Simplicity and authenticity will bring a renewal to the liturgy from within– from the beauty of the faith and sacrifice of the priests and the people. I speak from experience. I have worshipped God with a Monteverdi Mass in St Mark’s Basilica in Venice. I have worshipped with the world’s finest choir at Kings College in Cambridge. I have worshipped in monastic austerity at Mont St Michel, Quarr Abbey and many other beautiful monasteries. But I have also worshipped with simplicity and authenticity in a village church in El Salvador in the heat and sweat and smell of poverty. I have worshipped at Catholic Charismatic Conferences and at big circus tent AmChurch churches and on a little folding table at summer camp with kids in shorts and T-shirts.
In each case it was the simplicity and authenticity of love in the hearts of the faithful which made the difference. That’s what I care about, and if it can be done with mozzettas and red shoes and big miters and splendiferousness, I like that too, but I don’t mind if they’re absent as long as the simplicity, honesty and authentic love of Christ and his people is there.
Read the whole article here.
I can't agree more with the good Father. To me the most important consideration when it comes to the liturgy is not the presence or absence of guitars, or of clapping, or of this or that vestment. It's not the language used, or the choir, or any of those other things. I'm not saying these things aren't important, because they are important.
But the real question is; where is the emphasis? If the emphasis is not upon communion, consecration, prayer and the Eucharist, then who cares whether the sacrament is celebrated with impeccable taste or not?
I think the most moving Mass in which I ever participated was celebrated in a hotel conference room, as part of a Catholic pre-marriage course. And in general, I prefer plain and simple and music-less Masses. Of course, that is a matter of personal taste, and not necessarily of good taste.
But I do find that, in such Masses, the emphasis is more likely to be in the right place than it is in Masses where people come for an aesthetic experience.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Happy Easter
I'm just back from the Easter Vigil Mass in the Holy Spirit church, Ballymun.
I remember, when I was in school, being surprised when I was told that Easter was the most important part of the Christian calendar. Surely that was Christmas? A lot more fuss was made about Christmas, wasn't it?
And ever since then, I've felt a recurring regret that Easter seems like such an anti-climax in comparison with Christmas.
But I am beginning to feel differently. This is the third Easter Vigil I've attended, and the solemn grandeur of the occasion has grown on me. The paschal fire outside the church, defiantly asserting the ancient faith against the passing cars and the suburban facelessness all around; the procession back to the church, and the tender light of the individual candles dotting the gloom; the whole of salvation history laid out like a vast map, in the Old Testament readings; the breathless suspense of that first Easter morning brought to life in the Gospel reading ("He is not here, he is risen"); the renewal of the baptismal vows, with the stirring repudiation of the Devil and "all his empty show"; the strangely palpable sense of communion with all the Christians who handed the light of faith onto us down the centuries; the unique sense of catharsis and of renewal at the end of the Mass, as the congregation say their good-humoured farewells and head out into the night.
(Although I am rather sad that none of the Easter Vigils I have attended, as far as I can remember, have included the litany of the saints that I noticed in the misalette this evening. I was especially sad about this when I saw that it includes my own favourite saint, St. Athanasius, the badass champion of Nicean orthodoxy.)
I remember, when I was about seventeen, reading a translation of The Iliad by E.V. Rieu. Rieu's introduction tackled a problem that had already occurred to me; why did the ancient Greeks prize The Iliad, which seemed like a rather monotonous saga of clanking swords, over The Odyssey, which was full of romance and contrast and picturesque detail, and which had become a template for virtually ever account of physical and emotional journeying ever since, from Joyce's Ulysses to the Cohen Brothers' Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?
I don't remember much from Rieu's translation, but I do remember the verdict he passed in his introduction; yes, he had come to decide that the ancient Greeks were right, and the less obviously appealing Iliad was actually the better work.
In the same way, though I have loved Christmas from my earliest days, and though I love it as much now as I ever did...I think I am beginning to take a deeper and more solemn joy in tonight's even holier feast. The secular world cannot enter into the joy of Easter as it enters into the joy of Christmas, because Easter is too pure and otherworldly for it; there is little for it to grab hold of. But that is all the more reason for Christians to love it.
Happy Easter to you all, and may this sacred time of year inspire us all to strengthen our commitment to our blessed Lord! And may all those who do not profess his name come to follow him! Amen.
I remember, when I was in school, being surprised when I was told that Easter was the most important part of the Christian calendar. Surely that was Christmas? A lot more fuss was made about Christmas, wasn't it?
And ever since then, I've felt a recurring regret that Easter seems like such an anti-climax in comparison with Christmas.
But I am beginning to feel differently. This is the third Easter Vigil I've attended, and the solemn grandeur of the occasion has grown on me. The paschal fire outside the church, defiantly asserting the ancient faith against the passing cars and the suburban facelessness all around; the procession back to the church, and the tender light of the individual candles dotting the gloom; the whole of salvation history laid out like a vast map, in the Old Testament readings; the breathless suspense of that first Easter morning brought to life in the Gospel reading ("He is not here, he is risen"); the renewal of the baptismal vows, with the stirring repudiation of the Devil and "all his empty show"; the strangely palpable sense of communion with all the Christians who handed the light of faith onto us down the centuries; the unique sense of catharsis and of renewal at the end of the Mass, as the congregation say their good-humoured farewells and head out into the night.
(Although I am rather sad that none of the Easter Vigils I have attended, as far as I can remember, have included the litany of the saints that I noticed in the misalette this evening. I was especially sad about this when I saw that it includes my own favourite saint, St. Athanasius, the badass champion of Nicean orthodoxy.)
I remember, when I was about seventeen, reading a translation of The Iliad by E.V. Rieu. Rieu's introduction tackled a problem that had already occurred to me; why did the ancient Greeks prize The Iliad, which seemed like a rather monotonous saga of clanking swords, over The Odyssey, which was full of romance and contrast and picturesque detail, and which had become a template for virtually ever account of physical and emotional journeying ever since, from Joyce's Ulysses to the Cohen Brothers' Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?
I don't remember much from Rieu's translation, but I do remember the verdict he passed in his introduction; yes, he had come to decide that the ancient Greeks were right, and the less obviously appealing Iliad was actually the better work.
In the same way, though I have loved Christmas from my earliest days, and though I love it as much now as I ever did...I think I am beginning to take a deeper and more solemn joy in tonight's even holier feast. The secular world cannot enter into the joy of Easter as it enters into the joy of Christmas, because Easter is too pure and otherworldly for it; there is little for it to grab hold of. But that is all the more reason for Christians to love it.
Happy Easter to you all, and may this sacred time of year inspire us all to strengthen our commitment to our blessed Lord! And may all those who do not profess his name come to follow him! Amen.
Friday, March 29, 2013
My Father Has an Intriguing Theory
He thinks that the reason the Labour party were hammered in the recent Meath East by-election is because voters are sick of Labour's attack on the Catholic Church and on Christian ethics. Although it's impossible to say who makes what decision in a coalition overnment, it seems pretty clear that the Labour party have been behind the closing of the Irish embassy to the Vatican, the attack on denominational education, and the push for abortion to be legalised. Well, it is a lot easier to bash Christians and the unborn than to achieve social democracy.
When he first put forward this theory, I scoffed (politely). I find it hard to believe that the Irish voter cares about anything except money.
But he pointed out later that Eamon Gilmore and his henchmen, reacting to the result, chose to make their statement to the media outside a place of worship. My father says that they entered the Unitarian church after speaking to the cameras, though I don't see that on the report. Perhaps it was a non-religious event they were attending. But even if it was, that doesn't mean that "spin" was not involved.
I don't think there is anything uncharitable or un-Christian in hoping that Labour get crushed at the next election. But I hope even more that Sinn Féin-- the most virulently liberal and secular party in the country-- don't benefit from any losses that Labour sustain.
P.S.: If this theory is correct, then it's amusing that they posed outside a Unitarian church-- as though that was as much as they could stomach!
When he first put forward this theory, I scoffed (politely). I find it hard to believe that the Irish voter cares about anything except money.
But he pointed out later that Eamon Gilmore and his henchmen, reacting to the result, chose to make their statement to the media outside a place of worship. My father says that they entered the Unitarian church after speaking to the cameras, though I don't see that on the report. Perhaps it was a non-religious event they were attending. But even if it was, that doesn't mean that "spin" was not involved.
I don't think there is anything uncharitable or un-Christian in hoping that Labour get crushed at the next election. But I hope even more that Sinn Féin-- the most virulently liberal and secular party in the country-- don't benefit from any losses that Labour sustain.
P.S.: If this theory is correct, then it's amusing that they posed outside a Unitarian church-- as though that was as much as they could stomach!
If Jesus Came to Earth Today...
...what would be his profession, politics and religin? That is the rather pointless subject of a special Good Friday edition of the God Slot, the RTE radio religious programme.
The discussion is between a Church of Ireland priest, a rabbi, a theology professor from Trinity College, and Mary Kenny. Ms Kenny-- who is very interesting when she is not rhapsodising over royalty and other VIPs-- was the only one making any sense. One of the men (I think it was the rabbi, but I'm not sure) suggested that Jesus would make straight for a Reformed synagogue. Another suggested that Jesus would be an African woman. The most ludicrous suggestion was that Jesus would become the head of an NGO.
If Jesus came to Earth tomorrow and became the head of an NGO, I would instantly become a Sikh or a Hindu.
What's the point of discussions like this? Surely Christ knew exactly what he was about when he chose to enter history in the time and place that he did? Surely he became a carpenter for a reason? Surely he became a country bumpkin for a reason? Surely he became a male for a reason?
We don't have to guess how Jesus would choose to come to Earth. It's all in Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. And when he comes again, such theoretical discussions will be the last thing on anybody's mind.
Unless you don't believe that Christ was divine, of course. But if you don't, then who cares what he would do or say?
The discussion is between a Church of Ireland priest, a rabbi, a theology professor from Trinity College, and Mary Kenny. Ms Kenny-- who is very interesting when she is not rhapsodising over royalty and other VIPs-- was the only one making any sense. One of the men (I think it was the rabbi, but I'm not sure) suggested that Jesus would make straight for a Reformed synagogue. Another suggested that Jesus would be an African woman. The most ludicrous suggestion was that Jesus would become the head of an NGO.
If Jesus came to Earth tomorrow and became the head of an NGO, I would instantly become a Sikh or a Hindu.
What's the point of discussions like this? Surely Christ knew exactly what he was about when he chose to enter history in the time and place that he did? Surely he became a carpenter for a reason? Surely he became a country bumpkin for a reason? Surely he became a male for a reason?
We don't have to guess how Jesus would choose to come to Earth. It's all in Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. And when he comes again, such theoretical discussions will be the last thing on anybody's mind.
Unless you don't believe that Christ was divine, of course. But if you don't, then who cares what he would do or say?
Thursday, March 28, 2013
A Blessed Triduum To You All
One of the many, many reasons I am a Catholic-- one of the many reasons that I believe Catholicism is true-- is because I think it gives satisfaction and legitimacy to all the deepest human urges.
My father is watching TV downstairs as I type. A few minutes ago, while I was in the living room, he was watching a programme about the re-instituted veneration, in the Church of England, of the relics of St. Alban. An Anglican priest was defending the resumption of this practice, which was obviously one of the bones of contention (pun intended) of the English Reformation.
Sooner or later the veneration of relics was bound to re-emerge, because it is one of those quintessentially human things-- one of those things the heart and soul cries out for-- that the Church blesses. Like the oral confession of sins, and the acceptance that men and women are different in important ways, and splendour, and austerity, and stories, and heroes.
And one of the human yearnings that the Church blesses is the yearning for special places and times. Prigs, and the prig within all of us, likes to complain that God is everywhere, and always present, and not more so at one time rather than another.
But the good news is that the Church not only indulges our need for special times and special places, it positively encourages and exalts it. It enjoins us to go on pigrimages, to enter places of worship, to pay a special reverence to the altar and the tabernacle.
And, of course, it gives us special times, too.
This evening, as the priest and deacon in my parish church washed the feet of parishioners, and the purple drapes covered the familiar statues, and the blessed Sacrament was moved to the Altar of Repose, some unfathomable appetite in my soul was fully and magnificently satisfied.
Sometimes it becomes so frustrating, not being able to fully convey to other people that one's membership of the Church is not a matter simply of belief, or of assent, or of consolation or aspiration or yearning, but of gloriously fulfilled love.
May this holy and solemn season bring us all to a deeper communion with our crucified and risen Lord!
My father is watching TV downstairs as I type. A few minutes ago, while I was in the living room, he was watching a programme about the re-instituted veneration, in the Church of England, of the relics of St. Alban. An Anglican priest was defending the resumption of this practice, which was obviously one of the bones of contention (pun intended) of the English Reformation.
Sooner or later the veneration of relics was bound to re-emerge, because it is one of those quintessentially human things-- one of those things the heart and soul cries out for-- that the Church blesses. Like the oral confession of sins, and the acceptance that men and women are different in important ways, and splendour, and austerity, and stories, and heroes.
And one of the human yearnings that the Church blesses is the yearning for special places and times. Prigs, and the prig within all of us, likes to complain that God is everywhere, and always present, and not more so at one time rather than another.
But the good news is that the Church not only indulges our need for special times and special places, it positively encourages and exalts it. It enjoins us to go on pigrimages, to enter places of worship, to pay a special reverence to the altar and the tabernacle.
And, of course, it gives us special times, too.
This evening, as the priest and deacon in my parish church washed the feet of parishioners, and the purple drapes covered the familiar statues, and the blessed Sacrament was moved to the Altar of Repose, some unfathomable appetite in my soul was fully and magnificently satisfied.
Sometimes it becomes so frustrating, not being able to fully convey to other people that one's membership of the Church is not a matter simply of belief, or of assent, or of consolation or aspiration or yearning, but of gloriously fulfilled love.
May this holy and solemn season bring us all to a deeper communion with our crucified and risen Lord!
Another Repeat
I hear that Facebook is seething with controversy, and with acrimonious comment wars, over the US Supreme Court's deliberations regarding DOMA (the Defence of Marriage Act), and with all the attendant controversies over same-sex "marriage", and all the familiar debates over those loaded, question-begging, and loosely-bandied-about terms, rights and equality. Much "unfriending" is going on, and some people have decided to avoid the site over Easter as a direct consequence.
This is exactly why I left Facebook. So glad I did now!
This is exactly why I left Facebook. So glad I did now!
Monday, March 25, 2013
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)