Philadelphia Chapter

by Peter Kwasniewski

It has long struck me as strange that so many people in the Catholic world seem to consider the love and longing for beauty in the liturgy to be a matter of reproach. The traditional Catholic is written off as, at best, a hopeless romantic, a foppish aesthete, a poorly-adjusted introvert yearning for past glories, and at worst, someone who probably doesn’t care much about the poor or the modern world but who does care a great deal about the ornamentation of the monstrance, the cut and hue of the chasuble, and the precise amount of incense heaped on the coals. The way the term “nostalgia” is used as a pejorative term is quite revealing in this regard.

Yet those who find it easy to dismiss the traditionalists rarely pose the question: Might there be a good reason, even a compelling one, to care passionately about beautiful signs and symbols, beautiful cultural artifacts, customs, and practices, the “smells and bells” that were once so prevalent in Catholic worship that they seemed, to outsiders, to be nearly synonymous with it?

Our Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI wrote eloquently on this subject in section 35 of his Apostolic Exhortation Sacramentum Caritatis, in a passage that deserves to be read and re-read:

This relationship between creed and worship is evidenced in a particular way by the rich theological and liturgical category of beauty. Like the rest of Christian Revelation, the liturgy is inherently linked to beauty: it is veritatis splendor. The liturgy is a radiant expression of the paschal mystery, in which Christ draws us to himself and calls us to communion. As Saint Bonaventure would say, in Jesus we contemplate beauty and splendour at their source. This is no mere aestheticism, but the concrete way in which the truth of God’s love in Christ encounters us, attracts us and delights us, enabling us to emerge from ourselves and drawing us towards our true vocation, which is love.

God allows himself to be glimpsed first in creation, in the beauty and harmony of the cosmos (cf. Wis 13:5; Rom 1:19-20). In the Old Testament we see many signs of the grandeur of God’s power as he manifests his glory in his wondrous deeds among the Chosen People (cf. Ex 14; 16:10; 24:12-18; Num 14:20- 23). In the New Testament this epiphany of beauty reaches definitive fulfilment in God’s revelation in Jesus Christ: Christ is the full manifestation of the glory of God. In the glorification of the Son, the Father’s glory shines forth and is communicated (cf. Jn 1:14; 8:54; 12:28; 17:1). Yet this beauty is not simply a harmony of proportion and form; “the fairest of the sons of men” (Ps 45:3) is also, mysteriously, the one “who had no form or comeliness that we should look at him, and no beauty that we should desire him” (Is 53:2). Jesus Christ shows us how the truth of love can transform even the dark mystery of death into the radiant light of the resurrection. Here the splendour of God’s glory surpasses all worldly beauty. The truest beauty is the love of God, who definitively revealed himself to us in the paschal mystery.

The beauty of the liturgy is part of this mystery; it is a sublime expression of God’s glory and, in a certain sense, a glimpse of heaven on earth. The memorial of Jesus’ redemptive sacrifice contains something of that beauty which Peter, James, and John beheld when the Master, making his way to Jerusalem, was transfigured before their eyes (cf. Mk 9:2). Beauty, then, is no mere decoration, but rather an essential element of the liturgical action, since it is an attribute of God himself and his revelation. These considerations should make us realize the care which is needed, if the liturgical action is to reflect its innate splendor.

This is the same man who had said, many years earlier in The Ratzinger Report: “A theologian who does not love art, poetry, music, and nature can be dangerous. Blindness and deafness toward the beautiful are not incidental; they necessarily are reflected in his theology” (p. 130).

What did Ratzinger mean? A person who is not “in tune with the world,” as Josef Pieper would say—one who is not vibrating sympathetically, as it were, with the splendor of God’s artistry in nature, one who feels little or no affinity with the manifestations of His beauty in the works of fine art His grace has inspired across the Christian centuries—will be a person whose theology is monotonous, mechanical, and one-dimensional, the shell of reasoning without the marrow of insight or the burning embers of eros. It will be a blind and deaf theology suited for the deaf and the blind. We know what Our Lord said about unseeing leaders and their sightless followers: they end up in a ditch, that is, in a dark hole where beauty cannot flourish (cf. Lk 6:39).

That is how such a theologian is, in Ratzinger’s surprising phrase, dangerous. His defect can become an impediment to the salvation of men, an encouragement of the philistinism that narrows and distorts reality, a discouragement to those who see or feel more than he. Where Ratzinger says “theologian,” moreover, we may also say “liturgist” or “celebrant,” because it is impossible to think about, talk about, or celebrate the liturgy without drawing upon some theological account of what one is referring to or carrying out. Whether the account is full and harmonious or fragmentary and inconsistent, there must be an operational basis that could be put into words if need be.

How dangerous is this lack of appreciation for the beautiful in the liturgy? Towards the end of his life, Evelyn Waugh wrote in a letter: “Easter used to mean so much to me. Before Pope John and his Council—they destroyed the beauty of the liturgy. I have not yet soaked myself in petrol and gone up in flames, but I now cling to the Faith doggedly without joy.”

“They destroyed the beauty of the liturgy.” We might quibble with Waugh about whether this destruction can be attributed to the Pope who called the Council or to the Council itself (given that the same Pope promulgated the last edition of the usus antiquior Missal and that the same Council celebrated Mass according to that missal from start to finish), but there can be no doubt that Waugh was permitted to see, towards the end of his life, the beginnings of a systematic dismantling and discarding of many beautiful things in the Mass and in Catholic life that had nourished him just as they had nourished countless others over the centuries. Waugh grasped the bitter cost of all the rationalism, didacticism, experimentation, and thirst for novelty: the beauty that had been lovingly built up over so many generations of believers. This was the outstanding casualty of the reform in the manner in which it was executed almost everywhere. And then we hear that heart-breaking phrase: “I now cling to the Faith doggedly without joy.” Thus did the melancholy author of Brideshead Revisited tersely identify the aftermath of the campaign against beauty: the waning of spiritual joy in the profession of the true Faith.

It has taken over forty years to realize the full magnitude of the sickness unto death, which, as with Lazarus, has ended not in the stark silence of the tomb but in an astonishing resurrection from the dead: the ever-growing restoration of the traditional Roman Rite across the world (in spite of temporary setbacks), accompanied by a slow rediscovery and renewal of its cultural “supports,” the countless beautiful things, great and small, that always accompany Catholic liturgy when lived to the full. If Waugh were alive today, he would see that there is, thanks be to God, matter to rejoice about once more—although we may sincerely hope that he now enjoys unveiled the changeless Beauty, ever ancient, ever new, and no longer has need of such comfort.

POPE BENEDICT XVI was a Latin lover. In January, not long before stepping down, he launched a Latin language Twitter account that has since attracted more than 130,000 followers. People have used it to follow the visit to Brazil of the new pope, Francis. By comparison, the Polish papal Twitter feed has slightly more than 108,000 followers whereas Spanish, the most popular of the papal accounts, has more than 3m. Benedict also announced his resignation using Latin, giving a scoop to the one journalist who could understand him. The Vatican’s affection for Latin is shared by others online and on the airwaves. Why does a language with no native speakers have so many fans?

The Vatican’s Office of Latin Letters is responsible for the papal Twitter account, and is one of the few workplaces in the world in which the ancient language is still the lingua franca. Latin is also heard on Radio Bremen, a German station, which has broadcast a programme called “Nuntii Latini Septimanales” (“Weekly Latin News”) since 2001. Finland’s YLE Radio 1 has run a similar show since 1989, with listeners in over 80 countries. Google Translate provides a Latin service which attracts more traffic than Esperanto, Icelandic and Irish. Facebook offers a Latin version too, complete with “Mihi placet” for “like” and “Quid in animo tuo est?” for “What’s on your mind?” Those wanting more can join Schola, a social networking site where all messages, blogs and posts must be in Latin. Meanwhile, Latin Wikipedia has 94,000 articles.

Latin’s succinctness makes it ideal for Twitter’s 140-character epigraphs and aphorisms. Five words can often say more than ten English ones, according to David Butterfield, a Latinist at the University of Cambridge. He also believes that the language is suited to journalism: “Whatever the first tongue of the reporter, and regardless of the native language of the subject matter recounted, Latin will allow a precise and direct summary,” he says. The online newspaper Ephemeris, started by a Polish journalist in 2004, is a case in point. Its contributors write in Latin from Colombia, Germany, Chile and America. More than 300 people a day visit the site. Creative coinages also play a role in revitalising the language. Radio Bremen suggests autocinetum electricum as a translation of electric car, for example.

Other initiatives are trying to spread the language further. Pope Benedict’s Pontifical Academy for Latin, established in November, aims to promote classical culture and eventually to provide classes for those interested in learning the language. The Iris Project in London encourages school children to start studying it too. Latin is alive; quod erat demonstrandum.

by Patrick Pierce

At the very edges of the culture you sometimes hear about how tradition is coming back. You hear how the John Paul II generation is coming into the seminaries, the monasteries, the parishes. You hear about how the Traditional Latin Mass is starting to pop up where you least expect it. You hear about how certain trends in architecture, literature and art are looking back to the great methods and styles of the past.

That’s not to say that the values of the past are returning to the popular culture. Two minutes on any television channel—or a peek at the poll numbers on just about any issue—tell you that Western Civilization is not only dying, it is cold to the touch. But somehow there is a warm whisper in the air saying that the popular culture that came along and changed everything is itself subject to the winds of change.

Nowadays the authority figures—professors, politicians, newsmakers, teachers, presidents—are creatures of a generation that sought to break the mold, to dismantle the system of hypocrisies they perceived and so disdained growing up, to build an amoral world where judgment in general was shunned. And, much to our peril, in so many ways they succeeded. Family no longer means what it did, marriage no longer means what it did, spirituality no longer means what it did. But precisely by their being the authorities, they have opened a space for a new kind of rebelliousness: That born of tradition.

The world, after all, offers only ego. As many trends and causes and “spiritialities” as a person may chase after, until they are willing to put God above themselves, above everything else in this world, all the paths will simply lead back to themselves.

The modern world, in that way, is a smaller, more confining place. Truth, once grand and glorious, has been corralled into being personal—something within you alone that need not apply to the world at large. All the miracles, mysteries and blessings in this world either need to be explained by the science of this very moment or they cannot exist. And the public debate is itself smaller, theology is an uncomfortable subject best not brought up in the public square. Everything is a shadow of its former self, and the trivial flourishes. The grand and true has been chased forcibly to the sides to make way for the small and personal.

The reason that the great traditions cannot be stamped out, however, is that they are glorious and universal–they cannot be confined. A generation, an ideology, a political environment hostile to them is simply not enough to get around their edges and box them in. They will come back, and we can see a bit of that if we care to look for it.

For much of the last two millenia the great truths were kept, told and explored in Latin. Peter and Paul died in Rome and the Church grew there. Iraneus, Teurtulian and Ignatius wrote about it. Jerome wrote the Vulgate Bible in Latin for the masses. Emperor Constantine adopted the faith. St. Augustine, St. Patrick, St. Thomas Aquinas and so many saints, thinkers, officials and leaders of the Church took Latin as their own. But, just as technology was making the world an easier place to get around, and an easier place to communicate vast distances, society was letting go of those traditions, becoming “post-Christian,” embracing ego in all its forms. And, about the same time our society began letting go of its traditions, it let go of Latin. Coincidence? Perhaps.

Latin is, after all, ancient. It is universal in that much of the world spoke it. It is a direct connection to the great traditions. It is the living language of the Roman Catholic Church: The terminology of the liturgy was revised in 2011 so that it would more fully comport with the Latin; Lumen Fidei, released by Pope Francis in July, like all encyclicals, is in Latin, with all other versions being translations; the original of the Canon Law is in Latin; and the Traditional Latin Mass is on its way back. It is a part of the grand and true shining around the corners of the walls those who oppose them are pushing so hard on to box them in.

In short, Latin is a part of something that is the opposite of the modern popular culture. It is a part of what was chased out in recent generations to make room for the small and personal, to give the ego more space to make believe that it is everything there is. It is hard work, wired directly into nearly two millenia of exploration into, and explanation of, what is wise and true. It was the language of our civilization, before it died.

Still, there are those who know all of this, and a growing number who will. They are the young adults peering curiously into missals at the Latin Mass. They are the wise in heart who knowingly reject the idea that what is true depends who you’re asking, and looking for confirmation from others. They are the people raised by the culture who somehow know that things are not right, watching in discomfort as the society feeds on the principles that have always held it together.

Latin is not truly dead because it is the opposite of all of this, the opposite of the popular culture, the opposite of the uninspired, confining world that seems to surround us. It is a link, as solid as steel, to the past, to the great saints, to the wisdom of the ages, which is all still within reach. Latin represents a subtle act of rebellion against a civilization that has cut that link and floats adrift in a sea of unchecked ego. There is no reason to learn Latin that this world would recognize.

And that, alone, may be reason enough.

As posted on Rorate Caeli:

Fr. Robert C Pasley Rector of Mater Ecclesiae Roman Catholic Church, Berlin, NJ invites all to Mater Ecclesiae’s 13th Annual Assumption Mass. The Mass will take place on Thursday, August 15, at 7:00PM, at St Peter’s Church, 43 W. Maple Avenue, Merchantville, NJ 08109.

This Mass was begun thirteen years ago to thank and honor Our Lady for the establishment of Mater Ecclesiae. We also wanted to feature some of the greatest works of orchestral/choral music ever written for the Sacred Liturgy. The setting of the Ordinary of the Mass is “Mass #1in B-flat” by Johan Nepomuk Hummel. Other works include the motets “Venite Populi” by Mozart, “Ave Virgo Gloriosa” by Frescobaldi, “Assumpta est Maria” by Rathberger, and the “Concerto for two trumpets” along with the “Concerto for two oboes in D minor” by Vivaldi.

The Holy Trinity Traditional Latin Mass Community of the Archdiocese of Philadelphia has just launched a new Website. We are proud to list it among our Links in the left column of the LLA Philadelphia Chapter’s Site. Father Ronald Check is the official Chaplain and Coordinator of Holy Trinity TLM Community.

You can also go directly to Holy Trinity’s TLM Website here:

holytrinitytlm.org

Ad Multos Annos and Kudos to Father Ronald Check!

First Friday, August 2, A.D. 2013, Traditional Latin Mass (TLM) will be offered by Fr. Gerald Patrick Carey, of Our Lady of Perpetual Help Parish, Morton, PA at the Rectory Chapel of St. Albert The Great Parish, 212 Welsh Road, Huntingdon Valley, Montgomery County, PA 19006, (T) 215-947-3500 at 7 p.m., preceded by Confessions at 6:30 p.m. The Rectory, also known as the Parish Center, is behind the Church. Fr. Carey will be offering the Mass of St. Alphonsus Liguori in Reparation to The Sacred Heart of Jesus.

First Saturday, August 3, A.D. 2013, Traditional Latin Mass (TLM) will be offered by Fr. Dominick Finn, O.S.F.S., at the Rectory Chapel of St. Albert The Great Parish, 212 Welsh Road, Huntingdon Valley, Montgomery County, PA 19006, (T) 215-947-3500 at 9:15 a.m., preceded by Confessions at 8:45 a.m. The Rectory, also known as the Parish Center, is behind the Church.

Fr. Finn will be offering a Votive Mass of Our Lady in Reparation to Her Immaculate Heart.

Thank you for publicizing these First Friday and First Saturday Traditional Latin Masses.

Mark Matthews

In spite of its ritual complexity, a solemn Mass in the usus antiquior comes across as a seamless and flowing single action that carries the worshiper along from start to finish, without awkward caesuras or transitions. At the same time, some of the most impressively beautiful traditional liturgies I have assisted at moved along with a surprising fleetness by the hand of the clock, yet without the slightest appearance of haste or hurry. Both of these aspects—the sense of a natural ebb and flow, and the “Roman efficiency,” which complements “noble simplicity” rightly understood—are the result of centuries of gradual perfection in prayers and chant, ceremonial and rubrics. Everything “clicks” the way it’s supposed to, and one is caught up in the wonderful momentum of it all. And regardless of how much time it takes, it helps you forget about time by its power to pass beyond time.

A major cause of this sense of “passing beyond time” is bestowed on the liturgy by the ancient chant, sung in modes that surpass our restricted melodic conventions and with a free-floating rhythm that baffles our expectation of beat (and therefore “keeping time”). Anthropologists of religion tell us that every ancient religion has a sacred chant all its own because of a deep human instinct for distinguishing what is sacred from what is profane, setting apart certain signs, be they linguistic, musical, or ceremonial, from all others that belong to the workaday human world. The Jews and the Moslems have ancient tones to which they chant their holy writings, the Buddhists and the Hindus likewise. Alice von Hildebrand observed: “Not only is the quality of sacredness a mark of all religions, but it is so essential to religion that the very moment sacredness disappears religion vanishes with it.” This innate human awareness, woven into our soul by God the Creator, is brought to completion by the same God when he revealed to us how best to worship him, as he did first for the chosen people of Israel, and, in the fullness of time, as he did for the Church when he gave her the sacrifice of the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ.

The sacred chant of the Latin Church was born out of a confluence of Jewish cantillation and Greco-Roman song, the same diverse cultural milieu that shaped our liturgy and our theological language. As a result, there developed in the first millennium a music proper to the Roman Rite, a music that grew up with it from the beginning and was never left aside. No matter how many subsequent musical developments there were, no matter how elaborate became the Masses of Palestrina or Mozart, Gregorian chant always remained a vital component of the liturgy; it was never discarded as a primitive historical form, one destined to be supplanted by the progress of art. Indeed, later polyphonic and homophonic music makes continual reference to this immense treasury of chant—even the music of Protestant composers such as Johann Sebastian Bach (one need only think of the cantus firmus in the marvelous Credo of the Mass in B Minor)—so much was it the common language of all church musicians. One does not simply leave behind tradition, for it preserves the origin and makes it ever present. Tradition is the gift that each generation must give intact to the next.

The most fundamental problem, then, with the postconciliar “popular” church music is that it is quite simply fabricated, altogether new. It has no organic connection with the tradition of the Church and with the music that has never ceased to grace the worship of the Church in every generation (even if not every congregation was privileged to hear it in its fullness). It is religious music ex nihilo: in no way a development of the tradition, it is rather a rejection of it, a break, a totally new direction. Its direction is from the world and to the world, not from the church and to the church. It is meant to be “relevant,” to “appeal,” to “speak to people where they are.” This has never been the purpose of sacred music or even of the liturgy itself. The purpose of divine worship is to worship the divine, not to entertain or even to catechize people. When we adore God in the manner handed down to us by tradition, we are the ones who are made relevant to the divine (so to speak), we are the ones re-formed. We are taken to a place where we are not, but where we should be and must go.

When watching Into Great Silence, I was struck by a scene that occurs early on in the film. A number of fellow monks are having a conversation outdoors, and one of them asks if they should get rid of the ceremony of the washing of hands, as he claims has been done at another monastery. An older monk replies: “Our entire life, the whole liturgy, and everything ceremonial are symbols. If you abolish the symbols, then you tear down the walls of your own house. When we abolish the signs, we lose our orientation. Instead, we should search for their meaning … one should unfold the core of the symbols. … The signs are not to be questioned, we are.”

This, then, could be our battle cry: “Don’t change the sign, change yourself.” An artist who sets about producing a work of art for the Catholic Church should conform himself to the prevenient sign, the historic symbol, the given sacrament, rather than bending or even jettisoning these in order to pursue his own tastes and agendas. In his great motu proprio on sacred music, St. Pius X wrote: “Gregorian Chant has always been regarded as the supreme model for sacred music, so that it is fully legitimate to lay down the following rule: the more closely a composition for church approaches in its movement, inspiration, and savor the Gregorian form, the more sacred and liturgical it becomes; and the more out of harmony it is with that supreme model, the less worthy it is of the temple. The ancient traditional Gregorian Chant must, therefore, in a large measure be restored to the functions of public worship, and the fact must be accepted by all that an ecclesiastical function loses none of its solemnity when accompanied by this music alone.”

So good is the heritage we have received that nothing, nothing needs to be added to it in order to have the fullest and most fitting solemnity of divine worship. Certainly, an abundance of beauty has been added century by century to the musical treasury of the Church. Who would question for a moment the artistic splendor and liturgical suitability of the polyphonic masterpieces of the Renaissance, not to mention countless other compositions down to our own times? Still, in his admirably principled way, Pope Pius X reminds us of a truth we should never lose sight of: a Mass sung exclusively in chant is not deficient or defective in any way, for it is clothed with the resplendent vesture of the King—the musical raiment with which Tradition, inspired by the Holy Spirit, has covered the Western liturgy, a glory of pure melody like nothing else in the history of the world.

Given these royal robes—hand-made, custom-fitted, bequeathed to each generation, held out to the People of God by one Vicar of Christ after another—can we seriously look elsewhere for the music of the liturgy? Can we ever be forgiven if we persistently ignore, demote, or denigrate this patrimony? If the universal Magisterium of the Church teaches the truth of Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit, and if this Magisterium has been absolutely clear and utterly consistent about the primacy of Gregorian chant in the liturgy (limiting ourselves to the past century alone, we can see an unbroken chain from St. Pius X to Vatican II to Benedict XVI), then the rejection of the chant risks being a sin against the Holy Spirit.

The postconciliar fabricated secularized church music must be repudiated, in the name of Tradition, in the name of sound spirituality, and in the name of the Second Vatican Ecumenical Council, which solemnly taught: “There must be no innovations unless the good of the Church genuinely and certainly requires them; and care must be taken that any new forms adopted should in some way grow organically from forms already existing” (SC 23). This, of course, was the same Council that famously declared: “The Church acknowledges Gregorian chant as specially suited to the Roman liturgy: therefore, other things being equal, it should be given pride of place in liturgical services” (SC 116). That is, even if other things are viewed as equal, chant should still be given pride of place, precisely because it is “specially suited to the Roman liturgy.” The ceteris paribus phrase strengthens rather than weakens the Council’s unequivocal judgment that chant deserves primacy in the Roman rite.

Let there be an end to excuses and a beginning, at last, to the renewal that the Council actually called for. This renewal will include Gregorian chant at its heart, or it will fail. The New Evangelization must thrive on obedience to the Magisterium or it will be stillborn from the womb.

From Anthony Corvaia,
Advisory Council Member,
Latin Liturgy Association,
Philadelphia Chapter

The City of Philadelphia has kindly granted a relaxation of parking restrictions to accommodate Sunday Mass at Holy Trinity Church, 6th and Spruce Sts.

Parking is allowed on the north side of Spruce St. from 5th St. to 7th St. and on the east side of 6th St. from Washington Square South to Pine St. Please note:

– this parking relaxation is only valid on Sundays from 10AM to 3PM.

– there must be a Holy Trinity parking placard visible on the inside of the vehicle’s windshield. These are available at the back of the church.

– other parking restrictions still apply. For example, crosswalks, driveways, fire hydrants and bus stops must not be blocked. Handicapped parking rules must be observed.

Dear Devotees of the Traditional Latin Mass (TLM),

Today Fr. Ronald W. Check, chaplain of the Holy Trinity TLM Community, celebrated the first Sunday noon TLM at Holy Trinity, an 18th-century church at 6th and Spruce Streets. This Mass, directly sponsored by the Archdiocese, now replaces the weekly TLM that had been celebrated at St. Paul Church in South Philadelphia since October 2009.

Approximately 60 people attended today (not counting the 10 serving in the sanctuary and choir loft), which is better than the average at the former worship site. The chant Mass Orbis Factor and the chant propers were sung by a men’s schola, and Michael Lawrence improvised at the organ on themes from the propers and the Salve Regina.

Instead of a sermon, Fr. Check reviewed many practical matters related to the transition to Holy Trinity Church. Windows and doors were left open and fans, large and small, circulated air through the church; this, plus the relatively low humidity and a strong breeze, kept the temperature indoors tolerable. After Mass the celebrant greeted the people in the vestibule.

Information about further developments (parking, finances) will be provided at Mass in the next few weeks.

Please pray for what Fr. Check described as a “new apostolate” in the Archdiocese, for the glory of God.

Sincerely in Christ,

Michael J. Miller
Advisory Council, Philadelphia Chapter of the Latin Liturgy Association

Extraordinary Form Liturgy at the Carmelite Monastery of Philadelphia (66th Avenue and Old York Road) on Sunday, July 14th at 7:30 p.m.

This is a part of their annual novena to Our Lady of Mount Carmel, (running from July 8th through July 16th).