July 1989 Print

 

 

In Michael Davies' "Letter From London" that appeared in the May 15th issue of the "Remnant" and subtitled "Can the New Mass be Intrinsically Harmful?" I was invited to respond to his statement that the 1970 "Typical Edition" of the Novus Ordo contained not one single element that could be positively harmful to the Faith. Before anything else, I want the reader to know that I am deeply indebted to Mr. Davies for the understanding he has given me about the subject matter, and for the entire quoted substance of this article. I also thank the "Remnant'' for providing room for discussion.

In his article, Mr. Davies wants to restrict the type of Novus Ordo under discussion to the way it is celebrated in a church in England, unique by his own description because of the way the Novus Ordo conforms in its optional externals to our cherished traditional Latin Mass. I say "optional externals" because these elements of this Novus Ordo as described by Mr. Davies, ("no reading by lay people, no sign of peace, Holy Communion given on the tongue to kneeling communicants, no extraordinary ministers, in Latin...") while inseparable from the Tridentine Rite, appear to be 'worn' by the Novus Ordo as a set of clothes is worn by an actress on stage. Thus what one encounters on Sunday in church, from traditional to clown, depends upon the time of day. At 10:00 am one finds the Latin version (hopefully with Canon I) for those who want a Mass that appears as traditional as possible. At 11:00 comes the guitar/jazz version (with any Canon but number I) for the young at heart. At 1:00pm, for an ecumenical gathering, comes the version where only Canon II will do. The day may end at 7:00 with a version tailored to meet the needs of the gay community. The Novus Ordo wears 1,000 faces. No wonder Michael Davies called it "an ingenious essay in ambiguity" in his book, Pope Paul's New Mass (pg. 521). But how does one argue the positive harmfulness of ambiguity? We need to lay some ground work, but first a comment.

Restricting any discussion of the Novus Ordo to its 1970 Typical Edition (in Latin), as requested by Mr. Davies, puts one in the position of discussing something that is, for most Catholics in the world, more abstract than real. It raises a question of major importance, "Why is Rome's Typical Edition scarcely found anywhere in the world today?" Perhaps it's the way Rome itself looks at the New Mass. However, we'll look at the "Typical Edition."

Harm results when something is insufficient to its purpose; when food fails to nourish or a bridge fails to support. Now, is the purpose of a sacramental rite to help transform us, or to be transformed by us? From my layman's point of view, the purpose of a sacramental rite is to help nourish one's faith by preparing his or her soul for the best possible, most fruitful reception of the sacramental grace made present by an action contained within the sacramental rite itself. A rite is, therefore, the vessel by which a Sacred Mystery comes to transform us. We must distinguish between the ritual 'vessel' and its contents.

One difference is that the 'vessel' and its contents do not receive the same guarantee. What is guaranteed by the Church is that the sacred contents, given the correct intention of the priest, proper form and matter, will be valid "even if included in a rite of obvious heretical import" (Pope Paul's New Mass, pg. 337). On page 285 Mr. Davies had written, "...what is being celebrated throughout the Roman Rite is still the Lord's Supper of Article 7 of the 1969 'Institutio Generalis,' and the definition of the Lord's Supper given in this article would have satisfied, and could have been written by, Thomas Cranmer." The vessel appears flawed.

Some like to shift gears and consider that the Novus Ordo 'vessel' is "good" because of something extrinsic to it such as the way it was authorized, or by whom it is now offered; as if intrinsic goodness is transferable. But intrinsic goodness, by definition, must be found within the object itself.

One should know that the pope is not defining a dogma when he promulgates a sacramental rite, but he is obliged to assure that a new rite, in all its forms, serves clearly to express and defend the dogmas of our Catholic faith. In this case we are talking about what the Church teaches and expresses in the Sacrifice of the Mass. How well was the job done? On page 520, Mr. Davies writes, "There can not be the least doubt that sacrificial language in the Novus Ordo Missae has been minimized so that it is compatible with the beliefs of those who repudiate the Catholic language of sacrifice..." The ambiguous nature of the Novus Ordo thus allows a fundamental Catholic belief about the Mass itself to be "repudiated" by the "assembly" or by its "president." Thus we hear about priests who no longer believe in Transubstantiation offering the New Mass, and about Protestant sects that reject the True Presence allowing their members to receive Holy Communion at Novus Ordo celebrations.

If the way we pray forms the way we believe, we must ask how can such an ambiguous form of worship fail to ultimately allow harm to the Faith? In this context, I thought Mr. Davies and I agreed that the Novus Ordo was harmful, even from a theological standpoint. However, Mr. Davies now argues in his May 15th "Remnant" article that from a "sociological rather than a theological standpoint... I consider that the documentation I have provided proves irrefutably a direct causal connection between the changes in the liturgy and the massive postconciliar defection from the church." (By their fruits you will know them...) As I now understand Mr. Davies' argument, from a sociological standpoint, the New Mass is harmful, but from a theological standpoint, the New Mass is harmless. Oh, Michael! Watch those theologians! You're beginning to sound like one...

Although Mr. Davies now writes (May 15th "Remnant") that "...there is nothing intrinsically harmful to the faithful hearing the entire text of the Canon," some years ago he defended the silence of "The New Mass." Quoting from Fr. Zundel he wrote, "The Canon of the Mass guides us silently to the heart of the Mystery. In silence we go to meet Silence.... Since the mystery of faith is present, they do not attempt to utter it.... Silence alone can confront the soul with the crucified love of her God."

As my 1906 Catholic Encyclopedia says, "All evil... consists in the loss or deprivation of something necessary for perfection." Concerning, I believe, even the 1970 Typical Edition, Mr. Davies lists four areas of serious Novus Ordo deprivation in his May "Remnant" article. "The New Mass (is) gravely inferior to the Tridentine Rite liturgically, spiritually, aesthetically, and doctrinally," (issues appearing more theological than sociological). Yet Mr. Davies seems to argue that, even with these deprivations, the 1970 Novus Ordo could cause no harm. One might better ask how could harm be avoided? Is celebrating a "harmless" Novus Ordo as in Knightsbridge, England the answer?

Now a certain teacher gave lectures that were gravely inferior and ambiguous on a very important subject. "Find one single element in my lectures that was positively harmful to my students" he intoned when called before the college president. Other than a transfer to the "New Theology" department (where such lectures are in demand), I believe his contract to teach would be justifiably terminated. It seems an abuse of the term "intrinsically harmless" to associate it with things that are gravely inferior and deficient, be they bridge beams or sacramental rites.

I enjoyed the analogy in Mr. Davies' "Remnant" article, (that the New Mass was like feeding babies water instead of milk), although I'd add that any good mother would surely feed her child on milk and not water, much less dwell on the intrinsic harmlessness of water, simply because water cannot properly nourish her child. So I'll end with a story that also involves some analogies. If one combines a set of intrinsically harmless ingredients, the result is bound to be harmless, is it not? Let's see.

Once upon a time there was a man named Paul who had, in his younger years been trained in the school of "Innovative Cooking." Later in his life, he became the head chef at the largest and oldest hotel in town, but still remained open to any ideas he considered to be innovative. Now the specialty of this hotel was a cake, beautiful in appearance, wonderful to the taste, and nourishing to all who feasted upon it. The fact that this venerable old cake recipe had remained unchanged for so many years did not, however, rest well with the chief chef's innovative tendencies, so he called the other cooks together to bring forth a new, more up-to-date cake made from the wonders of our modern age. Imagine the excitement of these cooks when, instead of using whole wheat flour, they reached for the newly purchased, "intrinsically healthy," (that's what the label said) "activated" bran. In place of whole eggs, in went the new, 100% cholesterol free, enriched, and intrinsically harmless imitation eggs available at all leading stores. Instead of honey, they smacked their lips as the Nutrasweet was added (there had been some controversy about this product, but no one could be shown to have immediately died from it). And, finally, instead of butter, a dose of government approved, generic brand margarine polished off the main ingredients of this new, fiber-filled cake batter. The novel thing about this new recipe was that the amount of each ingredient was undefined, allowing each cook to tailor the recipe to his own personality.

The only one to dampen the prevailing euphoria was an old French cook who kept mentioning that the quality of the cake should be more important to customers than the cook's personality. Worse yet, he said some of the "in house" secret ingredients that had been used for generations to make a truly fine cake were entirely missing from the new cake's recipe. However, the chief chef was so confident of his new concoction that he removed the former offering from the customer's menu and eventually fired the venerable, old French cook.

In came the regular customers. Being puzzled that something had replaced the old cake they had feasted upon and had loved for years, it became necessary for the cooks to extol the benefits of their new offering to all who came. Customers were told, in one way and then another, that after eating the new "Personality Cake," they would experience a fantastic flourishing of physical renewal. Not only that, the cooks predicted that those who had considered the old cake to have insufficiently reflected the batter mixer's personality would now flock to their restaurant to indulge themselves with "Personality Cake." The old customers noted that if they wanted any cake at all, they had no choice but to try this new offering, the only cake selection on the revised menu.

The first thing the customers noticed was that the new cake didn't look the same as the old cake, and it certainly didn't taste the same. A number of the customers complained. Their complaints were addressed by having the cake served by a whole line of waiters humming "Let Me Call You Sweetheart," but even encouraging the customers to hum along didn't help. The cooks even tried offering the cake in a variety of colors to suit the customers' fancy, but that didn't help either. Worse still, many customers developed some very unhealthy stomach problems shortly after eating the new cake and chose never again to return to this restaurant. Unfortunately, a large number of the waiters also quit, and new ones were hard to come by.

The strangest thing of all, however, was that one person (who had a theologian for a friend), began to proclaim that from a theological point of view, there was not one single ingredient in the new cake that could be proven to be harmful to anyone's health or restaurant.

Overhearing this theological argument, while waiting in a rather long line that led to the restaurant's facilities with others who had just eaten the new cake, one customer was heard to remark, "My stomach would feel so much better if only it could understand these fine theological arguments." But another customer was merely heard to mutter, between gulps from an almost empty bottle of Pepto-Bismol, "Humbug!"

Now the first moral of this story is that a poor cake recipe, no matter how splendid its ingredients, can no more produce a fine cake than poor theology can describe it.

The second moral of this story is that if one is the head chef of a fine old restaurant, one should never ignore the advice of an old French cook, much less fire him.

Frank Denke
619 N. McDermott
Nampa, Idaho 83687