THE TRADITIONAL LATIN MASS: PICTURE PERFECT

Prior to my reversion to the faith back in October 2013, I was not interested in attending Holy Mass.  As most non-church goers claim: I found it boring; I got nothing out of it.  I attended maybe once or twice a month, on a whim, tagging along with my parents, never on a regular, weekly basis.  Though I knew it was the right thing to do (my folks had always stressed the importance of worshipping God), as I grew into my teen years and even well into my thirties and forties, I never thought much about missing Mass, even when I was not ill.  I never thought it was a sin--possibly venial--certainly not mortal, even though missing Holy Mass without sufficient cause clearly goes against the Third Commandment.

                    During the fall of 2013, at the age of 45 however, my conversion (which I discuss in detail in another essay Soul-Searching on this website) was in full swing and missing Sunday Mass without good reason was the first thing I vowed would never happen again.  The Mass was no longer a boring option when I had nothing better to do; it was the only option, that first crucial step in returning to God.  Sunday worship was the start, and I was all in. 

The Novus Ordo Mass, commonly known as post-Vatican II (new order mass) however, was the only Mass choice I thought available to me at the time, other than the Eastern Catholic rites, one of which I was baptized into (The Melkite Catholic rite or Byzantine).  The closest Melkite Catholic Church is across town from me, and the cultural liturgical differences didn’t appeal to me being American born; I therefore never seriously considered it an alternative.  

For six years post-conversion, the (novus ordo) Roman rite was my go-to for worship, and it served its purpose: I was able to receive the Eucharist and confession on a regular basis and, best of all, it was only a two-minute drive from home.  All was good.  I had no complaints.  I was worshipping God, getting to know Him better and better with each passing week, with the intention of loving and serving Him to the best of my ability in this life, to be happy with Him in the next (the whole purpose of our existence—Baltimore Catechism).

As I was gaining spiritual momentum and becoming more devout--listening to more conservative podcasts, listening to conservative homilies on YouTube, digging deeper into Catholic tradition, reciting the daily Rosary, attending First Friday and First Saturday devotions--I began to feel a growing disconnect between my burgeoning spirituality and the novus ordo mass, particularly Communion in the hand and the distribution through Eucharistic lay ministers.  I always knew it was possible to get in the priest’s line and open one’s mouth at any novus ordo parish.  However, I didn’t want to be that one person who did that. I was never comfortable with sticking out or being an exception.  I decided I would attend Holy Mass where Communion on the tongue is the norm.

By November of 2019 just before Covid-19 hit, I googled Latin Mass in my local area and, to my pleasant surprise, there was a Latin Mass only a five to eight-minute drive away.  I couldn’t believe it.  I’d heard of people driving forty-five minutes or longer to attend a Latin Mass in most areas of the country. 

My first Latin Mass experience, however, was less than enjoyable.   I was completely lost at first.  Though I had a Latin Mass booklet/guide in front of me, I couldn’t seem to follow it, and the Gregorian chants seemed a bit cheesy to me.  I had become so used to the catchy, protestantized hymns (On Eagles Wings, etc.) that I doubted I could ever become accustomed to the formality (or “rigidness” as the liberal critics claim) of the Traditional Latin Mass.  When Mass was over, I was seriously ready to return to the novus ordo but something stopped me in my tracks—a feeling—a thought—"give it another chance”—and this was before I became a regular viewer of the Dr. Taylor Marshall Show, wherein the popular traditional Catholic podcaster recommends people attend at least four consecutive Latin Masses before deciding to ditch it.  He is so right.  The Latin Mass truly is an acquired taste.

I continued to feel somewhat lost for a month or two, but I stuck it out.  I could not return to Communion on the hand.  Besides, the Latin Mass booklet was starting to make more sense to me; I could follow the booklet throughout the different parts of the liturgy.  The Gregorian chants were beginning to sound not sappy but sacred, downright angelic to me, true “glory and praise.”   I oftentimes listen to them now while falling asleep or while cooking instead of secular music. 

Soon covid struck though, and I, like everyone, wasn’t attending Holy Mass anywhere but streaming through YouTube.  When live public masses finally returned to churches, I found the Latin Mass in my area had moved about a twenty-minute drive away, double the travel time than when I first started attending.

I had to decide once again whether to return to the novus ordo mass or drive the distance.  Twenty minutes was still half the time it takes most Americans to travel to a Latin Mass, I mused.  Just do it, I told myself.  So, I did, and now almost five years later, I attend the Latin Mass exclusively for Sunday Mass and consider myself blessed to be able to when in some dioceses worldwide the Latin Mass is restricted or even banned altogether.

Communion on the hand Is not the only reason I continue to attend the TLM.  It may have been the initial impetus, but it is the reverent liturgy that keeps me there, that suits my spirituality, a religiosity I hope and pray will continue to grow as I age and face my death.  I wonder sometimes if I’m just being a spiritual snob, that only a TLM Mass is good enough for me.  But then I stop myself and think there’s nothing snooty about wanting reverence and expecting to receive it, especially when one tithes.   I’ve been to reverent novus ordo masses.  I currently attend one for the First Friday and Saturday devotions.  Either before or after Holy Mass, the priest, a Franciscan friar, kneels and prays the Rosary and other devotional prayers (a good amount in Latin) with the laity before the Blessed Sacrament in Adoration.  After Consecration, the kneeler is brought out; Communion on the tongue is the norm, not the exception. However, even there the celebration of the Mass is not the same; something is missing that is found only in the Traditional Latin Mass.  For me, that something is the degree of reverence during the entire liturgy from beginning to end.   

The TLM Mass begins in silence until a bell is rung.  Laity rise and the priest processes down the aisle behind several altar boys wearing a biretta, a stiff, square hat on his head.  The choir begins singing the opening hymn, usually in English.  The priest and altar boys continue to process up to the altar.  At the altar, the priest kneels and begins to plead to God for worthiness while the laity join in, also kneeling and asking God to make the priest worthy.  

The priest and the acolyte alone begin to process back down the aisle, with the priest now blessing the congregation, sprinkling the laity with Holy Water.  The priest returns to the altar and begins to plead to God for a second time that he (in persona Christi) be worthy to celebrate Mass, striking his breast three times.   The priest then completely vests for Mass with the assistance of the acolyte while initial prayers are sung in Gregorian chants.   Incense begins to burn, filling the air with a sweet, sacred scent, readings (including the Gospel) are recited in both Latin and English, while the homily is said in English only.

Throughout the liturgy, altar boys make right angle moves only around the altar, and bowing is done several times, not just between priest and altar boy(s) or between altar boys alone but once, before consecration prayers, between altar boys and the congregation, giving the laity a chance to feel part of the reverent ambiance as well.  Now the pinnacle point:  the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

                    During Consecration, the priest faces the altar, (ad orientam-east) not the congregation, so that all present are more focused on Our Lord, Jesus Christ, coming down to earth as He does during every valid consecration.  The priest hovers over the Host for several minutes, focused, a true labor of love.  A baby’s soft coo or loud cry sometimes breaks the sacred silence—but only for a moment.  As soon as the priest elevates the Consecrated Host and he, the priest, looks up into the eyes of our crucified Lord on the Cross, the bell rings, the altar boys raise the priest’s vestments, my full attention is locked in.  I can’t help but pause in awe and wonder—picture perfect—I think—every time.