Old Mass/New Mass

Fr. Z at WDTPRS made a post here asking for readers, especially those of the younger generation, to email him with brief thoughts on the old mass/new mass question. The responses are there, and in part 2 and part 3. My response was made and posted. All of the responses taken together make an interesting reflection on the question, and as I have continued thinking about it, I'd like to make a more substantial discussion of the topic than was afforded there.

First, I must lay out what I mean by the "old mass/new mass question." Overall, I'd like to discuss my preferences, how I arrived at them, and also the role the Extraordinary Form (EF) has played in my spiritual life at different points.

As I have said before, I didn't much care about the Faith, nor attendance at Church through my freshman year of college. When I returned to the Church as a sophomore, I had only moderate religious formation, and very little understanding of liturgical history. Luckily, though, I had friends who were also willing to learn, and as a group, we grew in the Faith. A close friend of mine had heard that there was a place in the Archdiocese (of Chicago) that had a special indult to celebrate the "Latin Mass" (as we called it). We decided to take in the Mass, and see what it was all about. I looked at some online missal and saw a general structure I recognized, and I figured that since I had been going to Mass all my life, a little Latin wouldn't deter me from knowing what was going on.

We were late, got a little lost on the way, and walked in during the Kyrie. I recognized that; it was one of the last things I recognized. Because we were late, I didn't notice the mass guides in the back of the Church when we came in. The experience was something wholly other. I was lost the whole time, and just did my best to pay attention to the bells. Come communion time, they used a communion rail. I had never received my Lord and Savior directly on my tongue in my life, let alone while kneeling. I think I knew not to say "Amen," but that was about all I knew. Moved by the sacredness of this mode of receiving, from that point on I only received on the tongue.

Reflecting on that Mass later, and attending the EF mass a number of times again, I was moved by the realization that this Mass was one and the same mass that my parents grew up with, and my grandparents had for much of their lives, and my great-grandparents, and back and back and back. I was also struck by the sanctity that the priests and servers showed toward the celebration of the Mass, something I had not seen anywhere else I had been. I also attended Mass at the same parish in the Ordinary Form (OF) in Latin.

Now, with my initial experiences of Mass in Latin laid out, I'd like to go on to discuss my preferences. In short, for the most part, and all things being equal, I'd prefer to go to an OF mass over an EF mass. Part of this is definitely familiarity; I think if I had only known the EF mass and then had limited exposure to the OF mass, I'd at least be leery of it. But, there is more than that. I like hearing what the priest is saying, and having responses given by the congregation rather than by the servers.

I don't attend the EF mass very often, despite having two nearby places to attend every Sunday. I used to go more often when I was in Chicago. I would go when I felt like I needed "an infusion of sanctity" or tradition, or just wanted to attend a liturgy which was done carefully. Today, the parish I attend does not do things "perfectly" (to my liking, at least), but things aren't off the wall either. I would probably more regularly attend if the EF mass was offered as one of the regular liturgies by my parish.

I haven't yet touched on the language issue. On this point I am still torn. I would like to see much greater use of the Latin language, but to what extent I am not sure. Of course, I think that things like the readings of the Mass ought be in the vernacular, but I'm not sure which parts of the ordinary ought be in the vernacular languages, and which others in Latin. I don't accept the premise that people won't be able to relate to or understand prayers in Latin, or whatever the usual complaint is. How many people even pay attention to the words of the Confiteor or the Credo when they hear it in English? Would it be any worse if the prayers were in Latin? The thing I like about keeping large parts of the ordinary in Latin is the uniformity and universality of worship among the Roman (Latin) Rite Catholics.

Finally, I will take a quick detour to discuss the reform I wish had taken place after the council. The mass I would like to see is essentially the EF mass, but with the points I've mentioned above, that is audible prayers by the priest (at least some of those prayers ought be audible), and responses given by the people. Throw in the additionally extended lectionary, and we've got a renewed liturgy which is clearly in continuity with Tradition. This, I think, having read things like Sacrocanctum Concilium, is what the council foresaw.

Music "of the people"

National Catholic Register had an article in their most recent issue about liturgical music and Vatican II.

The first couple lines caught my attention

In the documents of the Second Vatican Council is a mandate for an encouragement of the popular in music — the “music of the people” at Mass.

This is an aspect of Vatican II that lovers of fine music hope will not always be understood as it has been by many parishes — for several reasons.

and I thought that this was going to be someone defending electric guitar and tambourine as valid liturgical instruments. But, rather than lay out why these reasons people don't like liturgical kumbuya just to debunk them, he lays out why they are well founded.

For one, it could not be foreseen at the time of the council how “music of the people” outside the church would evolve — that is, American pop music was just then beginning a conquest of the entire world. By the 1980s, it would inundate it, in all forms of media.
...
Today it is possible to hear a mild rock beat (such as might have been found in the Everly Brothers, for example) in almost every kind of music in the world — even in new church songs. Folk guitar players, too often, don’t know what to do but strum their guitars in mild rock rhythm.

Many new songs have the typical three- and four-chord harmonies of pop songs and melodies that do not reach the level of the mediocre when compared to disciplined music, the great hymns, Gregorian chant or classical melody.

From a technical-musical point of view, most pop music is unaccomplished as music. However, there can be no question that this is now “the music of the people.”

"Jesus, Jesus. Jesus in the morning, Jesus in the noontime. Jesus, Jesus. Jesus when the sun goes down." Not to mention the myriad of other musics that occur at Church. The homily at one of the Churches I attended on Sunday was about music and music styles. He reminded us that it is not just the lyrics we have to watch out for, but that even the most wholesome lyrics could be wrapped in insidious melodies which could lead us down the wrong path. The ancients knew that certain melodies raised our minds to heaven.

He goes on to discuss how we got to the state we are in.

One fact of my own experience serves as a telling sign of the weakness of the volunteer system in church music. As a published composer of symphonies, ballets and operas (and I am a pianist, violinist, and guitarist) — I have never once been spontaneously asked for advice by anyone — priests and lay musicians alike — in the whole of my life as a Catholic in America. I am invariably asked, quite casually, to sing in choirs and play at Mass — and to work under a volunteer little qualified for his or her position.

It is remarkable that no one has ever asked me to do something — not even in a single question — worthy of my expertise in music. I do not raise this point because of sour grapes — I am content in my work as a classical composer; I raise it as a first-hand example of the lack of interest in musical improvement in the volunteer system.

It is probably an example of what I call the "vocal minority syndrome" in which a few persons with their own ideas get into power, or at least complain a lot; they volunteer for roles and drive decision making. This happens and the average man in the pew isn't really considered. The average John or Mary in the Church isn't likely to be the one who likes to speak up about things, and also they are unlikely to enjoy too many liturgical innovations. And since the people in the pew don't complain, the people in power just keep doing the same. Squeaky wheel gets the grease.

-JG