice, with which I have cried to Thee, alleluia: my heart hath said to Thee, I have sought Thy face; Thy face, o Lord, will I still seek turn not Thy face from me, alleluia, alleluia. V. The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? Glory be... Hear, o Lord...

This is taken from the twenty-sixth Psalm, “The Lord is my light”, the title of which is “Unto the end, a Psalm of David, before he was anointed”; for therein is treated of the anointing of David, which was three-fold. For indeed, first he was anointed as a sign that he would be the king, second, as king over the tribe of Judah, and third over all of Israel.

Folio 14r of the breviary of René of Anjou (1409-80). This image is placed before the ferial Office of Monday, on which the nocturn begins with Psalm 26, “a psalm of David, before he was anointed.” At the lower left, is the election of David as king, and at the right, his anointing and coronation (2 Samuel 5).

We also sing the same, because we await a third anointing. For the first anointing is in baptism, the second in confirmation, or in the penance of confession, the third will be in the resurrection. In another sense, the first anointing was among the Apostles, the second among the Jews, the third among the gentiles. For “the ointment which ran down upon the beard of Aaron ... ran down upon the hem of his garment” (Ps. 132, 2), that is, upon the chosen Jews who were close to the Apostles... and “ran down like dew the dew of Hermon upon Mount Sion”, that is, the grace of Him that was exalted (in the Ascension) imbued the nations that watched for God.

And since the Apostles as they waited... were in the temple, praying, and praising, and blessing God (Luke 24, 53), therefore, as we wait, we are invited to prayer by the Epistle, “Be ye prudent (and keep watch in prayers.” (1 Peter 4, 7-11)

– from the Mitrale of Sicard, bishop of Cremona, Italy, (1155 ca. - 1215), book 7, chapter 9. This work was one of the major sources for William Durandus’ Rationale Divinorum Officiorum, the Summa of medieval liturgical commentaries, and in the parallel chapter, Durandus cites Sicard by name (or rather, almost by name, since he called him “Richard.”) However, in this case, Sicard’s commentary is much clearer than Durandus’.

Vestments from the Archdiocesan Museum of Warsaw (Part 1)

This post is something of a follow-up to one I made last week about a chasuble decorated with images of the events surrounding the martyrdom of St Stanislaus, bishop of Krakow, Poland. These pictures come from a friend, Mr Anatole Upart, who recently visited the museum of the archdiocese of Warsaw, and very kindly shared with us these pictures of its very impressive collection of liturgical vestments. A number of these are decorated with the same kind of thickly embroidered images of saints and angels, albeit not at the same level of detail as the Stanislaus vestment. (And it has to be said that one of them is rather cartoonish in appearance.) There aren’t many didactic panels, so I will leave most of them without comment, but from what I know of the style, I believe the majority of these come from the 17th and 18th centuries. Most of these are white; a second post will have more of the other liturgical colors. 

A chalice veil decorated with an image of Casimir, prince of the kingdom of Poland and grand duchy of Lithuania (1458-84), and is venerated a patron Saint of both nations.

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A Legend of St Brendan the Navigator

In Ireland, today is the feast of a sainted monk named Brendan, who is traditionally said to have been born in Clonfert in the year 484, and to have died in 577 at the age of 94. He is sometimes called “the Younger” to distinguish him from another Brendan, of Birr, or “the Elder.” They were both disciples of St Finnian, the founder of one of the first abbeys in the country, Clonard, and belong to the group known as the Twelve Apostles of Ireland for their labors in the evangelizing the Emerald Isle. As with many of the early Irish Saints, the traditional stories of his life are regarded as historically unreliable. The most famous of these is that he and a group of companions sailed out into the Atlantic Ocean searched for “the Promised Land of the Saints,” or the Garden of Eden, and has given him the nickname by which he is more generally known, “the Navigator.” The account of the ensuing adventures, known as “The Voyage of St Brendan”, was very popular, and over 100 manuscripts of it survive.

The Voyage of St Brendan, 1908, by the British painter Edward Reginald Frampton (1870-1923). This depicts another rather improbable episode in the story of St Brendan’s travels, in which he encounters Judas Iscariot on a deserted island, and the latter explains to him that on Sundays and major feast days, he is granted a temporary reprieve from the torments of hell. (Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons.)

One of the stories in this account (chapter 10 and 11) involves a stop on an island which turns out to be a very unusual place indeed.

“… Now that island was rocky, and without any grass; there was a thin forest there, and no sand on the shore. But as the brothers passed the night in prayers and vigils off the ship, the man of God (i.e. Brendan) remained within it.

… In the morning, he commanded the priests that they should each sing Mass, and so they did. Therefore, when Saint Brendan himself had sung Mass in the ship, the brothers began to bring raw meat out of the ship to cure it with salt, and also the fish which they had brought with them from the other island. When they had done these things, they set a pot upon a fire, and when they had added wood to the fire and the pot began to grow hot, the island began to move itself like a wave. But the brothers began to run to the ship praying for the holy father’s protection. But he drew each one of them in by the hand, and leaving behind all of the things which they had brought onto that island, they began to sail.

Now the island was being carried out into the ocean … and Saint Brendan explained to the brothers what this was, saying, “Brothers, are you astonished at what this island did?” They said, “We are very much astonished, and the greatest fear has taken hold of us.” And he said to them, “My sons, do not be afraid, for God has revealed to me this night through a vision the mystery of this matter. It was not an island where we were, but a fish. Greater than all the things that swim in the ocean, it is always looking for its own tail so that it may join it to its head, and it cannot because it is so long, and its name is Jasconius.”

St Brendan watches from the boat as one of the priests in his group of travel companions says Mass on the back of the sea monster. (Engraving by Honorius Philoponus, 1621)