Father Magiera's Sermon on Postures for the Latin Mass
In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.
Today is the First Sunday of Advent. The Gospel reading is taken from St. Luke, Chapter 21. There are 24 chapters in St. Luke’s Gospel. So, today’s segment comes close to the end of his divinely inspired book.
Last week, for the Twenty-fourth and Last Sunday after Pentecost, we heard from St. Matthew in chapter 24 of his gospel. Along with St. Matthew’s gospel, those of St. Mark and St. Luke comprise what we know as the “synoptic gospels.” All of them deal with what we know as the “end times.” St. Mark does this in chapter 13 of his account. St. John, in his remarkable way, deals with them too in his Apocalypse.
Last week, I reflected on the end times a bit. I could do the same today. Last week’s and this week’s readings remind us that, since there will come an event where time will be no more, when nothing that is will remain as it is, but that all will be changed in Christ, and that God alone will be as He is and always was, we would do well to remember that it is our lot, with God’s grace, to work out our Salvation with fear and trembling. There is nothing we can do to prevent our own deaths and there is nothing that MAN can do to prevent the Cataclysm, the Day of the Lord. The Last Things we hear about will no longer be something in the future, but will be something “now” and actual. At the beginning of the Liturgical Year, the Church in Her wisdom decides to remind us of the teaching she gave us at the end of the Liturgical Year. The
beginning is but a beginning of the end and we should have that always before our eyes. From the first moment of our lives we begin the process of dying. This is the nature of matter. The beginning and the end are merely events. It is what we do with what is in between that should validate our beginning and make our end something that, ultimately, we should look forward to in our resurrected bodies united once again to our immortal souls. Remember the philosophical principles “The cause is always in the effect” “every effect always returns to its cause.” However, in our case, when we do, will our Cause accept us or reject us? If, using our free will, we have accepted It – with all that entails – we, in turn will be accepted. If, using our free will, we have rejected It, It cannot accept us. Why? Because as our acceptance is continuous, so is our rejection. The Cause will keep us “in effect” for eternity, because that is His promise. Those who accept the Good will ponder It for eternity, but, those who have rejected it will have eternity to continue in that rejection.
But, now, I depart from any further reflection on the Last Things to concentrate on something else. The First Sunday of Advent is about beginnings. While in the confines of time and temporal creation, God always gives a chance to begin again. So, as is usual with beginnings or beginnings again, let’s let our thoughts turn to good intentions and resolutions. And yes, the theme I chose for this reflection is a theme I’ve treated before in my time here.
You and I love the Liturgy. The Liturgy, in general, and the Liturgy we experience here, is to be a foretaste of Heavenly things. One all-important thing that distinguishes Heaven from Hell is the contrast between order and chaos. Now, to be sure, here in this place, we don’t have chaos, but neither do we have perfect order. Of course, the perfection of order will only be in Heaven, but we can do our part here to make our liturgical mission as heavenly as possible. And I’d like to talk to you today about order. There are a few ways to approach this, but the best way, as is the best way with anything good and worthwhile, is through surrender and interior conversion. I also preface this by saying that I realize and recognize the motivation behind the things done here at Mass. I know that that excellent reason is reverence on your part for the Sacred Mysteries that take place upon this altar. You, knowing that you can never do enough in the worship and praise of God, extend yourselves to great limits in the attempt to do so. For that, you have my profound gratitude and respect, as you have always had my love and affection. I want you to have that in the front of your mind when I mention the things we can do to make our worship better.
One of the advantages I have as the celebrant of the Mass is that, because we all face God in the same direction, liturgical east, I can’t see what goes on behind me. This frees me and allows me to concentrate on the rubrics and ceremonies of the Mass. It’s difficult for me to imagine that a priest likes to celebrate Mass where the congregation is always before his eyes. In the very few times I have done it, I found it unsettling and not very conducive to concentration. My first time, I occasionally had the temptation to look up and out. I found that I had to redouble my efforts and, soon, thank God, I was able to prevent myself from looking anywhere but where I had to, and wanted to, look. In our liturgy here, I don’t have to worry about that temptation to look, but, rest assured, I do get reports every so often about what goes on.
Now, one thing we always have to remember is that there are no, absolutely no rubrics for the laity – regardless of liturgical form. Just so, though you might not realize it, there are no rubrics for altar servers. Their job is to serve the celebrant, to provide and take things away, to move things – like the book, and to work things – like the bells. They are supposed to do this with dignity, decorum, slow confidence and determination and with, as much as possible, symmetry. Our altar servers here are true models for servers everywhere and they’re also true models for us in the pews. More about this later.
So, again, there are no rubrics for servers or for the laity. What then are rubrics, really? Rubrics can be best described as movements or operations – tasks (usually involving the hands) that the celebrant and, if present, the deacon and subdeacon do.
You know, I hate to admit it and I’m actually a bit ashamed to admit it – and I speculate that the same goes for many of you – but I find that, at times, I can be either mildly amused or even a bit irritated at seeing the laity doing their own sort of rubrics at ordinary form Masses. Most, but not all, of this usually happens after the Canon (or Eucharistic Prayer)
and centers on the Lord’s Prayer. I often wonder who came up with the idea for holding hands during the Lord’s Prayer, being sure to lift them high for the words, “for the Kingdom, the Power and the Glory are Yours now and forever.” Or I wonder who decided (and why it caught on) that it was a good thing to extend cupped hands at midriff level for the duration of the Lord’s Prayer. I often wondered if people expected something to plop down into their hands. And apart from the Our Father, when the celebrant says, “The Lord be with you,” I have also seen some of the laity extend their hands in the “And also with you” response. (And yes, I personally can’t wait for the new English translation to kick in, when the response will be “and with your spirit.”)
Now, these are rubrics; something that the laity does not have. They are not only not encouraged, but they’re actually not permitted. Prudently, however, in an effort to keep their flocks praying at all and not wanting to “rock the boat,” most ordinaries do not make an issue of this. In fact, most ordinaries – as is their prerogative – permit them, tacitly or explicitly.
Now, let’s leave that thought for a moment and imagine this scenario. You know that we have many visitors here. I’m just overjoyed at this. I’d imagine that a lot of them are coming to the Extraordinary Form for either the first time at all or for the first time after many, many years. Quite a few, I imagine, are completely bowled over by the beauty, the music, the majesty. I imagine not a small number, indeed, think to themselves, “Where has this been all my life?” Many decide that the Extraordinary Form is the liturgy for them and stay or frequently come back time and again. Most, if not all, even if they decide it’s not for them, readily admit that it’s profoundly beautiful. Now begins the rub.
I wonder, regardless of which “camp” they might be in, if some of those who visit or shop around, come in here and think to themselves, “Yes, well, the liturgy is so much more beautiful and dignified than ours; the music is so much better. But, don’t they know what they’re supposed to do? At least at our church we stand, sit and kneel at the same time.” And yes, they do! They do it here too at the Saturday 4:30 and Sunday noon!
Now, let’s think of this: How’s this for incongruent? Two groups of people or, at least, sets of individuals – one doing what they’re technically NOT supposed to do and the other NOT doing what, simultaneously, they’re supposed to do. Now, for the latter, there could be reasons: this is the way we did it when I was a kid; they always did things that way at my grandmother’s church; we really don’t know what to do – we just do what the people in front of us do. Or is it this – just as it might be for those self – styled Ordinary Form rubricists: This is what I think is right, this is what I decide, therefore this is what I will do. Tacitly, the undertone is, “Well, I really don’t want to call attention to myself, but, after all, I AM right!” Is there any hope of either of these groups? I hope so, but one I do not have to concern myself with primarily, but the other does concern me – and very much so.
Now, am I being an alarmist? Is there cause for alarm? No. For the most part, all is well. But, when we have a chance for completion or perfection, should we be content “almost” or “for the most part”? I’m not worried too much about what goes on from the beginning of Mass up through the Preface. We do things pretty well, in fact. We kneel at the beginning, stand when the celebrant ascends the altar. We remain that way till he sits (and we with him) during the singing of the Gloria – as we’re supposed to do. Roughly the same happens for the Credo and we sit through the Offertory. The altar missal directs the choir and faithful, in fact, to sit when the celebrant sits during the Gloria and Credo. All very well and fine. After that, it get’s dicey. When things get confused among the servers at this or that point, I speak to them in the sacristy after Mass, sometimes a bit sarcastically, saying things like, “what is this: Laurel and Hardy serve Mass?” Unfortunately, I get a blank stare because they have no idea who Laurel and Hardy are – which is also a crying shame, but more about that in another sermon. But you get the idea.
Now, unity and uniformity are distinct things, but the former is the cause and the latter is the effect. If we are unified, we should want to be uniform. That does not imply or necessitate rigidity. Short and sweet, at Mass, the laity are, for all intents and purposes, the choir, and they’re supposed to act that way. When postures are prescribed for the choir,
the laity are to conform to those postures. Imagine if some servers in the sanctuary decided to take it upon themselves to do what they wanted. What would that do for dignity or decorum? I daresay it would border on scandalous. You are not bound by rubrics. Be joyful about that, but you are bound to assume appropriate postures, and those at the same time. You are the liturgical choir. The liturgical choir – and any congregation should know this, if only out of common sense – stands while singing. You should stand while singing in a communal posture as a regiment of the Church Militant. Can you imagine a company or regiment of soldiers, some of whom, when their commander gives them an order, take off in different directions, “doing their own thing?” In a chant Mass, where you’re supposed to be singing – and there’s no reason
not to sing, we do a narrow scope of chant Masses and eventually the chants should become second nature to you over time; we also have Kyriale books in the vestibule with the chants – (in a chant Mass, where you’re supposed to be singing) you should stand and remain standing until that chant has concluded, regardless of what the celebrant is doing. Remember, we have a layered liturgy. I might already be into the Canon. You are not. You are still singing the Sanctus. The Preface is followed by the Sanctus and the Sanctus precedes and is NOT part of the Canon. Therefore, you are not in the Canon until the Sanctus ends. The Ordinary Form has a linear liturgy. The Canon cannot begin until the Sanctus is ended. Would you like that? I imagine not. Talk about liturgical abuse. We would be going against more than a millennium of
liturgical tradition. But if that were to happen, would you then still insist on kneeling for or during the Sanctus even though I had not even begun the Canon? Let’s think about what our somewhat confusing practice has meant. When you kneel for or during the Sanctus, you take it upon yourselves to decide when the Canon begins or that it has begun. This is not for you to decide. The answer? This means you should remain standing until the conclusion of the Sanctus and, because you are singing it, the conclusion of the Agnus Dei. Even if you don’t sing (and not knowing the music is the only legitimate reason for not singing), it is incumbent on you to act “as if.” If you disagree, check with our present Holy Father, or Pope John Paul II, or Pope Pius XII. Finally, if they’re not acceptable, check it with Pope St. Pius X. Those who are gung-ho on some of what he has written should be just as gung-ho on all that he has written. Now, on those occasions where the choir in the loft is singing a Mass setting, i.e. a Palestrina or Mozart Mass, you should kneel at the Sanctus bell and immediately following the “Pax.” But only on those occasions. Why? Because you are not singing.
Now, this whole business is nothing new. I talked about it when I arrived here and, before I leave, I may have to remind you of it again. After all, we get lots of visitors and there are new folks joining the parish all the time. My esteemed predecessor, my friend Fr. Duvelius, also addressed this. Luckily, I still have a document he issued. Here’s a quote: “For some reasons, many people get greatly upset when asked to remain standing for the Sanctus and Agnus Dei, though I cannot
understand why this is perceived as important. I know that many people’s missals tell them to kneel at this point, but realize that publishers are free to print whatever they wish in missals for the faithful. Only the priest’s missal, which conforms to the Vatican’s official 1962 texts, has any authority, and what it says on this point is clear: People always stand (never kneel) while they sing, and the Sanctus and Agnus Dei are to be sing by the choir and people.”
We all love Latin. Most here, possibly understand the essence of things or even actual words as well perhaps, as trained by habit, but most here are not able to read Latin with comprehension. Luckily, I can do that. To cite the authority for what Fr. Duvelius has said above, I quote from three sources: an 1868 Missale Romanum I have in my bedroom at the rectory, the 1962 edition we use here on the altar and a recent reprint of the 1962 Missale Romanum published by the Angelus Press. In Chapter X, De Ordine Genuflectendi, Sedendi et Standi in Missa, number 524 is very clear: “In choro neque sedent neque genuflectent qui actu cantant.” People always stand while they sing.
Lastly, the word liturgy comes from the Greek and means work, public work. There is no greater public work we do than when we worship God. The very word religion comes from the Latin ‘to surrender.’ Our Liturgy, our public work should not show us working at cross purposes when we should be unified. And we certainly are not in the act of surrendering when we insist on doing our own thing.
In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.