Why We Should Retain or Reintroduce the Communion Plate (“Chin Paten”)

At a time in my life when I was still attending daily Novus Ordo Masses, there was a particular year in which, due to what strange epidemic of butterfingers I could not say, I witnessed hosts falling to the ground several times. It happened with three different priests. Apart from further cementing my conviction that nothing dumber could ever have been imagined than switching from the safe, efficient, and reverent method of communicating the faithful on the tongue as they kneel along the altar rail to the unsteady, convoluted, and casual method of queuing up and sticking out hands or tongue at varied heights in relation to the distributor, these episodes prompted me to do a bit of research about what ever happened to the paten or “communion plate” held by an altar server in order to catch hosts or fragments.

The full story of “chin patens” or communion plates turned out to be considerably more interesting than I had realized: Monsignor Charles Pope relates it here. Although a recent (19th-century) development, they make a great deal of sense. After all, even if the “houseling cloth” was the traditional method and still possesses an aesthetic and devotional appeal of its own, it wouldn’t really work very well at catching anything unless it were suspended carefully under each communicant — as one sees in Byzantine practice, or in some First Communion services in the Roman rite (see photograph below). So the invention of the “chin paten” was a brilliant idea and deserved its universal acceptance around the Catholic world. We could consider it a classic example of organic development: a real need is met by an appropriate solution that harmoniously slides into what is already there.

We can all guess what happened to them in the 1960s: in the rush to modernize, the chin paten, together with maniples, birettas, amices, houseling cloths, altar rails, and a hundred other standard-issue features of a Catholic church, would have seemed fussy extras, sacristy clutter, scrupulous remnants interfering with the businesslike transaction and the clean lines of the new aesthetic, where less was thought to be more — more “authentic” and more “spiritual.”

Nevertheless, it does not take long experience to see that when a chin paten is used, fragments of the host do fall on its surface sometimes, and that it does catch falling hosts. [1] That, in and of itself, should be more than enough to force an earnest reconsideration of the importance of retaining or reintroducing chin patens during communion time.

What surprised me is that this is also the mens ecclesiae, as expressed most recently in 2004, in the Instruction Redemptionis Sacramentum of the Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments, which states:

The Communion-plate for the Communion of the faithful ought to be retained, so as to avoid the danger of the sacred host or some fragment of it falling. (Patina pro Communione fidelium oportet retineatur, ad vitandum periculum ut hostia sacra vel quoddam eius fragmentum cadat.)

The Instruction at this point cites n. 118 of the General Instruction, which lists all the things that should be provided on the credence table, including: “the Communion-plate [patina] for the Communion of the faithful.” It is true that a close reading of the GIRM would suggest that this paten is mandatory only when intinction is utilized (see n. 287), but nevertheless it is a common sense practice allowed for by the GIRM and certainly commendable for all sorts of reasons.

Houseling cloth and paten in use (a first communion in Germany) 

One reason has not yet been mentioned: quite apart from its utility, the chin paten reminds the faithful of the mystery of the One who is present to us under the sacramental species of bread. He is the Lord of glory, hidden under the humble veil of food, and we must approach It and handle It with utmost reverence. The paten is a simple and subtle way of underlining that communion is no mere symbolic token of communal belonging but a genuine participation in the Redeemer’s divine flesh. When we recover little signs like this — and in ideal circumstances, we would be restoring the altar rail, too, and the houseling cloth — we do our part in reversing the outrageously bad statistics about the ignorance of and lack of faith in transubstantiation that characterizes American Catholics and probably Catholics in many other parts of the world as well.

Another reason to use the chin paten is that it subtly encourages the faithful to receive on the tongue, since the paten seems to have its use most properly in that configuration. The signal is transmitted that something special is occurring in reception on the tongue that reception on the hand rules out. Psychologically, this could come across as: “The person in line ahead of me is treated more specially because the priest and the server cooperate when giving him communion. Maybe I should do that, too. It seems more appropriate somehow.” I grant that Boomers are not likely to reason this way, but others with less baggage might.

Although communion plates with no handle are sometimes used, plates with long handles tend to be much more convenient for altar servers. If a particular place is following the common though inefficient and impersonal “queuing up” model, the server should stand to one side of the priest and hold the paten under the chin of any communicant who receives on the tongue. It is harder to say what should be done with those who receive in the hands, apart from saying that they just shouldn’t, period. But that topic has been taken up in many other NLM articles, and is not the main point here.

For those who take the motto of “brick by brick” seriously, reintroducing the communion plate would be a simple and affordable brick that could be set into its place readily enough.


NOTE
[1] No method is perfect, since a host hard enough can bounce off of a paten, as I saw happen with the first generation low-gluten hosts, which tended to be hard rather than soft. Such mishaps can, in any case, be avoided as long as the paten remains close to the communicant's chin, so that there is not a long distance through which a host can fall.

Visit www.peterkwasniewski.com for articles, sacred music, and classics reprinted by Os Justi Press (e.g., Benson, Scheeben, Parsch, Guardini, Chaignon, Leen).

“Where Has God Gone?”: The Pressure of Horror Vacui

Horror Vacui (1980) by Anselm Kiefer (b. 1945)

In a famous passage in Joyous Wisdom, “the parable of the madman,” Friedrich Nietzsche writes:

“Where has God gone?” he cried. “I shall tell you. We have killed him — you and I. All of us are his murderers. But how have we done this? How were we able to drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What did we do when we unchained this earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving now? Away from all suns? Are we not perpetually falling? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there any up or down left? … Do we not hear anything yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God? … God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we, murderers of all murderers, console ourselves?[1]

I was corresponding with a gentleman recently who wrote the following to me (and I reproduce it here with his permission):

Maybe I’m a babe in the woods, but last night I had the shock of my life. I went on YouTube and looked up an Orthodox monastery in Romania that I visited during communism. Some man had apparently been there and taken some pictures, and now he’s posted a slide show to YouTube. He wrote in the description that he’d used “Gregorian music” in the background, and as my dad used to say, I pretty near dropped my teeth. Someone had apparently had people sing Gregorian chant in a studio, added a drum track and a little bit of synthesizer, and had a woman’s voice intruding whispering little slogans about peace and other things. The biggest shock to me, though, was that the man who posted this — who was no spring chicken — actually thought this was Gregorian chant. There are probably lots of Catholics who think the same thing, but it’s Gregorian chant distorted for New Age purposes. I’d never heard anything like that before!
          It comes close to one of my universal laws about food: Anything that is beautiful and subtle will eventually have fruit flavoring or corn syrup added. People always feel a compulsion to add something. But they never take anything away.
          Recently I had to attend Mass at my neighborhood parish, and I discovered that what is really wrong — besides all the other things that are wrong — is what in art school we were taught to call horror vacui, fear of empty space. A typical amateur artist wants to fill every millimeter of space on a canvas with some kind of image, so the whole painting fights with itself. Good artists know how to use empty space. At this parish there’s not a second of silence from a half hour before Mass starts until after the crowd leaves. If you want quiet time to prepare for Mass, you have to arrive about two hours early. About ten minutes before Mass starts, the chatter has swelled to the volume of a pavilion at the state fair, and then once Mass starts, the musicians will not leave a second of quiet without twanging. Not even after communion. When I was a kid, the very same church was solemn and tranquil before Mass. No one breathed a word. Now people confuse church with a meetin’ hall and Mass with a TV show. Just the simple fact that the musicians don’t see the importance of receding at certain points during the liturgy is bothersome to me as someone with a visual arts background.

This colorful and all-too-true catalog of horrors, of the horror vacui sort, is one more indication of the unfathomable level of cultural regression and religious ignorance at this time in Western history. Apart from particular causes of regression and ignorance, there is a general cause, laid over all like a stifling blanket, that prevents us from recognizing our situation for the abysmal prodigy it is: the arrogance of modern man, who is supposed to be so “advanced” and to have progressed beyond all other ages. In reality, as Pope Pius XII once said, “the technical age will accomplish its monstrous masterpiece of transforming man into a giant of the physical world at the expense of his spirit, which is reduced to that of a pygmy in the supernatural and eternal world.”[2]

Pope Francis recently spoke in a general audience about the importance of observing moments of silence in the Mass, but he failed to show any awareness of two obvious facts.

First, silence in the new rite is artificial and barren of ritual significance. It does not arise because the priest is busy doing something else quietly, so that a natural span of silence results for everyone else, nor does it arise from the schola cantorum’s chanting of the Gradual and Alleluia. Inasmuch as this novum silentium is at the beck and call of the celebrant, it becomes a subtle mechanism for enhancing his “presidential status,” since he decides when to start and stop it. In that way, it is more like yoga meditation under the direction of a guru than it is Christian liturgical prayer.

Second, silence before, during, and after Mass has been killed, and its assassin is the liturgical reform in every decade of its implementation. For decades, the GIRM has been practically a dead letter when it comes to the actual liturgical life of most parishes. The progressives have been only too happy to push along countless practices that go explicitly against the GIRM, using the sponge of their hegemony to wipe away the entire horizon and unchain the earth from its sun, and no one has seriously attempted to correct them, even after Redemptionis Sacramentum, which did little or nothing to reverse the perpetual falling of liturgy “backward, sideward, forward, in all directions.” Pardon me, therefore, if I cough like Jeeves whenever someone with a Bertie Wooster grasp of liturgy invokes the GIRM as a reference point.

Before his humiliation by Pope Francis and his (voluntary or involuntary?) radio silence, Cardinal Sarah was constantly reminding people, like a voice crying in the wilderness, that nothing is more urgent than the serious protection and promotion of silence in our lives — not just in our liturgical worship, but in our personal prayer, even in our leisure and recreation. Without this empty space, there can be no interiority, no contemplation, no actual worship as opposed to “busy work,” the sort that substitute teachers give their fidgeting pupils while the real teachers are absent. We seem to be crushed by horror vacui, and it is only getting worse with the rapid inundation of all manner of pocketable or wearble devices, which fill every waking moment of our lives with the noise of information and entertainment . . . “the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God.”

At this strange moment in history, the new liturgical movement is also going to have to be a movement for natural, normal, face-to-face human interaction, sans distracting digital demons; for time spent making and repairing things with one’s own hands; for the stabilitas loci that comes from being quiet in a chair, at a table, in a room, by a window, with a book and nothing else. Such things are the natural analogues of the intimate contact with intangible beauty that comes from singing or hearing plainchant at Mass, smelling the incense, seeing the glittering gold on cope and chalice, becoming aware of one’s breathing or heartbeart in the silent Canon.

Some questions we must ask: What are the cultural preconditions — the personal prerequisites — for being able to respond from the depths of one’s soul to the needs and demands of the liturgy; for recognizing that in liturgy we walk fearfully on holy ground, as we enter a charged space filled with angels; for awakening to the sense of divine presence that would infallibly guide us back to our traditional modes of worship, abandoning with a sigh of relief all the modern claptrap that burdens us?

Photo by Fr. Lawrence Lew, O.P.

NOTES

[1] Cf. The Portable Nietzsche, ed. Walter Kaufmann (n.p.: Viking Press, 1968), 95.
[2] “…l’era tecnica compirà il suo mostruoso capolavoro di trasformare l’uomo in un gigante del mondo fisico a spese del suo spirito ridotto a pigmeo del mondo soprannaturale ed eterno.” Retrieved here.

GIRM 32 and the Roman Canon: The Power of Silence?

Robert Cardinal Sarah, in his recent book The Power of Silence, raises once again the question of a silent Canon in the Ordinary Form:

I am familiar with the regrets expressed by many young priests who would like the Canon of the Mass to be recited in complete silence. The unity of the whole assembly, communing with the words pronounced in a sacred murmur, was a splendid sign of a contemplative Church gathered around the sacrifice of her Savior. [...]

Nevertheless, the intention of the liturgical reform was commendable: the Council Fathers wanted to rediscover the original function of the Eucharistic Prayer as a great public prayer in the presence of God. But we notice also a strong temptation to look for variety by introducing improvisations into the Canon. The liturgy now runs the risk of trivializing the words of the Eucharistic Prayer... [Cardinal Ratzinger] had proposed practical solutions and forcefully declared that the audible recitation of the Eucharistic Prayer in its entirety was not the only means of getting everyone to participate in this act. We must work for a more balanced solution and offer the possibility of intervals of silence in this area. [1]

However, one of the obvious obstacles to the Cardinal’s “more balanced solution” is paragraph 32 of the current General Instruction of the Roman Missal (GIRM), which reads as follows (my emphasis):

32. The nature of the “presidential” parts requires that they be spoken in a loud and clear voice and that everyone listen to them attentively. Therefore, while the Priest is pronouncing them, there should be no other prayers or singing, and the organ or other musical instruments should be silent. [2]

What precisely is it about the “nature” of the presidential parts that requires them to be spoken out loud? This is a question that has puzzled me for some time, and that I was reminded of upon reading Cardinal Sarah’s book. So, as the GIRM has a footnote in this paragraph, I thought I would take a look at the reference to see if that provides any answer to this question.

Footnote no. 44 directs us to paragraph 14 of Musicam sacram (English, Latin), the Instruction on sacred music issued by the Sacred Congregation of Rites on 5 March 1967, which reads as follows (my emphasis):

14. The priest, acting in the person of Christ, presides over the gathered assembly. Since the prayers which are said or sung by him aloud are proclaimed in the name of the entire holy people and of all present, they should be devoutly listened to by all.

Sadly, this says nothing about the “nature” of the presidential parts; it only says that those prayers proclaimed aloud by the priest should be devoutly listened to by the assembly - and, at this point, this stipulation would not have included the Canon. Two months later, Tres abhinc annos (4 May 1967) would give permission for the Canon to be said aloud, but this remained optional (pro opportunitate) until the promulgation of the new Ordo Missae. [3] 

Musicam sacram does, however, reference Sacrosanctum Concilium 33 in a footnote in this paragraph - so, does the Constitution on the Liturgy shed any light on the question? Unfortunately, the answer is no. In fact, we move even further away from GIRM 32 (my emphasis):

33. Although the sacred liturgy is above all things the worship of the divine Majesty, it likewise contains much instruction for the faithful. For in the liturgy God speaks to His people and Christ is still proclaiming His gospel. And the people reply to God both by song and prayer.

Moreover, the prayers addressed to God by the priest who presides over the assembly in the person of Christ are said in the name of the entire holy people and of all present. And the visible signs used by the liturgy to signify invisible divine things have been chosen by Christ or the Church. Thus not only when things are read “which were written for our instruction” (Rom. 15:4), but also when the Church prays or sings or acts, the faith of those taking part is nourished and their minds are raised to God, so that they may offer Him their rational service and more abundantly receive His grace. 

The underlined section of SC 33 is used in GIRM 30 to define the “presidential prayers” of the Mass. But there is no indication in SC itself that it pertains somehow to the “nature” of these presidential prayers that they be proclaimed aloud. This is a later, rationalistic assumption which has been superimposed onto the text of both SC and Musicam sacram, and is seemingly just asserted to be true. It is also inconsistently applied in the OF Missal itself: the Benedictus es, Domine prayers at the Preparation of the Gifts are normally prayed submissa voce, but if the Offertory Chant is not sung, they may be prayed elata voce. Are they, then, defined as public prayers or private prayers?

GIRM 32 also raises serious questions about continuity and rupture. If, as a presidential prayer, the very nature of the Canon demands (exigit) that it be spoken aloud, then what does that say about the organically-developed, centuries-long tradition of the Western Church?

In proposing this particular instance of mutual enrichment of the two forms, Cardinal Sarah is channeling Cardinal Ratzinger’s well-known thoughts on the reintroduction of the silent Canon into the Pauline Missal. [4] However, it would seem that GIRM 32, and the assumptions underlying it, [5] urgently need revision in any future “liturgical reconciliation.”

Notes

[1] Robert Cardinal Sarah, The Power of Silence: Against the Dictatorship of Noise (Ignatius Press, 2017), pp. 129-130.

[2] Note that, with the exception of the numbering and the footnote (added for the editio typica in 1969), this paragraph of the GIRM has not been changed in any of its versions (draft or otherwise) from 1968 through to 2002. See the Synopsis of the various versions of the Latin IGMR in Maurizio Barba, Institutio Generalis Missalis Romani. Textus - Synopsis - Variationes (MSIL 45; Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2006), pp. 389-667 (specifically pp. 422-423).

[3] Cf. Tres abhinc annos, 10 (English, Latin). For a very interesting examination of how a trace of this paragraph of Tres abhinc annos persisted in the rubrics of the U.S.A. vernacular OF Missal until 2011, see Matthew S. C. Olver, “A Note on the Silent Canon in the Missal of Paul VI and Cardinal Ratzinger”, Antiphon 20.1 (2016), pp. 40-51.

[4] For example: “it is not essential for the entire canon of the Mass to be recited aloud on every occasion. The idea that it must rests on a misunderstanding of its nature as proclamation.” (The Feast of Faith: Approaches to a Theology of the Liturgy [Ignatius Press, 1986], p. 72).

[5] Notwithstanding this attempt by Fr Ryan Erlenbush to read the GIRM as excluding the Canon from the “presidential parts”, which I ultimately find unconvincing.

Why the Communal Mass Should Be Sung

This article concerns the singing of the Ordinary Form of the Mass, but its main point pertains also to the desirability of sung Masses in the Extraordinary Form.

As is well known to historians of the liturgy, the normal practice for the first thousand years of undivided Christianity was to sing the Mass (i.e., High Mass). This practice remained and still remains the norm for Byzantine Christians, both Catholic and Orthodox, who are required to sing the Divine Liturgy. The development of a recited or ‘Low’ Mass in the West as a devotional exercise for individual priests had a trickle-down effect into many parishes, so that by the era of St. Pius X, the Low Mass was the manner in which most Catholics encountered the liturgy most of the time. Pope Pius X launched a movement to recover not only Gregorian chant and polyphony in general, but the High Mass in particular. To this pope is attributed the advice: “Don’t pray at Holy Mass, but pray the Holy Mass.” In 1969, the Vatican journal Notitiae adapted this advice: “[Liturgical] singing means singing the Mass, not just singing during Mass.”[1]

The Second Vatican Council expressly linked its teaching to that of St. Pius X when it taught: “Liturgical worship is given a more noble form when the divine offices are celebrated solemnly in song, with the assistance of sacred ministers and the active participation of the people” (SC 113). The implication is that Catholics should aspire to give worship a more noble form by celebrating it in song — in other words, that the sung Mass should once more attain prominence. This implication was drawn out clearly by the Sacred Congregation of Rites just a few years later, in the Instruction Musicam Sacram (March 5, 1967), which had its 50th anniversary last week:

Liturgical worship is given a more noble form when it is celebrated in song, with the ministers of each degree fulfilling their ministry and the people participating in it. Indeed, through this form, prayer is expressed in a more attractive way, the mystery of the liturgy, with its hierarchical and community nature, is more openly shown, the unity of hearts is more profoundly achieved by the union of voices, minds are more easily raised to heavenly things by the beauty of the sacred rites, and the whole celebration more clearly prefigures that heavenly liturgy which is enacted in the holy city of Jerusalem. Pastors of souls will therefore do all they can to achieve this form of celebration. (MS 5)

In other words, the chanted celebration of Mass should be a rule, not an exception. The same document, which is still the most authoritative Vatican document on music since the time of the Council, states: “For the celebration of the Eucharist with the people, especially on Sundays and feast days, a form of sung Mass (Missa in cantu) is to be preferred as much as possible, even several times on the same day” (MS 27).

As if to underline that singing is not an add-on but part of the inherent structure of the Mass, the Instruction Musicam Sacram goes on to establish, perhaps surprisingly, three degrees of musical participation for Mass (see nn. 28-31), such that one should begin by singing what pertains to the first degree, then add that which pertains to the second, and finally, move on to the third, according to the capabilities of the congregation and choir.

• The first degree includes the entrance rite (including the Collect), the Gospel acclamation, the oratio super oblata, the preface dialogue and preface, the Sanctus, the doxology of the Canon, the Lord’s Prayer with its introduction and embolism, the Pax, the Post-Communion, and the dismissal. 
• The second degree adds the Kyrie, Gloria, Creed, Agnus Dei, and the Prayer of the Faithful.
• The third degree adds the Introit, Offertory, and Communion antiphons, the Gradual, Alleluia, or Tract (if chanted in full), and the Epistle and Gospel.

One can see that the first degree depends on the priest’s chanting his parts given in the Missal, which, in the Church’s tradition, have always been in a simple form of chant, involving a few notes of melody, and may even be sung recto tono in a case of necessity. These prayers and dialogues are the most fundamental elements of the liturgy to be chanted. The second degree adds beauty and solemnity by giving the choir and faithful more scope for singing the Ordinary of the Mass, which brings out the full richness of the prayers themselves. The third degree completes the musical elevation of the liturgy by ensuring that its meditative texts (antiphons and lessons) are sung.

The singing of the Mass is not something rare, only to be done on feasts, but something normal, flowing from the very nature of liturgy. We can see this in the fact that the Church’s tradition provides chants for every day of the year, every occasion. As Dom Mark Kirby explains:

It is too obvious to be denied that a celebration sung in the Gregorian manner is more solemn than a celebration which is merely recited; but this statement is especially true in the modern perspective of a celebration which is habitually recited. The ancients had provided melodies for the most modest celebrations of the liturgical year, and these melodies were no less carefully worked out than those of the great feasts. For them the chant was, before all else, a means of giving to liturgical prayer a fullness of religious and contemplative value, whatever might be the solemnity of the day. Such should also be our sole preoccupation in singing. As long as people look upon the Gregorian chant solely as a means of solemnising the celebration, there will be the danger of making it deviate from its true path, which is more interior.

Dr. Jennifer Donelson begins her classes on liturgical chant with “Top Ten Reasons to Sing the Mass”:

1. Intensifies the sense of sacrality
2. Encourages active participation
3. Respects the dignity of the text of the liturgy and Scripture
4. Centers singing on the Mass itself, not on paraliturgical songs
5. You disappear; Christ appears
6. Singing is often an aid for understanding (diction, audibility)
7. Gives a better sense of the grammar of prayers
8. Gives a better sense of the structure of the Mass
9. Strengthens the sense of community rather than isolation
10. Sensus ecclesiæ, not sensus individualis 

These points are borne out in the section of the General Instruction of the Roman Missal (2nd ed., 2011) devoted to “The Importance of Singing”:

       39. The Christian faithful who come together as one in expectation of the Lord’s coming are instructed by the Apostle Paul to sing together psalms, hymns, and spiritual canticles (cf. Col 3:16). Singing is the sign of the heart’s joy (cf. Acts 2:46). Thus St. Augustine says rightly, “Singing is for one who loves,” and there is also an ancient proverb: “Whoever sings well prays twice over.”
       40. Great importance should therefore be attached to the use of singing in the celebration of the Mass, with due consideration for the culture of peoples and abilities of each liturgical assembly. Although it is not always necessary (e.g., in weekday Masses) to sing all the texts that are in principle meant to be sung, every care should be taken that singing by the ministers and the people not be absent in celebrations that occur on Sundays and on Holydays of Obligation.
       However, in the choosing of the parts actually to be sung, preference is to be given to those that are of greater importance and especially to those which are to be sung by the Priest or the Deacon or a reader, with the people replying, or by the Priest and people together.[2]
       41. The main place should be given, all things being equal, to Gregorian chant, as being proper to the Roman Liturgy. Other kinds of sacred music, in particular polyphony, are in no way excluded, provided that they correspond to the spirit of the liturgical action and that they foster the participation of all the faithful. Since the faithful from different countries come together ever more frequently, it is desirable that they know how to sing together at least some parts of the Ordinary of the Mass in Latin, especially the Profession of Faith and the Lord’s Prayer, according to the simpler settings.

It is noteworthy that numerous magisterial documents, following the directive of Vatican II, specify that the people should be able to chant in Latin the parts of the Mass that pertain to them. We have always joyfully implemented that policy at Wyoming Catholic College. This has included the chanting of the Creed, as is provided for by GIRM 55, 68, and 137.

These are some of the reasons why we ought to sing the Mass — not merely sing at Mass. The beauty of doing this on a regular basis is something that I have experienced at Wyoming Catholic College, where the following has often taken place since 2007:

• the Schola sings the Introit, Offertory, and Communion antiphons, and on occasion, the Gradual and Alleluia;
• the congregation sings the Kyrie, Gloria, Gospel acclamation, Creed, Sanctus, Pater Noster, and Agnus Dei;
• the celebrant sings the entrance rite, the oratio super oblata, the preface dialogue and preface, the doxology of the Canon, the introduction to the Lord’s Prayer and its embolism, the Pax, the Post-Communion, and the dismissal;
• the celebrant introduces the Prayer of the Faithful, which is sung by a cantor, with the people making the response.

With a celebrant and congregation who know their chants from repeated experience, and provided there is a brief homily as recommended by the Church for daily Mass, it is possible to do most of these things within a 35-minute daily Mass, and all of them within an hour or a little more on Sundays and Holy Days. Moreover, there is no question that the congregation participates more fully when singing their parts than when merely reciting the spoken text. From the vantage of the pew-sitter, it is the difference between the uplifting unison of simple chant and a scattered muttering of words.

In conclusion: chanting the Mass is more in accord with Catholic tradition. It is in harmony with what anthropology, sociology, and psychology tell us about how ritual activity is best done if it is to be satisfying, renewing, and connecting. It is more in keeping with Vatican II and subsequent magisterial teaching. Lastly, it is crucial for the evangelization of modern and post-modern man through “the way of beauty.” This is the step we must take if we wish to get past the doldrums of excessive verbosity to the heights of prayerful engagement with the sacred mysteries.

NOTES
[1] See here for more.
[2] The GIRM cites here Musicam Sacram, nn. 7 and 16 — clear proof, if any were needed, that the 1967 Instruction is still considered to be pertinent to the Pauline missal, which appeared a couple of years later.

The Normativity of Ad Orientem Worship According to the Ordinary Form’s Rubrics

Ordinary Form Mass in Salt Lake City (Sacred Music Colloquium 2013)

Today, most people who take a serious interest in liturgy know that celebrating Mass “facing the people” or versus populum was never mentioned even once in the documents of Vatican II, that it was never mandated by any law or instruction of the Church, that the Vatican said historic high altars should continue to be used and not supplanted by table altars, and that it remains perfectly lawful for any priest at any time to celebrate Mass “facing east” or ad orientem. (For more reading on these points, see last week’s post.)

What is still not known nearly as well as it should be is the simple fact that the very rubrics of the Ordinary Form of the Roman Rite demonstrate the normativity of the traditional orientation of prayer at Mass. Every edition of the Novus Ordo Missae, from the earliest down to the latest revised translation, contains rubrics that clearly presuppose that the priest is facing the altar or “liturgical east” and that he will need to turn around to address the people at various points.

For some readers this will be familiar territory, but for others, it may be one of those obvious points that has nevertheless managed to escape notice until now. Below, I will simply reproduce the texts that contain instructions pertinent to the priest’s position vis-à-vis the people.

From “The Order of Mass” (MR 2002/2008 in the current English translation)

(Numbers below refer to the internal numbers in the Missal. The quoted texts are taken verbatim from the current Missal.)

       1. When the people are gathered, the Priest approaches the altar with the ministers while the Entrance Chant is sung. When he has arrived at the altar, after making a profound bow with the ministers, the Priest venerates the altar with a kiss and, if appropriate, incenses the cross and the altar. Then, with the ministers, he goes to the chair. When the Entrance Chant is concluded, the Priest and the faithful, standing, sign themselves with the Sign of the Cross, while the Priest, facing the people, says: “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” The people reply: “Amen.”

       23. The Priest, standing at the altar, takes the paten with the bread and holds it slightly raised above the altar with both hands, saying in a low voice: “Blessed are you, Lord God of all creation, for through your goodness we have received the bread we offer you: fruit of the earth and work of human hands, it will become for us the bread of life.” Then he places the paten with the bread on the corporal. If, however, the Offertory Chant is not sung, the Priest may speak these words aloud; at the end, the people may acclaim: “Blessed be God for ever.”
       (24. Water and wine. 25. The prayer over the chalice. 26. “With humble spirit…” 27. Incensations.)
       28. Then the Priest, standing at the side of the altar, washes his hands, saying quietly: “Wash me, O Lord, from my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin.”
       29. Standing at the middle of the altar, facing the people, extending and then joining his hands, he says: “Pray, brethren…”

If the priest were assumed to be always or normatively facing the people throughout the offertory, there would be no need for the rubric to specify that at the “Pray, brethren” he should now be “facing the people.” This phrase is to be taken in contraposition to “standing at the altar,” i.e., in the ad orientem position.

After the Preface, the Eucharistic Prayer, and the Lord’s Prayer, we come to the giving of peace:

       127. The Priest, turned towards the people, extending and then joining his hands, adds: “The peace of the Lord be with you always.” The people reply: “And with your spirit.”

Again, if during the Eucharistic Prayer and ensuing Communion Rite the priest had already been facing the people throughout, the boldfaced rubric would be superfluous. There is no reason to specify that the peace should be given “turned towards the people” unless he has been turned away from them until this point.

Summarizing the next few paragraphs: 128. If appropriate, the sign of peace. 129. Fracture. (Note that if the priest is celebrating ad orientem, he will be turning towards the Lord again at this point — which will make sense out of the upcoming n. 132, as we shall see below.) 130. Agnus Dei. 131. Prayer before communion.

       132. The Priest genuflects, takes the host and, holding it slightly raised above the paten or above the chalice, while facing the people, says aloud: “Behold the Lamb of God…”

Here and in the following number, the rubrical presupposition of eastward celebration is particularly obvious. If we imagine that the priest is celebrating versus populum, it would be strangely inconsequential for the rubrics to say that he should be turned towards the people at the giving of peace (n. 127) and then to note again, a mere matter of moments later, that he should be “facing the people” for the “Behold the Lamb of God” (n. 132). The obvious implication is that between these two moments, he must have turned eastwards to face the Lord present upon the altar of sacrifice. Once he picks up the host and paten or host and chalice, he then needs to turn around again to address the people. This reading is confirmed by n. 133.

       133. The Priest, facing the altar, says quietly: “May the Body of Christ keep me safe for eternal life. And he reverently consumes the Body of Christ.”…

Again, if “facing the altar” and “facing the people” mean one and the same thing, as they do in a versus populum scenario, this phrase is meaningless. But once we re-envision the rubrics in the context of an ad orientem celebration, it all clicks into place. The pattern goes like this:

• From the Prayer over the Gifts to the giving of peace, the priest has been facing ad orientem.
• At the giving of peace, he turns around to address the congregation (n. 127).
• He turns again to the altar for the fraction, Agnus Dei, and prayer before communion.
• He turns to the people to say “Behold the Lamb of God…” (n. 132).
• He faces the altar again to consume the precious Body and Blood of Christ (n. 133).

This may sound like a lot of turning back and forth, but as clergy and faithful know who have attended Ordinary Form Masses celebrated in perfect accord with these rubrics, the actions flow smoothly and, what is far more important, they make sense. When addressing primarily the people, the priest faces them; when addressing primarily God, he remains in the normative position of facing Him, symbolized by the east and, after the consecration, truly present upon the altar of sacrifice.

       139. Then, standing at the altar or at the chair and facing the people, with hands joined, the Priest says: “Let us pray.” All pray in silence with the Priest for a while, unless silence has just been observed. Then the Priest, with hands extended, says the Prayer after Communion, at the end of which the people acclaim: “Amen.”

It should not be necessary by now to point out that if there exists a need to specify that the priest ought to be facing the people for the Prayer after Communion, it is because he cleansed the vessels in his usual posture for the Liturgy of the Eucharist, viz., standing at the western side of the altar, facing eastwards.

       140. If they are necessary, any brief announcements to the people follow here.
       141. Then the dismissal takes place. The Priest, facing the people and extending his hands, says: “The Lord be with you…”

The phrase “facing the people” would seem superfluous here, but the possibility of an interruption by announcements might prompt a question about the stance the priest should take up afterwards. In any case, this rubric falls into the pattern of the priest being told to face the people when saying “The Lord be with you,” with some notable exceptions: see n. 31 and all the Preface dialogues, where the priest is never told to be facing the people.

The General Instruction of the Roman Missal (2011, 2nd ed.) matches the foregoing rubrics in every respect, with the same implications as above.[1] One may consult GIRM 124, 146, 154, 157, 158, and 165; cf. 181, 185, 243, 244, 257, 268. The controversy over the egregious mistranslation of GIRM 299 is not our concern at present; see here to read more. I will limit myself to the observation that one who clings to the mistranslation of n. 299 effectively consigns over a dozen other paragraphs of the GIRM, namely those listed above, to incoherence or total superfluity.

Particularly striking, in any case, is this passage from GIRM 2:

[T]he doctrine which stands out in the following sentence, already notable and concisely expressed in the ancient Sacramentary commonly called the Leonine — “for whenever the memorial of this sacrifice is celebrated the work of our redemption is accomplished” — is aptly and exactly expounded in the Eucharistic Prayers; for as in these the Priest enacts the anamnesis, while turned towards God likewise in the name of all the people, he renders thanks and offers the living and holy sacrifice, that is, the Church’s oblation and the sacrificial Victim by whose death God himself willed to reconcile us to himself; and the Priest also prays that the Body and Blood of Christ may be a sacrifice which is acceptable to the Father and which brings salvation to the whole world.

Part of the new liturgical movement is surely rediscovering how just and right it is when the priest is "turned towards God in the name of all the people" -- and when the people, facing east together with him, offer up the sacrifice of praise.

How Can We Elevate the Quality of the “Prayer of the Faithful”?

In “Imbuing the Ordinary Form with Extraordinary Form Spirituality,” I suggested that if the Universal Prayer (also known as Prayer of the Faithful or General Intercessions) is going to be retained, the very first thing that needs to be addressed is the literary, theological, and spiritual quality of the petitions.[1] It is surely no exaggeration to say that throughout the world the quality of these intercessions has tended to be deplorable, ranging from trite and saccharine sentiments to political propaganda, from progressivist daydreams to downright heretical propositions to which no one could assent without offending God.[2] Even when the content is doctrinally unobjectionable, all too often the literary style is dull, flaccid, rambling, or vague. Put together problematic content, poor writing, and the monotonous manner of delivery of most lectors, and you have on your hands, to put it mildly, a lame duck.

Two things, therefore, are urgently needed, and one more thing is strongly recommended.

First, we need strong, solid, Catholic content in the intercessions. They need to be unmistakably, unambiguously the prayers of Catholic Christians, praying in accordance with our tradition for serious intentions that are manifestly worth praying for. The General Instruction of the Roman Missal says that we should offer petitions “for holy Church, for those who govern with authority over us, for those weighed down by various needs, for all humanity, and for the salvation of the whole world” (GIRM 69), and then specifies a little more: “The series of intentions is usually to be: a) for the needs of the Church; b) for public authorities and the salvation of the whole world; c) for those burdened by any kind of difficulty; d) for the local community” (GIRM 70).

Second, we need well-written intercessions. Rising above the gabby or pedestrian, the literary style should have a dignity, forcefulness, and sacral register that match the style of the revised Roman Missal.[3] As an illustration of these first two desiderata, consider the following:

Celebrant: Let us raise our minds and voices to the Lord as we present our petitions.

• Cantor: Let us pray for the holy Church of God: that the Lord may grant her peace, unity, and good governance.

• Let us pray for missionaries and for persecuted Christians everywhere: that the trials they endure may increase their faith and their glory.

• Let us pray for Jews, Moslems, and all who do not believe in Christ: that by God’s mercy they may renounce their errors and cling to Him.

• Let us pray for our nation, our state, and our city: that good laws and good morals may prevail over sin and corruption.

• Let us pray for the members of this community: that we may seek holiness at all times and in every place.

• Let us pray for our friends and benefactors: that this Oblation offered for their needs may bring them salvation.

• Let us bring to the Lord in silence the intentions of our hearts.

Celebrant: O God, from whom all good things come, grant to Your suppliants that, by Your inspiration, we may think that which is right, and, by Your Providence, accomplish the same. Through Christ, Our Lord.

Finally, it makes a tremendous amount of difference to sing the intercessions. This can be done by a cantor either recto tono (on a single note) or with a psalm tone. The response, when it comes, has a great deal more punch to it, because a simple sung response involves the people far more. Possible responses include “Lord, hear our prayer”; “Kyrie eleison”; “We beseech you, hear our prayer”; “Te rogamus, audi nos.” At our chaplaincy's Sunday Mass in the Ordinary Form, the cantor chants at the end of each petition: “We pray to the Lord:” and the congregation sings: “Lord, hear our prayer.” When sung, the intercessions are elevated to a new plane; the entire prayer is more solemn and meaningful, and one really listens to the individual petitions. Wyoming Catholic College has been doing this for eight years, and my impression is that it has worked very well. Visitors often favorably remark on the practice.

Here is a downloadable document with 22 sets of intercessions for Ordinary Time or Tempus per annum (including the example given above). The content is available for free and unrestricted use. If anyone would like to have this in Word format, just send me an email.

Here is another document with intercessions for Seasons and Feasts, namely, Christ the King, the Sundays of Advent, the Baptism of the Lord, the Sundays of Lent, Passion (Palm) Sunday, Holy Thursday, Easter Sunday, the Sundays of Easter, Ascension, Pentecost, Trinity, Exaltation of the Holy Cross, All Saints, All Souls, Dedication of the Lateran, Conversion of St. Paul, St. Joseph, Annunciation, and other Marian feasts.

Lastly, here is a document with suggested chant tones to use at the end of each petition.


NOTES

[1] As to the abstract question of whether the Universal Prayer is a feature that belongs in the Roman liturgy as a regular feature, I have some doubts (see here). Nevertheless, as always, we should have the attitude that if something is to be done, it ought to be done well.

[2] See the hilarious spoof at Eccles. Warning: British humour.

[3] I had high hopes for the book Prayers of the Faithful, edited by Msgr. Peter J. Elliott, but a closer examination showed that the collection was quite uneven, suffering from some of the flaws noted at the start of this post.

“New Things and Old…”

The start of a new calendar year seems a good time to meditate on a famous verse from the Gospel of Matthew: “Therefore every scribe instructed in the kingdom of heaven is like a man, the head of a house, who brings forth from his treasure things new and old” (Mt 13:52).

In his commentary on the Gospel of Matthew, St. Thomas Aquinas unfolds the meaning of nova et vetera with the help of the Fathers:

Who brings forth from his treasure things new and old, the duties of the new law. For the New Law adds new senses over the Old, and Christ explains this ... he is like any other head of a household, who brings forth the divine knowledge given to him, new and old. Not so the Manichees, because they did not bring forth the old. ... According to Augustine, it is explained in this way. … [Y]ou should understand, so that you may know how to explain those things which are written in the Old Law through the New. Hence those things said in the Old are figures of the New Testament. … Or, according to Gregory, the old things refer to all those things which are attributed to sin, and the new to those things which are attributed to the grace of Christ. Hence the new things refer to the reward of eternal life, while the old things refer to the punishment of Hell. Therefore, that man brings forth things new and old who considers not only the reward, but also the punishment of hell.

St. Benedict alludes to Mt 13:52 in chapter 64 of his Rule, one of many chapters that address the abbot’s role in the community:

Let him know that his duty is rather to profit his brethren than to preside over them. He must therefore be learned in the divine law, that he may have a treasure of knowledge from which to bring forth new things and old.

Apropos this passage, Dom Paul Delatte in his great commentary on the Rule observes:

From a treasure already acquired and increased every day by study and prayer, the Abbot must draw, like a good householder, “new things and old” (Mt 13:52, Sg 7:13): doctrine which does not change and application which changes from day to day, the eternal rules and the counsels appropriate to each individual nature. (449)

These examples, to which more could easily be added, show that the typical patristic and scholastic reading of the passage “new things and old” is not as if it were a way of saying “novelties and traditions,” but rather, new and old insights into what God has already taught us, the calling to mind of what belongs to the old covenant and the new covenant, the oldness of sin and its punishment, the newness of grace and its reward. In short, nova et vetera sums up divine revelation. Those scribes are praised who can see anew into the truth Our Lord has taught us as well as bring forward that which has already been seen by others.

All this is background to a rather startling passage in the General Instruction of the Roman Missal (2011 ed., n. 15):

In this manner the Church, while remaining faithful to her office as teacher of truth, safeguarding “things old,” that is, the deposit of tradition, fulfills at the same time the duty of examining and prudently adopting “things new” (cf. Mt 13:52).
          For part of the new Missal orders the prayers of the Church in a way more open to the needs of our times. Of this kind are above all the Ritual Masses and Masses for Various Needs, in which tradition and new elements are appropriately brought together. Thus, while a great number of expressions, drawn from the Church’s most ancient tradition and familiar through the many editions of the Roman Missal, have remained unchanged, numerous others have been accommodated to the needs and conditions proper to our own age, and still others, such as the prayers for the Church, for the laity, for the sanctification of human labor, for the community of all nations, and certain needs proper to our era, have been newly composed, drawing on the thoughts and often the very phrasing of the recent documents of the Council.
          On account, moreover, of the same attitude toward the new state of the world as it now is, it seemed to cause no harm at all to so revered a treasure if some phrases were changed so that the language would be in accord with that of modern theology and would truly reflect the current state of the Church’s discipline. Hence, several expressions regarding the evaluation and use of earthly goods have been changed, as have several which alluded to a certain form of outward penance which was proper to other periods of the Church’s past.

These young modern people don't seem to have any problem with Tradition...

“Some phrases were changed so that the language would be in accord with that of modern theology…” If you would like to have a clearer sense of just how “some phrases were changed,” check out Matthew Hazell’s “The Postcommunion Prayers of the Missale Romanum (1970/2002): Translations and Sources” or Lauren Pristas’s tour de force The Collects of the Roman Missals. One will see the plain evidence of a wholesale rethinking, reworking, and rewriting that leaves little of the Tradition untouched. Modernity is the controlling and defining spirit, Tradition the raw material subjected to its scientific scrutiny, superior judgment, and, finally, ruthless surgery.

There you have it in a nutshell—discontinuity and rupture, cloaked under the guise of modest and reasonable reform. This is not, I submit, the meaning of Matthew 13:52 as understood by any Church Father or Doctor, nor even a legitimate extension or accommodation of the text. It makes “old things” equivalent to “the traditional doctrine and practice handed down from our forefathers” and “new things” equivalent to “new stuff we experts make up in response to our understanding of modern man.” What would any orthodox Christian, Eastern or Western, think about the (novel) idea of mixing new and old, understood in this manner?

As we begin the Year of Our Lord 2015, we might reflect once more on the nova et vetera that we are called upon to ponder, teach, and guard as proponents of the New Liturgical Movement. In the name of our blog, “new” does not mean novelty and innovation, but a renewed interior spirit of gratefully receiving and understanding the Catholic Tradition that enables us to participate fruitfully in the sacred mysteries of Our Lord.

Indeterminacy and Optionitis

A difficulty that confronts all who wish to do serious research in the area of the liturgy and contribute to the progress of the new liturgical movement is what may be called the indeterminacy of the Ordinary Form. The Novus Ordo is pluriform by design, different in different places. Your experience of the Novus Ordo may be radically different from mine, and both of ours from that of another person. As convenient as it is linguistically to speak of “the Ordinary Form,” it is not always clear that we are talking about the same thing, the same rite, in practice. How did this situation come about?

There are at least three levels at which the Ordinary Form can be evaluated, each one bringing with it a new level of instability and indeterminacy.

1. The Ordinary Form can be viewed against the backdrop of what the Fathers of the Second Vatican Council called for in the Constitution Sacrosanctum Concilium when supporting the renewal or restoration of the liturgy—namely, generally modest changes to the inherited Latin liturgical tradition, which was seen as an obvious good to be preserved. The “marching orders” given by the Council were both detailed and limited, so it is easy for us to trace the many ways in which the Consilium’s subsequent work trespassed those details and limits. And yet, as Michael Davies, Christopher Ferrara, and many others have pointed out, the Constitution has enough loopholes to drive several moderately-sized Italian trucks through.

2. Then there is what the authentic text of the Novus Ordo Missae calls for, in tandem with the General Instruction of the Roman Missal (one might call this “the letter of the Novus Ordo”). Here we are already in problematic territory, since even if one stays within the rubrics, there is plenty of room for each celebrant to make himself the master of each liturgical celebration, such that no two Masses need be alike. In contrast, in the traditional Mass the priest was plainly the servant of the stipulated text and its prescribed ritual.

3. Lastly, there is the reality at the parish level. This, as we know, often goes far beyond (or falls far beneath) what is permitted or required either by the Missal or by anything that could be described as Catholic tradition. Here we are dealing with what might be called “the spirit of the Novus Ordo,” which in the past forty-three years has tended in various directions: experimentation, anarchy, laxity, minimalism, sentimentalism, moralistic idiosyncracy.

As we ponder how we got from 1 to 2 and then from 2 to 3, we should reflect on the fact that there is so much more involved in the liturgical crisis than the liturgy itself or any edition of the Missale Romanum.

First of all, many of the clergy at all levels are infected with the mentality of modern liberalism, which exalts freedom and individual expression at the expense of community tradition and law-abidingness. In ages past, there was an instinctive, if waning, tendency to adhere to the larger tradition—“the way things had always been done”—and to follow the law precisely because it was the law. This mindset was already endangered before Vatican II convened. The Council itself offered the Catholic world a pretext for throwing everything overboard in a huge adolescent fit of raw emotional energy.

Consequently, what the Council actually taught meant and still means absolutely nothing for most Catholics, whether laity or clergy. It’s a sad spectacle to see the Vatican, year in and year out, refuting heretics by quoting Lumen Gentium, Dei Verbum, and other conciliar documents, when these heretics couldn’t care less. They never saw Vatican II as a body of authoritative teachings to be carried out; for them, it was (as they explicitly say) an “event” with a “spirit,” a certain program or inspiration or ideology that was meant to be creatively evolved until a new Church came into being. In the area of liturgy, too, the new Missal was, from the beginning, not so much a real concrete path to be diligently followed, as a new attitude, a sounding board, a suggested point of departure for personal and communal self-expression. And this is the innermost problem—a problem of spirituality, of priestly identity and holiness, of the very meaning of the ministerial priesthood in its service of the altar and the people.

Any liturgy requires holy priests, not in order to be valid, indeed, but in order to be edifying and, in the long run, nourishing for the people. Some of us have seen the old Mass rushed through in an unedifying manner. And some have seen the new Mass offered with great reverence by holy priests. Priests well-formed in piety and sound theology will find the new Missal a serviceable resource; they will choose the best options and incorporate traditional elements as much as possible. Unfortunately, not only are many clergy unformed in piety, they are all too often deformed in theology; and even with the best intentions or the best seminary training, there is little obvious public tradition left to which they could adhere with confidence.

I’m not at all a relativist about rites. I find the old rite preferable to the new. I find the new Missal troubling in many details; I think that certain members of the Consilium had a wicked agenda, and it is past denying that they took advantage of Pope Paul VI. Yet in spite of this, I feel certain that the debate is misplaced if we look at rites or Missals in a vacuum. We must take into account the larger context: clerical formation, seminary discipline, episcopal vigilance, and the maintenance of a living tradition, a living praxis. The living tradition of liturgical piety could largely have been carried over even across the rather large divide that separates the old Missal from the new; but at that time, in the 1970s, few wanted to do that. The spirit of the liturgical movement died, just when it had supposedly reached its peak of vigor. It was like a bride dying on the day of her wedding: so much promise, and such a tragedy.

Let’s return to our starting point. It is hard to talk about “the Ordinary Form” with any definiteness because it allows so much creativity and spontaneity. Optionitis is a disease of which the world needs to be rid to make it safe for liturgy. Even when men are well disposed and properly taught, it is expecting too much of human nature to think that they will freely choose the best or the better when given a number of options along the spectrum. Many will succumb to laziness or a false notion of efficiency. Those who are holy and learned can arrive at strange practices that disturb the rhythm and shape of the liturgy. As we know, priests very often avoid the Roman Canon because it’s “too long,” yet always seem to find time for long homilies or the Prayer of the Faithful.

The long-term solution to our present malaise, then, will necessarily involve the abolition of options and the re-establishment of clear and detailed rubrics that foster a most profound reverence for the Blessed Sacrament and a leisurely embrace of all the ritual involved in enacting the sacraments and honoring the Word of God. Founders of religious orders wrote detailed rules instead of just saying, “Form holy monks and religious and they’ll instinctively know what to do.” Everyone has his own opinions and private preferences about things. No matter how well one trains a priest, and no matter how holy he might be, if the missal allows him to translate his personal opinions and preferences into the arena of public worship, he will inevitably come to see himself as the master of the liturgy instead of its servant.