Real Liturgy As Seen Through Sarum

The above clip is the offertory of Fr. Sean Finnegan's 1997 celebration of Candlemas according to the Sarum use in Merton College Chapel, a variation of the Roman rite unique to the city of Salisbury and which English clergy widely celebrated until the reign of Henry VIII.

Here we see many variations of the very simple Roman Mass that I cannot help but think improve, but not over-ornament, the quality of the celebration. First one will note that the offertory prayers are startling short compared to the Roman missal's. This is because the host and chalice are offered in one prayer, as is the case in many monastic and local rites still celebrated in the right places to this day, but also because the chalice has already been prepared. The medieval Latin rite had both a flair for liturgical drama and a singular focus on the sacrificial nature of the Mass. A spirit of anticipation led many local and monastic clergy to prepare the chalice with water and wine during the gradual (at high Mass) or before the prayers at the foot of the altar (low Mass). One contribution of this feature is that the Mass becomes a complete, unified action, one visible to those gathered.

Near the camera we see "rulers of choir," something allowed but extinct in the Roman rite outside of Lauds and Vespers. There are three here, but there would have been an even number, with equal numbers on each side of the lectern. These men, who I imagine during older times were priests, "ruled" the choir by intoning various chants or by acting as cantors during the propers of the Mass. The wearing of vestments accentuates the role of the musician as a liturgical actor.

One sees three people wearing diaconal vestments rather than two. The acolyte was not the candle-guy in the Sarum rite. He was a minister of the Mass, just below the subdeacon in rank. The subdeacon held and sang texts and assisted the priest at the altar in these northern European rites. The acolyte, who in the Middle Ages would be apprenticing for the priesthood (remember, no seminaries until Trent), handled sacred vessels and held the paten under the veil during the Canon of the Mass. There is no strong delineation between "major" and "minor" orders in this sort of liturgy as there was in the Roman rite after Trent. I sense the subdeacon absorbed the duties of the acolyte in the Roman rite, giving us the practice of the subdeacon holding the paten today. Vatican II decided the subdeacon was not a major minister after all and Paul VI, in 1972, abolished the order of subdeacon altogether. Eastern Catholic and Eastern Orthodox Churches never held the subdeacon to be a member of major orders, which is why laymen may "vest" as subdeacon during pontifical Divine Liturgies.

Those incensed kiss a book of the Gospels (the Sarum missal just says the "text"). I will go out on the proverbially edge and guess that this is an influence from pontifical Mass which has insinuated the regular sacerdotal Mass. No problem with that. If this was somehow a corruption then we ought to remove the Gloria from non-Papal Masses.

Lastly, I would like to offer a few remarks on the motet of the offertory, John Sheppard's Gaude, Gaude, Gaude Maria Virgo, to my mind one of the most under-appreciated polyphonic pieces ever composed. I generally favor chant over polyphony. I find chant more "charismatic" (I mean that in a traditional sense) and I find most polyphony absolutely flat and vapid. Good polyphony reflects our journey to heaven, slowly starting on the ground and gradually rising up to heaven, with a few drops along the way. Once above, it becomes sublime. This piece does that. Its arrangement does not eschew plainsong either, permitting a line of chant betwixt each verse, before starting again at the bottom and rising upward.

Sadly, this was the last celebration of the Sarum use in Oxford. Oddly, Archbishop Conti celebrated the Sarum Mass in Aberdeen, Scotland (where it was never said before the Reformation) in 2000. There have been no Catholic celebrations of it since. I have heard rumors that the Russian Orthodox Church has installed an altered version as part of their Western Orthodoxy program, but I cannot comment on this practice, as I am unfamiliar with it.

The end of these Sarum celebrations is an awkward story. Apparently someone denounced the celebrations to the Archbishop of Birmingham—who did not care, as he had approved the Mass before hand—then to Cardinal Hume of Westminster. Unable to get any traction, this fellow wrote to Rome. Fr. Jerome Bertram, a fellow Oratorian with Fr. Finnegan and the preacher of the sermon for the celebration above, recounts that Rome assumed the Oxford group formed to organize this Mass, the "St. Osmund Society," was a British version of the "Society of St. Pius X" and immediately asked for the Masses to desist. Fr. Bertram recounts that the short-lived group is remembered by its former members as the "Donny Osmund Society."

Hirmos of Pascha

"The angel cried out to the one who is full of grace: 'Hail, O Immaculate Virgin! Hail again! For your Son is risen from the tomb on the third day!' Shine! Shine, O New Jerusalem, for the glory of the Lord has shown upon you. Rejoice and be glad, O Sion, and you O Pure One, O Mother of God, exalt in the resurrection of your Son."

The Hirmos, sung after the consecration in the Byzantine rite from Pascha until Pentecost, is rendered above. The second line refers to our Lady as the "New Jerusalem." What could this mean?

Jerusalem was the sight of God's covenant with the people of Israel and the location of His temple. Many a historian have remarked that Jerusalem was not a city with a temple, but rather a large temple surrounded by a city. The Jews worshiped within the outer walls of this temple regularly, but only on the Day of Atonement did the appointed priest enter the Holy of Holies to sprinkle the blood of sacrificed animals in reparation for the sins of the people of that city. Of course there was no true remission of sins until Christ's death on the Cross, yet we see typology of the forgiveness of sins within the walls of God's dwelling place.

The Virgin Mary's unique role in the process of our salvation is that she provided a place for this final remission of sins to commence. Within her bounds dwelt God in a way far more vivid than He did for the inhabitants of Jerusalem in 900 B.C. In this dwelling of God the remission of sins was no longer a petition but an eventual reality.

Typology aside, this has consequences for us. The temple and urban inhabitants comprised the city of Jerusalem. Our Lord would correspond to the Holy of Holies, the dwelling of God in His covenant with men, so who parallels the people of the holy city? We do. The Church fulfills this ancient type of God's "chosen people." From the Cross our Lord gave mankind to His Mother as her child and asked mankind to honor His Mother as his own (John 19:26-27). From this imparting of man to Mary inestimable devotion and theology arose, yet we can also apply this Johannine passage to the Paschal Hirmos. Mary, as the "New Jerusalem " is both the location of our habitat and God's dwelling place. Far from alienating our Lady from the human race, Christ's imparting of her to us solidifies His presence among us through her. She is a marker for the unity of the Church of Christ.

This is just a private reflection and one that I do not think conflicts with any great theological tradition, East or West. I wrote this modest passage to make a plain illustration of how doctrine and theology can spring from the germination of liturgy, in which we express and profess our belief to God. Liturgical prayer preserves statements of faith during times when those formulae might fall into disuse, and also builds upon other existing conceptions of faith. Above all the liturgies of the Church provide the basis for how we as human beings speak to God in heaven. If He grants us His graces then we should assume He is pleased with what we have said to Him.

A blessed Easter season to all!

Scenes from a Byzantine Pascha

The Church after Hajmeh, Mattins, Lauds, and the Divine Liturgy of the Resurrection

The Epitaphios, a Byzantine equivalent to the Sepulcher

Another view. Our modest parish is growing and hopes to add some more iconography behind
the iconostasis soon.

Reasons for the Reform of the Roman Rite Part IV: Separation of Liturgy and Doctrine

"This way of acting bids fair to revive the exaggerated and senseless antiquarianism to which the illegal Council of Pistoia gave rise. It likewise attempts to reinstate a series of errors which were responsible for the calling of that meeting as well as for those resulting from it, with grievous harm to souls, and which the Church, the ever watchful guardian of the "deposit of faith" committed to her charge by her divine Founder, had every right and reason to condemn.[53] For perverse designs and ventures of this sort tend to paralyze and weaken that process of sanctification by which the sacred liturgy directs the sons of adoption to their Heavenly Father of their souls' salvation."—Pope Pius XII, Mediator Dei 64.

"Thus, for example, as Catholic doctrine on the Incarnate Word of God, the Eucharistic sacrament and sacrifice, and Mary the Virgin Mother of God came to be determined with greater certitude and clarity, new ritual forms were introduced through which the acts of the liturgy proceeded to reproduce this brighter light issuing from the decrees of the teaching authority of the Church, and to reflect it, in a sense so that it might reach the minds and hearts of Christ's people more readily.—Pope Pius XII, Mediator Dei 52."

The above epigraphs are excerpts from Pope Pius XII's 1947 encyclical letter Mediator Dei, written in reaction to the post-War resurgence of the Liturgical Movement. The encyclical, which along with Quo Primum is most quoted and favored by traditionalists, lays down three important points concerning the liturgy:

1. The liturgy is the practice of the Sacraments given to the Church by our Lord, and which have developed in their expression over the years. Their standing form constitutes a vital part of the Catholic tradition, which is, or was, susceptible to the subtle threat of "antiquarianism" and the "widespread revival of scholarly interest in sacred liturgy" as it existed in more ancient times. This "widespread revival" endangers the liturgy, as members of this movement attempt to return to ancient practices which fell into disuse and which may not be suitable for use today.
2. Liturgy connects intricately with Christian doctrine, lexi orandi lex credendi. The Pope comments on the development of the liturgy over the years in passing several times, but in the few moments when he remarks on the relation between liturgy and the doctrines of the Church, he submits the former to the latter.
3. "The Sovereign Pontiff alone enjoys the right to recognize and establish any practice touching the worship of God, to introduce and approve new rites, as also to modify those he judges to require modification" (58).

Fr Robert Taft fighting for the Divine Liturgy

The second of these points interests us today. This post is called the "Separation of Liturgy and Doctrine" because the distinction of the two, and the subservience of one to another, indirectly facilitated the liturgical reforms of the mid-twentieth century. Traditionally, liturgy and doctrine are not aesthetics of religion that one decorates according to pre-conceived notions of faith. Rather, they both express the same faith. Doctrine is faith written on paper and liturgy is faith done in action. Many of the greatest Western saints wrote extensively on the liturgy as a spiritual, not doctrinal, meditation. As recently as the eighteenth century St. Alphonsus di Ligouri penned an extensive commentary on the psalms structured by their appearance in the Divine Office. Padre Pio passed numerous comments on the mystical Communion of Saints that transpires during the Mass. Even given his role in encouraging centralization in France, Dom Gueranger compiled in an impression set of volumes on the liturgy, both in form and its propers, for each day of the year, each with extensive scriptural reference and deep spiritual meditation. This never ceased to be the case in the East. The most prominent Byzantine theologians and writers of the last century, Fr. Robert Taft SJ, Metropolitan Kallistos Ware, and Fr. Alexander Schmemann, all wrote extensively on the liturgy, drawing on its expression of faith, its capacity to clarify doctrine, and its continuity with the faith of our fathers back to the Lord Himself. Mediator Dei breaks this tradition.

Two distinct causes converged to create this distinction between liturgy and doctrine, which places one below the other. The first is the "low Mass culture" we discussed two posts ago. I will summarily say if the entire ranks of clergy or laity do not have something to do with the Mass then they will not be too concerned or attached to the prayers, so long as none of them are outright offensive. As private Devotionalism took the place of public prayer, the public rites and preaching no longer informed the believer's faith. Doctrinal declarations and sermons given in strongly catechetical language became the teachers to the masses. This environment reduces faith to either personal piety or the satisfaction of certain intellectual requirements. Neither of these things are bad, in fact they are very good! Yet, they do not draw strength from action, song, historicity, mystical experience, communion (in the Eastern sense), or continuity. So long as the ritual does not irk the layman and the text does not offend the priest, no one is bothered.


The second influence was fear for the corruption of liturgical texts during the Counter-Reformation era and the post-Tridentine period. One reason given for the imposed uniformity of rites after Trent was concern that local bishops and book-printers with Protestant, and later Jansenist, beliefs might influence their clergy and laity by altering rites and texts that reflected their new found heresy. St. Pius V's bull Quo Primum even includes a fine, other than damnation, for such alterations:

"Wherefore, in order that the Missal be preserved incorrupt throughout the whole world and kept free of flaws and errors, the penalty for nonobservance for printers, whether mediately or immediately subject to Our dominion, and that of the Holy Roman Church, will be the forfeiting of their books and a fine of one hundred gold ducats, payable ipso facto to the Apostolic Treasury. Further, as for those located in other parts of the world, the penalty is excommunication latae sententiae, and such other penalties as may in Our judgment be imposed; and We decree by this law that they must not dare or presume either to print or to publish or to sell, or in any way to accept books of this nature without Our approval and consent, or without the express consent of the Apostolic Commissaries of those places, who will be appointed by Us. Said printer must receive a standard Missal and agree faithfully with it and in no wise vary from the Roman Missal of the large type (secundum magnum impressionem)."

The immediate consequence of Quo Primum was uniformity, which we shall discuss in two posts, but another was the precedent that the liturgy must also be under the judgment of theologians, rather than material for theologians. No doctrinal problems appeared in any Catholic liturgical books after Trent, if they had ever appeared in the books before! Yet liturgy was celebrated at the beneficence of theologians. This concept is not found before Quo Primum and was not firmly embedded in the Church until many years after 1570.

We should remind ourselves, in reverence for the Church and for the Roman tradition, that it was the Protestant reformers who first submitted the worship of the Church to their doctrines. Many rightly understand the various editions of the Book of Common Prayer in the context of Archbishop Thomas Cranmer's Protestant persuasions in a Sarum England. Similarly, how could one understand Luther's communion service outside of a Latin rite liturgical context? Luther's liturgy follows the Roman rite in form and, on occasion, in text. Luther's decision to create new eucharistic prayers and perform his service on a table are reflections of his doctrine expressed in the medieval Roman rites. Far from revering the rites they inherited, the Protestants took them as corruptions which must be purified according to their own theological systems.

This change in doctrinal content did not necessary carry over into the reform of the Roman rite, but it did create a constant fear in the Roman rite of corruption. Centuries after Trent some still feared doctrinal distortions of the liturgy, but most agreed that the liturgy was below doctrinal expression.

For those who may remain skeptical that this influenced the Roman liturgical reform, we adduce the example of the proclamation of the Assumption of Our Lady by Pius XII in 1950 and the subsequent texts of the Mass and Office that Rome issued, replacing texts that dated to, at least, the medieval period and which reflected Roman spirituality until then.

In the Divine Office a sermon on the Dormition by St. John of Damascus constituted the second nocturn. The Mass was the lovely Gaudeamus omnes in Domino. Afterward, this lovely Office was disturbed by the insertion of Pius XII's proclamation into the end of the second nocturn and the Mass was replaced by an entirely new proper, the Signum magnum setting. The introits contrast starkly. The former Mass's introit suggests a Virgin Mary at whose Assumption "the Angels rejoice and please the Son of God." The new text is from the twelfth chapter of the Apocalypse, describing a woman above the moon, crowned in twelve stars. The second of these is more representative of twentieth century Scholasticism and of the catalog-bought statues so common in American parishes than it is of St. Augustine or St. Bernard of Clairvaux's understanding of our Lady's Dormition.

The collect of the former Mass asks that our Lady's merits may please Him, as we cannot please Him ourselves. The new collect is assertively bland:

"Almighty, everlasting God, Who took up, body and soul, the immaculate Virgin Mary, Mother of Your Son, into heavenly glory, grant, we beseech You, that, always devoting ourselves to heavenly things, we may be found worthy to share in her glory."

Fr. John Hunwicke once described this new prayer as a "dollop of dogma followed by a platitude."

A more recent example might be use of the 1962 missal. Benedict XVI declared 1962 usable because it is what John Paul II gave permission to use, which he in turn authorized because it is what Msgr. Marcel Lefebvre used. The French Archbishop was not seeking the best liturgy per say, but merely what met his post-Tridentine standards of doctrinal emphasis. Initially his seminary at Econe used 1965, essentially 1962 with some vernacular and a few ceremonial adjustments. Other members of his Society used 1939 and others yet used 1967, two extraordinarily different liturgical usages. Msgr. Lefebvre settled on 1962, widely used in France, while under pressure from Rome to give a holistic report of his Society's activities in 1983. 1962, although lacking compared to previous editions, satisfied the French prelate's theological standards and most of the Society of St. Pius X. We see the selection of 1962 as the "extraordinary form" was quite a historical accident, one that transpired on account of Msgr. Lefebvre's needs and not due to discernment of liturgical tradition.

Doctrine's divorce from liturgy nurtured the creation of new texts such as the one above. To some extent, while the Mass and Office deserved respect, they also had to be reasonable and rational to the theologians, and later the "experts," who Rome charged with their care. If something did not conform to the theology of the type-editor, it was excised in favor of new words. During the post-Tridentine era these men tended to be Thomists. The reforms of the 1950s and 1960s turned out as they did because the new type-setters were not Thomists, not necessarily because they usurped power, it was given to them.

Save the Office of Readings, the Hours follow a set form

Rationalism, rather than revelation, runs throughout the Pauline rites. The uniformity of the hours of the Liturgy of the Hours is the fruit of a mind that values reason too much. An hour of the Divine Office has a certain function, therefore they all have the same function! We do not know the purpose of the Last Gospel? Erase it! The offertory prayers mention a "flawless victim" before the consecration? Replace them.

Yet, not all of this "reason" began in 1969, when Paul VI promulgated the new rite in Missale Romanum. The changes to the calendar and rites of Holy Week indicate a liturgy crafted by men who had made critical judgments. One example is the time of the Easter Vigil. The 1951-1968 Vigil began at 10:30pm. The Pauline Vigil begins earlier, usually 8 or 9pm. The reformers concluded that a vigil must be a Mass of "watching" and therefore takes place at night. The older time, after None, in practice very early in the morning, must have been a distortion. The Vigil was never so late. It probably began in the late afternoon, given that is starts after None and concludes with Vespers, and moved earlier and earlier as monks wanted to end their fasts. The reform also exhibits an ignorance of "liturgical time," which is basically ancient Jewish and Byzantine time—still observed on Mount Athos—wherein the next day begins at sunset. Such traditions, historical circumstances, and spirituality cannot survive when the liturgy is at the mercy of which ever theologian has the pertinent curial appointment.

To conclude, the distinction between liturgy and doctrine was an allergic reaction to a Protestant tendency to do the same. This engendered a Church wherein the liturgy was something managed by the minds of theologians, rather than an element of the faith itself, which one receives with reverence. Combined with factors enumerated in prior posts, the liturgy became malleable, owing to decline of liturgical life. This last point especially troubles the author of this piece, as the Christian must be a liturgical person by nature. "Leitourgos" means "public servant" or "one who performs a public action."

I hope Johannes enjoyed today's post with a well-brewed cup!

Pray on, fair Christian soldiers!—even if the theologians do not like it!

Reasons for the Reform of the Roman Rite Part III: Devotionalism

We have now come to the third part in our series on the causes for the twentieth century reforms of the Roman rite liturgy. Today's cause, what I have termed "Devotionalism," is the first that can be attributed to the laity rather than the clergy or clerical culture. What is meant by "Devotionalism?" Two things:

1. A tendency to over-emphasize private devotions at the cost of liturgical prayer.
2. Private devotions entering into the liturgical calendar of the Roman Church, such that the calendar loses its rhythm.

Let us consider these issues in the order above.

The two most popular anatomical devotions: the Immaculate Heart of Mary
and the Sacred Heart of Jesus

First, private piety. Private piety underwent a considerable change during the baroque period. Through the Middle Ages and Renaissance, and in the Eastern rites to this day, the demarcation between liturgical prayer and extra-liturgical devotional prayer did not seem as sharp as it is in the modern Roman Church. This is not to say private prayers that follow some particular meditation or formula, such as the Rosary, were foreign. But the Rosary was clearly a private prayer. There was such a thing as public devotion, which had a very liturgical expression. One immediate example is the Office of the Blessed Virgin Mary, a mini-Divine Office following Marian themes that would often be sung on low ranked days. The Byzantine rite Akathist sung at Compline on the days leading up to the Annunciation resound as a modern day example of public devotion. Before Masses in medieval cathedrals the clergy and laity would visit the altars of the various saints, honoring them in hymns and asking for their prayers. Northern Europeans "raised" the Cross before Mattins and Lauds of Easter Sunday, a reflection of the "deposition" from the Cross on Good Friday—East and ancient West.

Devotion could clearly be a public act of worship or a personal prayer. During the years after Trent most of this changed. Local customs often remained, although liturgical centralization reduced them in their variety (more on that in a later post). While customary public devotion diminished, private devotions proliferated. St. Pius V popularized the Rosary beyond the Dominican Order, the Sacred Heart appeared on the scene in the seventeenth century, as did many other "anatomical" devotions, such as the Precious Blood. The Lady of Mount Carmel devotion also became popular, as did the associated "Brown Scapular"—which is actually just a symbol of a full scapular.

A private oratory named for Our Lady of Sorrows. A statute
of Our Lady of Sorrows in visible above the altar.
source: newliturgicalmovement.org

The Church has never deemed these devotions necessary, only requiring attendance at Mass for the laity and the Office of the clergy. Yet the "low Mass culture" examined two days ago cultivated a church setting where one would simply be listening to a priest talk in Latin for 45-60 minutes, a setting which required very little other than attendance of the laity. The low Mass culture is not conducive to sung Offices, much less any of the extra-liturgical functions mentioned above. Private prayer and private meditation filled the void for the laity during Mass. Indeed, as mentioned in the previous post, many methods of "hearing Mass" centered around these devotions.

The names of churches in the last four or five centuries tell the story. How many post-Trent churches are named Blessed Sacrament, Our Lady of Sorrows, Our Lady of Mercy, Immaculate Conception, Sacred Heart, Divine Mercy etc? How many received conventional names like St. Mary's or St. Peter's?

Here we reach the second point, wherein Devotionalism becomes not just a private liturgical substitute, but actually took root in the liturgical calendar.

Private devotions held by the laity or private devotions Rome wished to popularize found themselves in the calendar, often affixed to certain Sundays rather than days of a given month. Some examples are the Holy Name (second Sunday after Epiphany), St. Joseph (third Sunday after Easter), the feast of the Precious Blood (first Sunday of July), St. Joachim (Sunday after Assumption), Our Lady of Sorrows (third Sunday of September), the Rosary (first Sunday of October), and others like the Sacred Heart (falls on third Friday after Pentecost). Fr. John Hunwicke once called these devotional days "lollipop" feasts.

There were two consequences to this phenomenon. The first is that the Sunday Mass given for the time after Epiphany or Pentecost was said perhaps half the time, while these devotional feasts and other Double-rank feasts (see first post in series) impeded them. The second consequence was that the Masses for the time after Epiphany and Pentecost, which recount Christ's teaching and His miracles more than His actions, were rarely observed. This contrasts with many Eastern Sundays such as the "Sunday of the Prodigal Son," the "Sunday of the Pharisee and the Publican," and the "Sunday of the Rich Man and Lazarus" to name a few. Each of these "green" Masses was a self-contained lesson on the teaching life of Christ, yet feasts based upon private devotions often won the ranking competition. If Holy Week recounts Christ's Passion, if Eastertide recounts the time after His Resurrection, and if Advent and Christmastide recount His birth, then these "green" Sundays recount His preaching career. Double-ranked feasts and devotional feasts lessened the significance of these Sundays. The inevitable result was the replacement of public devotion and public liturgical life with folk religion.

Fr Antonio Rosmini

Naturally, many early members of the Liturgical Movement or those who favored drastic reforms of the Roman liturgy wished to force people out of their private devotions and into communal liturgical participation. One motive for the adaptation of vernacular and for "simplified" ceremonies during the last period of the Liturgical Movement, during the Second Vatican Council, was the wish to pop people out of their private prayer bubbles during Mass. Pius XII, anticipating certain excesses, attempted to moderate these views by issuing Mystici Corporis and Mediator Dei, as well as implementing certain demands of the Movement under Papal authority, but eventually these changes were of no avail and actually accelerated the reform process.

Reformers such as Rosimini constantly called for more "simple" ceremonies, as if the Roman liturgy was not already very sparse compared to Eastern and other Latin liturgies. Indeed, in his Five Wounds of the Holy Church Rosmini caterwauls over the separation of the people from the clergy, from the scriptures, and of the overgrown liturgy which caused this. Rosmini saw Europe secularizing and partially blamed the compartmentalized relationship between the priest and people at Mass for it. Of note: in the first chapter of his Five Wounds, Fr. Rosmini suggests that while Latin has become a barrier between priest and laity, the abolition of Latin was not the answer. He demands further effort in helping the laity understand the Latin Mass and also admires the Eastern Churches' retention of their own sacred languages. Rosmini wrote of the problematic separation of the laity from worship:

"This worship, to which God united the grace to render men and women capable of practising the moral precepts they had received, was not simply a spectacle for the people to behold. The people were not to be present simply to look at what was happening without genuinely participating in this drama of religious worship."

St. Pius X, for all the criticisms possible of his psalter and breviary rubrics, presents an elegant solution to the intrusion of Devotionalism into the calendar. He assigned each devotional feast a particular day of a month (ex. Precious Blood moved from first Sunday of July to July 1st) and gave the option for the Mass of the feast to be repeated on the next Sunday, provided the feast was not observed at the main Mass of the day.

John XXIII's adjustments to the calendar go far beyond Papa Sarto's changes, a true predecessor to "Ordinary Time," an endless monotony of "green" Sundays well beyond that which would have been experienced even under the sparse local calendars of ancient Rome and monastic settings during the Middle Ages. Pope John's calendar compressed the liturgical rankings of various days and gave preference to "green" Sundays to the point where feasts of the Apostles except Ss. Peter and Paul, would be excluded from even a commemoration on Sundays. Oddly, these simplified rubrics, when they do permit other feasts to overtake the "green" Mass, rarely commemorate the "green" Mass. Pope Roncalli's changes also diminished the number of lessons read at Mattins by about two thirds. "Ordinary time" in the Pauline liturgy completes this shift. The Roman general calendar swung like a pendulum from one extreme peak to another, briefly passing a nice position midway through the shift.

To conclude the thesis of this post in our series: public devotion evolved into private Devotionalism, which introverted a large number of laity and obscured important features of the calendar. Reformers began to demand simplified ceremonies to engage the laity and to alter the calendar in such an extreme fashion that all but a few feasts could ever take precedence over Sunday "green" Masses.

We should be very aware that while vernacular certainly shook the laity out of their private prayers during Mass, as I mentioned in my previous post on the "low Mass culture," very few of the changes to the calendar or to the form of the Mass took place during the Second Vatican Council. Indeed, the seeds of this problem began in the baroque period and calls for change started a century before Vatican II and the changes themselves started 50 years prior to Pope John's council. You can see that we soon will be reading about the Liturgical Movement!

I hope I do not appear to be blaming the laity for their private piety, that is not my intention. As someone who prays the Rosary and recommends you all do as well, I value devotion, but all things have their proper place. The second most recent position paper from Una Voce published by Dr. Joseph Shaw on use of the older Holy Week considers the times of the older rites pastorally preferable because, among other reasons, parishes would have time for Stations of the Cross after the Mass of the Pre-Sanctified. Is this Devotionalism or is it a semi-liturgical public devotion, like those of Northern Europe in times gone by? At the very least, a conversation has been started about more fundamental concepts of liturgy by papers and conferences such as Dr. Shaw's.

Our next post, likely shorter than these past three, will investigate the separation of liturgy and doctrine, in its precedents and its consequences. Stay tuned! Happy Low Sunday and a blessed Easter season to all!

Reasons for the Reform of the Roman Rite Part II: Low Mass Culture (UPDATED)

Today I will treat the second of my six proposed causes of the reform of the Roman Rite in the 1950s and 1960s, the excessive usage of the low Mass at the cost of sung Masses or public celebration of the Divine Office.

Again, a little history goes a long way in understanding this phenomenon. Mass, and the Divine Office, is supposed to be sung using the chants given in the liturgical books of a given rite, be it Roman, Byzantine, Armenian, Milanese, or Japanese. High Mass is the presumed norm. Indeed, until, but not including, 1960 there was no formal distinction made in the liturgical texts of the Roman rite between sung Mass and low Mass, only between private and public Masses. Public Mass was presumed to be sung in a communal or conventual setting, such as the Mass sung by all the monks of a monastery in a given day or the main Mass on a Sunday or Holy Day in a parish church.

A monk of Clear Creek Abbey reads his private daily Mass

Private Mass developed in the late first or early second millennium. There were two motivations for its development: the first, and main, was so that priests who were monks and canons of collegiate churches could celebrate the Eucharist on days which they were not assigned roles at the main Mass; the second, so that numerous Masses for the Dead might be prayed. To put it succinctly, the purpose of the low Mass is so that a priest could live a full sacramental life under circumstances which would normally reduce him to spectator. This is a good reason on its own, but not one which makes low Mass suitable for public liturgy.

Originally the low Mass simply lacked a deacon, subdeacon, and incense. At first it was sung, although texts describing how are no longer extant. As late as the eighteenth century in France low Mass was sung in a monotone, except for the Canon, which was recited as it is at any type of Mass.

During the Middle Ages laity would frequently attend private low Masses, hoping to see as many elevations of the Blessed Sacrament as possible, asking for prayers to be said for their deceased loved ones. These are private devotional motives, and ones clearly supplemental to public worship. Private Masses did not stop rural parish churches from offering high Masses on Sundays and Holy Days, nor did they impede urban churches and monasteries from singing the Divine Office in choir. Indeed, private Masses were initially votive Masses and not part of the liturgy prescribed in the calendar. What happened?

In short, the model for sacramental life underwent a drastic change during the centuries that followed the Council of Trent, which did very little to change the presumed setting of the liturgy. First to note is the two major religious communities that the Counter-Reformation birthed: the Jesuits and the Oratorians. Ignatian spirituality is famously individualistic, focusing on private reflection and efficient meditation conducive to the life of a missionary priest. Although Jesuits operated in large communities their charism did not call for communal gatherings. Therefore Mass was often read in private and the Divine Office, the public prayer of the Roman Church, was recited in private.

"First Mass in Florida"
source: State Archives of Florida

This same analysis applies to the Oratorians, although I will readily concede that they do make an effort to have sung Masses and Vespers on Holy Days and Sundays. St Philip Neri said nearly every Mass in private and emphasized individual relationships with his parishioners. Neither of these things are bad. Indeed, the latter of these is a pastoral necessity. Still, given the size of Oratory communities, surely sung Offices were plausible?

The missionary needs of the Church also expanded the use of the low Mass and put it at the center of public liturgy. The discovery of the Americas by Christopher Columbus sent Spanish and Portuguese missionaries everywhere from Florida to south of modern-day Brazil. Priests often had better things to do than teach the locals how to sing in a language that used a different alphabet, such as build churches, create schools, and foster relationships. But when missionary communities expanded, high Masses did not follow.

A typical post-Tridentine country church

England and Ireland, although not part of the New World, were seen as missionary countries, as the faith was effectively suppressed on those islands for several centuries. Mass had to celebrated as privately and as quietly as possible. Low Mass was really the only option, if the priest wished to remain a free man.

As a result, outside of Western Europe, by the nineteenth century the faith was well-established in North and South America, growing in Africa and Asia, re-established in Ireland, and returning in England. Yet high Mass was very rare in these places and celebration of the Divine Office even rarer (although Vespers were popular in London until World War II). The revolutions of the nineteenth century and the two world wars of the twentieth century forced parish priests doing temporary duty as chaplains recite the Office in private and read Mass as quickly as possible. Sermons disappeared for practical reasons.

Yet I think I am blaming the nineteenth and twentieth centuries too much here. How do we explain this chapel, shown on the right?—a site so common throughout rural Europe? It is clearly built for low Mass and also for public viewing.

The Counter-Reformation defense of the priesthood, of the Real Presence, and of private devotion put an over-emphasis on all of these things, the "Spirit of Trent" if there ever was one. Various saints like Louis de Montfort, Francis de Sales, and Peter Julian Eymard devised methods by which the pious soul might hear Mass. These included, but were not limited to, meditating on the Passion, meditating on the Marian mysteries, and praying the Rosary. There is nothing wrong with any of these things, but none of them involve directly considering the Mass of the day. Easter Sunday and a votive Mass of St. Joseph vary minimally with this sort of devotion.

I will treat what I call "Devotionalism" in a separate post, but I think it suffices to say that regardless of what one thinks of these various spiritual devotions, they do not require one to engage the Mass of the day. The proper texts carry minimal importance.

This problem was compounded by the introduction of the layman's missal, first published in English by Bishop John England of South Carolina. Personally, I find the layman's missal very beneficial at high Mass, where I can glance at the Introit or Gradual, close the book, and spend some time in meditation whilst the choir circulates these words slowly through my mind. At low Mass this is not possible. One can only read the text and, as the priest too is reading, one feels compelled to keep pace with the priest. This means that, inevitably, one races through the missal throughout most of Mass, clinging on the priest's every word, trying to understand it. It seems one can either neglect the propers of the Mass in private devotion or cling to every word in a translation frenzy. There has to be a better way of praying than this. The hand missal has potential, but this potential is not tapped at private Mass.

Moreover, the focus on the propitiatory effect of the Sacrifice of the Mass gave people the impression that they only had to attend the Mass and not engage it. I shy of using the word "participating," as this word reminds most traditionalists of some layperson reading the book of Numbers from a lectern for five long minutes. Still, I maintain that a lay person can be very engaged in the old rite high Mass.

As someone who attended private old rite low Masses three or four times a week for a considerable period of time, I can say that I found little in life as rewarding or as spiritually uplifting as serving private Mass. Yet I find little disengaging as hearing a public low Mass. My Latin is decent and I know the liturgy. The close quarters allow these skills to take over my faculties and have an intimacy with the mysteries of the day. This is not possible for the average layperson listening to the priest's voice muddle through the walls of the church. One loses sight of Mass as an action.

This effectually divided the priest and the person in the pew (pews are a damned problem on their own) to the point that people viewed themselves as spectators. What the reformers got [very] wrong was the loss of a critical distinction: there is a difference between making the Mass accessible to a lay person and focusing the Mass on the laity. Sung liturgy makes the former possible while what happened was the latter.

Sung Vespers
source: newliturgicalmovement.org

Given this stark liturgical praxis, one could hardly expect public recitation of the Divine Office. It fell out of use in most churches. The reason hymns like Ave Maris Stella repeat so often in the Office and that most of the Sunday psalms were used on major feasts is because in ancient days parish churches in Rome determined their own Office and the clergy made an effort to use the most familiar material. In short, the old, pre-Pius X Office, was well-built for popular use owing to its repetition of hymns and utilization of psalms. This system became mundane by the end of the nineteenth century, as I said in my previous post, but an abuse ought not render the entire system dead.

Yet the prevalence of low Mass culture meant that liturgical texts were the jurisdiction of the priest, not the laity or even a collegiate community. Laszlo Dobszay in his The Bugnini Liturgy estimated that by the mid-twentieth century 95% of priests had no experience singing the Office in choir. I cannot verify this figure, but even 2% would be an appalling figure! What the hell were these people doing in their seminaries? A priest can hardly be blamed for not holding Terce before Mass or Vespers in the evening. These sung Offices were foreign nationals speaking an alien tongue to the clergy!

By the time Vatican II issued its liturgical constitution virtually all Sunday Masses were low Masses, with the rare sung Mass or low Mass with vernacular hymns for special occasions, like Confirmations or Christmas. People were used to Mass being their private, quiet time. Indeed, several years ago I took my father to a Latin Mass for the first time since 1965. He could not bear the 75 minute duration of the Mass. Afterward, I learned not only had he never attended a sung Mass in the old rite before, he was unaware such a thing existed! Vernacular, aside from being a change on its own, disturbed the person in the pew from his private prayers. The priest and lay person were talking to each other, although not necessarily praying. With sung prayer a long-gone concept, this vernacular exchange naturally became a conversation, not a liturgy.

What began as the priest's private devotion became the priest's sole function and the laity's private devotion. The reformers saw the problem, but not its cause or better solutions.

Am I blaming low Mass too much? Maybe. Or perhaps we are too accustomed to low Mass to see the problems its use as the norm creates.

UPDATE:

First I would like to thank Marko and Désiré for their input, which has given me some cause to update and clarify what I am trying to say here. I would maintain that the majority of Sunday Masses throughout the world were low Masses. In certain European cities—mainly London and Paris—one could easily find a Missa Cantata as the main Mass in most parishes and in other cities—particularly Rome and Cracow—solemn Mass. Still, in the Americas and elsewhere there was a proliferation in the number of Masses, but not necessarily high Masses. If a parish in 1820 had two Sunday Masses—one high and one low—it likely had three or four Masses in 1920—one high and the rest low.

Diaconal ordinations at the FSSP seminary in Denton, Nebraska
source: FSSP

Moreover, by "low Mass culture" I do not simply mean the number of low Masses, but the effect this new liturgical norm had on the liturgical praxis and formation of clergy. High Mass, outside of some European cities, had become so rare that seminarians routinely only spent a few days or weeks in the subdiaconate and diaconate. This contributed to a depleted understanding of the sacramental role of each level of Holy Orders, as well as a de facto ignorance of the qualitative difference between solemn and low Mass.

The restoration of the "permanent" diaconate is an amusing illustration of this problem. There was never a "permanent" diaconate, just deacons who did not have the vocation to become priests. Popes Innocent III, Leo X, and St. Gregory the Great were all deacons when elected and probably had no intention of becoming priests. The restoration of the "permanent" diaconate is an ill reaction to the loss of solemn Masses. The emphasis on the priesthood and also the "low Mass culture" meant most deacons only remained so for a short time until they became priests. The reformers assumed this "transitional" diaconate suppressed a phantom "permanent" one. The truth is that one simply accepted the call of the Church through the discretion of the local bishop, whenever that time came. My theory is that the "low Mass culture" contracted the number of deacons who did not immediately anticipate a priestly ordination and resulted in the short-lived diaconate of seminarians.

Lastly, I would like to say something about the dialogue Mass, an idea that came to me while gleaning Fr. Conrad's article. Although the reformers like Archbishop Bugnini wished to return to sung Mass, they still initiated many of their early attempted alterations on low Mass, such as the "dialogue" Mass. For those readers unfamiliar with this practice, the "dialogue" Mass was a set of rubrics for private Mass issued by Pius XI in 1922 that allows for the faithful to recite any number of things normally said by the server. Some parishes, under dubious legality, extended this participation to many other parts of the Ordinary of the Mass.

Yet the "dialogue" Mass, which I find can be done well, reveals the dynamic of "low Mass culture." In countries where sung Masses were still common, such as France or urban Italy, the "dialogue" Mass was successful and is still practiced to this day. Indeed the FSSPX church in Paris and FSSP church in Rome demonstrate a very impressive degree of participatio actuosa. Those who learned the responses and Ordinary by singing the Mass had no problem when the time came to recite the Mass. Yet in  many countries that I mentioned, mainly the Anglophonic world, missionary countries, and the Americas, the "dialogue" Mass never caught on. Indeed, many parishioners still find the idea awkward. Englishmen are distinctly allergic to the faithful saying anything. During the first time I attended Mass at the Oxford Oratory I began to say the Domine non sum dignus and promptly stopped, horrified that my voice and the priest's were the only noises audible in the entire church.

Lastly, I would like to share a brief anecdote. I once asked my priest, a Melkite Catholic formerly of the Roman Church, why the East had retained communal singing of the Office while Rome had not; we have two weekday Divine Liturgies, one weekday Vespers, and Compline during Great Lent. He ruminated and said "Where two or three are gathered in My Presence, someone has to say Mass."

Understand I actually do like low Mass as long as it used responsibly, yet I think the above quote speaks volumes.

I will read Fr. Sven Conrad's article and publish some sort of review either in my conclusion to this series or afterwards.

Reasons for the Reform of the Roman Rite Part I: Feasts

Since Benedict XVI's motu proprio Summorum Pontificum, which declared the liturgy of 1962 available for near-unrestricted use, interest has increased in the Roman rite as it existed before 1962, both to understand the nature of the 1962 liturgy and also the transition process to the liturgy of Pope Paul VI, who introduced his rite of Mass in 1969 and his Divine Office in 1975.

Many today believe the Roman liturgy was pristine before 1962, while the reformers then believed it totally corrupted. Conservatives tend to think that Archbishop Annibale Bugnini infiltrated the Vatican, possibly with Masonic motivations, and thrusted a new rite upon the Roman Church without precedent. This is folly. Bugnini and his Concilium did create the new Roman rite, but he and his commission were products of their time and of the problems in the Roman rite. I wish to draw attention to what those problems were. From there we can understand the evolution of the Roman liturgy in the twentieth century a bit better.

This series will examine the following problems in the Roman liturgy as it existed in the twentieth century, specifically the issues St. Pius X, Pius XII, and John XXIII attempted to address, namely:

1. The inflation of Double-ranked feasts in the post-Tridentine Roman Church
2. The "low Mass" culture which replaced sung Mass and public observation of the Divine Office in most churches
3. Devotionalism
4. The separation of liturgy and doctrine
5. The left-turn of the Liturgical Movement
6. Centralization

In this first post I will address the inflation of Double feasts. A little background information is necessary to see the problem. The Mass is the observation of Christ's order "Do this in memory of me," which He gave at the Last Supper according to St. Paul first epistle to the Corinthians and the three Synoptic Gospel accounts. Separate, but no less important, is the Divine Office, the praying of the psalms—mixed with scriptural and patristic readings and some hymns, which is the public prayer of the Roman Church. Indeed, it is no mistake that every Apostolic church has a Divine Office. The Divine Office and the Mass combine to form a regular schedule of prayer for the Roman rite called its liturgy. In the Roman rite the Mass was unique to Sundays, major feast days, and a few other feasts. Otherwise, the Mass was taken from either the previous Sunday or it was taken from a general formula called a Common. The Office, on the other hand, had different psalms every single day, unless a feast day occurred, on which certain prescribed psalms and hymns were sung. The way in which Mass and the Divine Office was observed was determined by rank of the day. In ancient days the ranks were three:

• Ferial day: the psalms, hymns, and scriptural readings for the Divine Office are of those given for the day of the week and season of the year. Intercessory prayers in a versicle form are said at most hours of the Office. The Mass is that of the previous Sunday (except during Lent, during which every day had a unique Mass).
• Simple day: the Divine Office is that of the Ferial day, but a local Roman saint is celebrated at Mass. Most local Roman saints' Masses were from a "Common" formula.
• Double feasts: the psalms, hymns, and scripture are unique to the feast given. The intercessory verses are omitted. The Mass is of a major event in the life of Christ, His Mother, or of some other universally important saint. The psalms demanded for these days are mostly, but not entirely, those of Sunday. Moreover, the psalms at Mattins, the hour dedicated to readings, are organized into three groups of three psalms called "nocturns." On Simple and Ferial days, twelve psalms were sung straight through at Mattins. These Double feasts began with Vespers the night before and ended with Vespers that night.

During the Middle Ages a new type of feast called "semi-Double" developed, in which a universal, but not universally important, saint would be observed. These feasts would use the psalms and hymns of a Double, and have first Vespers, but also have the versicle prayers and votive prayers of a Simple or Ferial day. These were the most loathsome of days.

St Pius V

By the end of the Middle Ages certain patterns had developed in the observation of semi-Double and Double feasts. Vespers for most any Double feast would include psalm 109 and 112—with many male saints having 110, 111, and 116 and many females having 121, 125, and 147. These psalms would be said at first and second Vespers. Mattins had a similar pattern. Lauds, Ferial or feast, varied very little from day to day. The "little hours" (Prime, Terce, Sext, None, and Compline) were meant to be said any time of day, particularly on break from work, so their psalms never changed from day to day. Days within octaves, eight day celebrations of feasts, would basically use the feast day psalms every day.

St Aloysius Gonzaga

When St. Pius V promulgated his Roman Breviary in 1568 and his Missal in 1570, essentially a trimmed version of the 1474 liturgy used by the Papal court, there were 149 feasts that contained the word "Double" in the title, meaning the use of those certain psalms. By the papacy of St. Pius X in 1907 that number had nearly doubled to 280! Why? And why do we care?

There were two reasons why this, insane, inflation of Double feasts occurred. First, was a hyper-emphasis on Counter-Reformation era saints. Saints such as Aloysius Gonzaga were no sooner canonized than they were given Double feasts, liturgically the most important in the Church. St. Aloysius was a wonderful priest and chaplain, but he ought not have a feast on par with Mary Magdalen and Gregory the Great!

The second matter was the Double feasts were simply easier than Simple or Ferial days. They involved fewer psalms, had no versicle prayers, and could supersede the Sunday liturgy (which had a whopping 18 psalms at Mattins, rather than the Double-ranked nine). There was no one moment when Double feasts were printed en masse, like a central bank can do with money. Popes just kept adding these feasts out of popular devotion and to ease the prayer life of the clergy.

This was bad. As a result, outside of Lent, the weekly psalms were almost never said. By the time St. Pius X reformed the Divine Office in 1911, I doubt one could go three days without reciting psalms 109 and 112. The Office, slackened for the sake of convenience, had become monotonous. Sadly, the solution of Pope St Pius X was not an elegant one.

St Pius X, perhaps reading his new Divine Office?

Papa Sarto's solution to repetition in the Office was to toss the entire psalter out of the window and create a new schedule for the psalms which would somewhat preserve the old psalms on Sundays and the most important of Double feasts, but not for the rest of the week. Part of his re-distribution of the psalms involved cutting them into parts, i.e. splitting longer psalms into roughly equal 15 verse portions. Now one long psalm was two small ones. If a priest told you to say two prayers at penance in confession, would you cut the Hail Mary into halves and say that it counted as your penance? Except for the highest ranking Doubles, the psalms in a given day would be of the new psalter and the hymns and variable prayers would be of the saint of the day. This made for a strange, strange division in the Office. Also, the ancient system whereby the "little hours" would remain constant from day to day, for the sake of familiarity, was axed, as they too were made variable.

This had a poor effect on prayer, splitting single prayers into parts. Moreover, if meant that, if pastoral reason permitted the right authority to do so, the most ancient prayer systems could be changed at a whim. St Pius X certainly had no evil intentions in doing what he did. Like later reformers, he was something of a product of his age, but was his decision prudent? I am inclined to say it was not. He could have saved the old psalter, and himself a lot of work, just by lowering the feast rank of those Counter-Reformation era saints to Simple. But he did not do this. Instead we got a new Office, and more importantly, a new precedent. The Pope did not guard the liturgy. He guarded it, but could also create it.

What do you think? Did the Pian Office fix the problem? Was it a cause or a symptom of the problems in the Roman liturgy? Are we ready to blame someone else other than the members of Concilium group 10?