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Saturday, May 19, 2012


2 posted on 10/04/2012 4:24:39 PM PDT by Salvation ("With God all things are possible." Matthew 19:26)
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Preface to Nicola Bux's "Benedict XVI's Reform", by Vittorio Messori

The Preface to Nicola Bux's Benedict XVI's Reform: The Liturgy Between Innovation and Tradition | Vittorio Messori

The “liturgical crisis” that followed the Second Vatican Council caused a schism, with many excommunications latae sententiae; it provoked unease, polemics, suspicions, and reciprocal accusations. And perhaps it was one of the factors—one, I say, not the only—that brought about the hemorrhaging of practicing faithful, even of those who attended Mass only on the major feasts. Well, it might seem strange, but such a tempest has not diminished but, rather, increased my confidence in the Church.

I will try to explain what I mean, speaking in the first person, returning thus to a personal experience. Some would regard this approach as immodest, but others would see it as the simplest way of being clear and to the point. It happens to be the case that despite my age I have only a very slight recollection of the “old” form of the Church’s worship. I grew up in an agnostic household and was educated in secular schools; I discovered the gospel—and began furtively to enter churches as a believer and no longer as a mere tourist—just before the liturgical reform went into force, which for me meant only “the Mass in Italian”.

In sum, I caught the tail-end of history. Only a few months later, I would find the altars reversed and some new kitschy piece of junk made of aluminum or plastic brought in to replace the “triumphalism” of the old altars, often signed by masters, adorned with gold and precious marble. But already for some time I had seen—with surprise, in my neophyte innocence—guitars in the place of organs, the jeans of the assistant pastor showing underneath robes that were intended to give the appearance of “poverty”, “social” preaching, perhaps with some discussion, the abolition of what they called “devotional accretions”, such as making the Sign of the Cross with holy water, kneelers, candles, incense. I even witnessed the occasional disappearance of statues of popular saints; the confessionals, too, were removed, and some, as became the fashion, were transformed into liquor cabinets in designer houses.

Everything was done by clerics, who were incessantly talking about “democracy in the Church”, affirming that this was reclaimed by a “People of God”, whom no one, however, had bothered to consult. The people, you know, are sovereign; they must be respected, indeed, venerated, but only if they accept the views that are dictated by the political, social, or even religious ruling class. If they do not agree with those who have the power to determine the line to be taken, they must be reeducated according to the vision of the triumphant ideology of the moment. For me, who had just knocked at the door of the Church, gladly welcoming stabilitas—which is so attractive and consoling to those who have known only the world’s precariousness— that destruction of a patrimony of millennia took me by surprise and seemed to me more anachronistic than modern.

It seemed to me that the priests were harming their own people, who, as far as I knew, had not asked for any of this, had not organized into committees for reform, had not signed petitions or blocked streets or railways to bring an end to Latin (a “classist language”, but only according to the intellectual demagogues) or to have the priest facing them the whole Mass or to have political chit-chat during the liturgy or to condemn pious practices as alienating, which instead were precious inasmuch as they were a bond with the older generation. There was a revolt on the part of certain groups of faithful—who were immediately silenced, however, and treated by the Catholic media as incorrigibly nostalgic, perhaps a little fascist—united under the motto that came from France: on nous change la réligion, “they are changing our religion.” In other words, although it was pushed by the champions of “democracy”, the liturgical reform (here I am abstracting from the content and am speaking only of the method) was not at all “democratic”. The faithful at that time were not consulted, and the faithful of the past were rejected. Is tradition not perhaps, as has been said, the “democracy of the dead”? Is tradition not letting our brothers who have preceded us speak?

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3 posted on 10/04/2012 4:25:57 PM PDT by Salvation ("With God all things are possible." Matthew 19:26)
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