Holiness befits your house,
O Lord, forevermore.
—Ps. 93:5
Some in the Church are feeling like they’re in a caught-in-the-middle moment these days. Bishop Barron often refers to the “banners and balloons” era, the time when he was coming of age. Unfortunately, variations of those days are not completely gone (remember the guitar blessing at a parish in a Chicago suburb at the end of Mass on Christmas Eve 2022?), but at the other end of the liturgical spectrum, there is a resurgent desire for more traditional worship.
Contrary to what some may think, this desire is not borne of nostalgia and led by grumpy old folks who are longing for the preconciliar Catholicism of their youth. It is being led by young people—single folks and families with a gaggle of children trailing behind as they take their places in pews—women and girls veiled, men and boys in coats and ties—all singing the Missa de Angelis (Gregorian chant Mass VIII) and kneeling before the Lord in prayer, bathed in clouds of incense. But this is not just a movement of lay people. It is also being led by young priests who want to bring a sense of the holy to their celebration of Mass.
We frequently hear the statistics regarding Mass attendance and the declining belief that Jesus is truly present in the Eucharist—and they’re devastating. Among the younger generations, millennials and younger—those who are 18 to 29 years old—only 19 percent attend Mass. For Catholics of all ages, Mass attendance has dropped since the year 2000 by 12 percent. Many children and grandchildren of the banners and balloons generation seem to have lost the Faith. Something has gone dreadfully wrong and the consequences are unthinkable.
To encounter him who Is, and who is really and truly present at every Mass, is to encounter the holy.
Contrast that decline with data gathered from a different survey of 1,779 adults from 39 states who attend a traditional Latin Mass (TLM). It showed that within a similar demographic (18 to 39-year-olds), 98 percent attend Mass weekly. One obvious reason for the stunning disparity is that this group has opted for a specific experience of worship, and we can confidently assume they will be faithful to their choice. But the telling question is why they left their parishes for the TLM in the first place. 58 percent of them reported that their preference for reverence, solemnity, music, and their own curiosity had drawn them to the traditional Latin Mass.
Reverence for tradition and solemnity in worship isn’t only for “the Trads,” as they are affectionately (or not) called. Many typical Catholic parishes, often led by younger clergy, are also finding their way back to a more traditional approach to the celebration of the Novus Ordo Mass, the form of the Mass that developed after the Second Vatican Council. Father Gregory Pine, OP, recently gave an apologia on Pints with Aquinas for a celebration of the Novus Ordo Mass ad orientem, or facing east, the same direction as the people—the posture the priest always assumed at the altar prior to Vatican II. Father Pine was ordained in 2016 and is one of a younger generation of dynamic Dominican priests who, along with many others, are taking on the world with a storm of joy and evangelical zeal.
What younger Catholics, and many older ones too, are seeking in their desire for reverence and solemnity is what the German Lutheran theologian Rudolf Otto (1869-1937) called the numinous, in his book The Idea of the Holy. Numen is a Latin term that defines the divine will or the divine presence. A numinous experience, as used by Otto, is a technical term to describe what is ultimately ineffable; who can describe an encounter with the divine? The result of such an experience is a profound awareness of our creatureliness (what Otto calls “creature feeling”) in the presence of such an awesome majesty. For Otto, this experience isn’t rational nor can it be known by the senses. It is an emotional response completely unlike any other, and it leaves one convicted of the supremacy of God—especially in relation to the self—and the mundanity of the natural world.
Scripture provides some examples that help us understand this idea of a numinous experience. Think of Moses and the burning bush, or think of St. Peter who, after fishing all night with no catch, casts his nets once again at the Lord’s request and hauls in so many fish his nets are strained with the abundance. What is St. Peter’s response? He falls at Jesus’ feet and says, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man” (Luke 5:8). That’s “creature feeling.”
Moses’ response before the bush—the bush that burns but is not consumed—was of a similar quality. After his initial fascination, when he hears God’s voice, he hides his face from God’s presence. In both cases, the holiness of God is manifested within the ordinary, but with something so different—something so beyond the ordinary—that the reflexive response is to fall on one’s knees in adoration. At that moment, we know that we are in the presence of the holy. Otto warns against diluting the word holy to be something thought of as only morally good. To make moral goodness our sole quest leads to what Bishop Barron often calls “beige Catholicism.” Otto says that the meaning of “holy” is “above and beyond mere goodness,” and it is in that extraordinary space that the numinous is found.
While the experience of the numinous is ineffable, the task of the liturgy is to draw us into an experience that convicts us of the Presence of Jesus Christ and his sacrifice and of our own unworthiness. To encounter him who Is, and who is really and truly present at every Mass, is to encounter the holy.
That is quite a high calling for the liturgy. The things we are given to work with are common and sensible things. Bread, wine, buildings, music, candles, and Father Bill who comes to our home on Memorial Day and drinks beer with us as we grill burgers and hot dogs. It’s all ordinary stuff, but these are our fishing nets, our boats, and our bushes. Our task is to cooperate with the Lord, using these things in an extraordinary way so that they become a conduit for grace. Our buildings become sacred spaces, our music and art become sacred music and sacred art, etc. How we create and handle them helps us see past what appears to be ordinary, and in fulfilling their sacred purpose, they signify holiness and challenge us to encounter Holiness in itself—God.
Our task is to cooperate with the Lord, using these things in an extraordinary way so that they become a conduit for grace.
The Father Bill in our backyard seems like just an ordinary guy. But through his ordination, he has been reconfigured to the very core of his being to become an alter Christus—another Christ—one who has been given power and authority to bring miracle after miracle to our altar at each Mass. He has been given the power and authority to act in the person of Christ in offering Our Lord’s forgiveness of our sins, and to bring us the consolation of his healing love and mercy. The bread and wine that he holds in his hands are changed with the words he speaks—Jesus’ words. We can’t see it happen, but when those words are spoken their substance has changed. As the priest raises the Body and Blood of Jesus and offers them in sacrifice to God the Father in union with the Holy Spirit, and then as we take the Lord’s Body and Blood into our bodies, grace and mercy floods through us, and we bask in intimate union with the one whose Word created the universe. There is nothing more extraordinary for we mortals to experience!
Faith is a fragile thing. It is rooted in mystery and nourished in prayer. It is reinforced by the rigor of a ritual that demands we handle what appears to our sight as ordinary with reverence and solemnity. If reverence and solemnity are lost, Father Bill acting in persona Christi on the altar is difficult to distinguish from the Father Bill drinking beer and cracking jokes in our backyard. The bread and wine, if regarded casually, are no longer reverenced for Who they really are. Then, the numinous experience is lost and so is our creaturely awareness. We no longer believe that we sin and need a savior. In our casualness, our nets are left empty on the shore, and the burning bush is seen as just one more special effect.
Then, with faith gone (if ever found), there are far more enjoyable things to do on Sunday morning than listen to bad music and a tedious sermon at Mass. Flannery O’Connor’s quote, the one she made when challenged with a comment that the Eucharist is just a symbol, is spoken with irreverent disgust and disregard for the Eucharistic celebration: “To hell with it.”
Mystery ignites the imagination, and imagination is required for faith. The signs and symbols of the liturgy must be strong to break through the doubting malaise of our times, which causes so many to be lost. Those young families bathed in clouds of incense know the fragility of faith, and they are marching to the TLM so that their children can experience the holy. But shouldn’t that experience be available in every Catholic parish? It’s not just for “Trads.”
Otto identifies an experience of the numinous within what he calls the mysterium tremendum et fascinans. Tremendum is a quality of experience that inspires awe and wonder. Perhaps even fear or dread. Think of St. Peter’s response to the miraculous catch of fish. Fascinans holds one in rapt fascination or attraction within the experience. It traps them, demanding an engagement that ultimately leads to joy. Think of Moses and his initial fascination with the bush that burned without being consumed by the fire.
In both cases, it isn’t what is common that makes us aware of God’s presence; it is the extraordinarily radical difference where we find him.
Vive la différence!