The progressive Traditionalist: Now, about how we 'can't go back'....

A music director was recently denied a job at a nearby Catholic parish. The decision not to hire her seemed to hinge upon her understanding of what the Church has actually asked of us regarding the liturgy and the music of the liturgy: Gregorian chant should have pride of place, and there are certain requirements that must be met for music to be legitimately liturgical.

The priest informed her that "we can't go back," and promptly hired a music director known in the area for her "praise and worship" (evangelical Protestant) approach to Catholic "church music."

"We can't go back" has become the rallying cry for those Catholics who have become thralls of the liturgical revolution. This call to rally around the modernist flag of innovation and novelty is a grave misunderstanding of the relationship between the Holy Spirit and the Holy Catholic Church, not to mention, it represents a fatalistic, dead end approach to authentic liturgical development.

Truth be told, I totally agree with the sentiment: we can't go back, we most move on.

My sense of the Catholic Church in America is that, for the most part, it has been mired in the "Spirit of Vatican II" for so long that few Catholics understand the nature of authentic liturgical development and fewer still would recognize the difference between liturgy and parody, at least as defined by Card. Ratzinger in his book, "The Spirit of the Liturgy": "...If the various external actions (as a matter of fact, there are not very many of them, though they are being artificially multiplied) become the essential in the liturgy, if the liturgy degenerates into general activity, then we have radically misunderstood the 'theo-drama' of the liturgy and lapsed into a parody." (from pp. 171-5, _The Spirit of the Liturgy_.)

For decades now the wheels have been spinning in the muck of the novel modernist insistence that going forward means embracing this year's innovations, this year's fads, this years sound bites, this year's post-modern conversion theories. And as if thralldom to fashion is not enough, we are also instructed to define this endless parade of novelty as progress.

This approach is every bit as identifiable with the '70's, every bit as stuck in the '70's, as platform shoes, leisure suits, and striped bell-bottom pants.

Being that this approach hinges upon generational fads, the most profound effect it has had is to divide generations of Catholics: the hootenanny Catholics from the Evangelical Catholics, the sing-around-the-campfire Catholics from the contemporary music Catholics, the "praise and worship" Catholics from the Polka Mass Catholics, and anyone with a sense of the orthodox approach to worship seems to be set out on an island all by themselves.

Each new crop of youth ministers spends an inordinate amount of time convincing their charges of the utter lameness of the previous generation's education and approach to worship. Ultimately, the prayer of the Church, the Mass, resides right along side the guy in the platform shoes, the woman in the big hair from the '80's, the grunge of the '90's, etc.: worship as fashion. All is ordered to each generation.

What difference does it make as long as each fad sparks a little spike in attendance and interest in parish events?

The danger is exactly that which was predicted by certain orthodox heroes of the Second Vatican Council. The insistence on cultural/generational adaptation and on a multitude of options that distinguish Pope Paul's New Mass presents a "law of prayer," a manner of worship, that is no longer ordered to Christ but, instead is ordered to Man and the noise of the secular world. As the saying goes, the law of prayer, the law of belief, or the way we pray informs our belief. In case it's not clear by now, this notion of adaption to Man, so popular in the early '70's, has sown the seeds of relativism among the Catholic faithful. The Church is at a point where one of the most common phrases we might hear or read in the church social hall or on social media, respectively, is the one that begins, "I'm Catholic, but...." From there, all manner of error is embraced in the name of "the Spirit," in the name of cultural norms, and in the name of individual conscience (no matter how that conscience was actually informed, or rather, misinformed).

There is growing recognition that it will take drastic actions to correct the damage done by this distortion of the Roman Rite. Much has been written lately about reverence, bringing back "the sacred," and engaging and/or restoring various pre-Vatican II devotions; but what doesn't seem to be on the table, what seems to be beyond the comprehension of the powers that be in the Catholic Church in America, is the idea of leaving behind this notion that these problems are solved by the inventions of men. We must move forward and realize the utter futility of trying to solve problems which, mind you, were created by novelties rooted in humanism, merely by plugging in new novelties rooted in humanism. Spinning the wheels...always spinning the wheels....

No, we can't go back. We must go forward.

"...there's something good in this world, Mr. Frodo...and it's worth fighting for."

Mention Gregorian chant...

...mention the use of Latin...

...mention Mass offered ad orientum without altar girls and EMHC...

...mention receiving Holy Communion on the tongue while kneeling at altar rails...

...mention re-installing those altar rails...

...or mention the idea that each parish should offer the EF (Traditional Latin Mass) each week...

...and, in most parishes, you'll most likely hear a sort of Pavlovian response, almost a chant: "We can't go back, we can't go back, we've gone too far, we can't go back."

It's almost a text book definition of tragic irony, this notion that "we can't go back," as espoused by a generation of Catholics that cannot keep themselves from going back over and over again to the same mistaken, experimental approach encompassed in the "Spirit of Vatican II."

In former times, an objective observer would've said, "These people got snake bitten by that Second Vatican Council! They're up the creek without a paddle," and that's exactly what happened when popular Catholic opinion embraced the faulty premise that tradition, history, and heritage must be rejected in favor of the leaven of the secular world--snake bitten and up the creek without a paddle.

A battle exists between opposing forces. One side fights for that which was always, is, and will always be the greater good, the greatest good; that good which is always worth fighting for. On the other side, there are those seduced by their own desires and, having implemented them and imposed them on others, act as slaves, addicted to those desires.

Lately, we read about living in a post-Christian West. We talk about the secular world getting the upper hand and how a sort of shadow has fallen over the Church. There is confusion and everyone goes their own way. Bishops disagree with bishops. Cardinals disagree with cardinals. Priests disagree with priests. Our Holy Father engages in controversial behavior and uses controversial language. It seems that the pasture has been left to the weeds. The light of the Church seems to be failing.

But...the Church has always taught that darkness and confusion is merely a cloak that covers the light for a moment until the darkness is thrown off, and we move beyond it. And yet, to suggest seeking the light beyond the darkness, the truth beyond the chaos of relativism, instead of inspiring this Catholic nation to go forward and leave behind the mistakes of one generation, merely receives that same old, tired response that reeks of despair, "We can't go back...."

Is it true that the darkness has become so blinding that many have chosen to abide in the dark, or worse, have come to call the darkness the light? Can it be that this fight is left to a few, a remnant, a band of brothers willing to stand for the good in the world even when it would seem that all are against them?

I'll defer to my old friend Samwise....

"Frodo: I can't do this, Sam.
Sam: By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.
Frodo: What are we holding onto, Sam?
Sam: That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo... and it's worth fighting for."
(_The Lord of the Rings_, J.R.R. Tolkien)

The annual Christmas pilgrimage

So, the bulletin for the 4th Sunday of Advent featured the annual column asking the laity to be very friendly and welcoming to the visitors who usually swell attendance numbers for the Masses of the Nativity of Our Lord. Though it's not stated per se, I've always read this kind of pep talk as an implication of causality, like, if only we'd been more friendly to begin with, maybe the extra 500 people would've never stopped coming to weekly Mass in the first place!

Obviously, this is not what our pastor intends his request for civility to imply. None the less, his request demands consideration beyond whether or not to wish the members of the annual pilgrimage to church at Christmas a "Merry Christmas" or a "Happy Holidays."

Specifically, one question that comes to my mind is this: To what type of religious experience are we welcoming these souls?

When my wife and I were considering converting to the Catholic Church, we started by attending the nearest parish church.

My wife's observation as we walked back to our car after Mass: "Well, I could go here without any problem. This is exactly like the Lutheran church in my hometown."

My reaction was similar, but with an opposite conclusion: "What's the point of joining the Catholic Church when it's exactly the same as the Methodist church of my childhood?"

That's the problem: As it was in my Protestant youth, it is now in most parishes offering the enculturated version of the Novus Ordo; on Christmas Eve, watching "It's a Wonderful Life" seems more in keeping with the season than attending these community-centered, entertainment/worship events.

Thus, we can make our welcome as sweet as wild honey and it won't make any difference if that to which we are welcoming this nation of lost and wandering ex/lax Catholics is not identifiable as wholly Catholic.

I try my best to drive my family to the nearest weekly Tridentine Mass (80 mile round trip), but weather and infrequent local commitments mean that we attend the local Novus Ordo at least two Sundays each month.

I already know what the Mass of the Nativity in my local parish will be: MAYBE we'll sing a Christmas hymn (although, last week a traditional hymn was replaced at the last minute by a Marty Haugen gem), but more than likely, since there'll be a half hour of carols before Mass, the music director will regale us with up-to-date or contemporary hymns from the "Worship" hymnal; the altar servers will be made up of boys and girls (hopefully they won't break into giggling at each other from opposite sides of the sanctuary as happened last Sunday); the priest will proceed down the center aisle smiling at people and maybe even shaking hands and doing a high-five to a teen (our youth are our greatest asset, remember); the orientation of the following worship service will be totally focused on the community; the homily will be more sugary than my wife's home-made caramels; the music will be the Dan Schutte setting because key people ( the music director) must regard it as user friendly (I suppose it is, if you are a big fan of "My Little Pony" and "Gone with the Wind"); and, in the end, I will leave with the sense that I have been sitting through an hour long group therapy session. Well, not even that. Dr. Phil is more severe in some of his assessments than the motivational, cheerleader speeches we sometimes receive locally. The local Mass will seem more like going to a live radio show, a variety show.

No sense of sacred mysteries, very little reverence or acknowledgment of the Real Presence...everything is centered on the people and their temperament, or at least the priest's perception of their temperament.

And what would the average non-church goin' chap think after witnessing such nonsense? I know because I was that person for many years after being alienated from the church of my youth. There's really only one reaction: Why come to this church when I get more of a sense of reverence for the sanctity of life and the depth of God's love for us by watching _It's a Wonderful Life_ on Christmas Eve?