The Means and Ends of the Mass

Note: I have submitted this piece to various publications, some of which I'm still waiting to hear back from. In the event it is published, I will remove this post and direct you to the link.

One would think attending Mass every Sunday has the potential to make one holy, but we know there are plenty of people who attend Mass weekly who would not fit such a description. On the flipside, were someone not to attend Mass at least weekly, assuming they are able to, we would not typically think of such people as especially pious or holy. That does not mean they can’t be “good” people, but to willfully neglect the 3rd Commandment is a grave matter and objectively contrary to the worship of God by faith, hope, and charity demanded in justice and at odds with the virtue of religion. I don’t think it is unreasonable to deduce that one cannot become holy as a Catholic outside of assisting at Mass, provided there are no impediments from one attending. Mass, then, is one of the means by which we attain the end of knowing, loving, and serving God.

Weekly Mass attendance (for the 17% of Catholics in the U.S. who do so) is one matter at hand being discussed here. Some may see Mass attendance as the end (fulfilling one’s obligation, receiving Eucharist, seeing one’s friends, etc), rather than a means of holiness. But there is another matter; for if holiness (and not simply Mass attendance) is both our means and our end in this life, what bearing does the form of Mass one attends have on the attainment of holiness?

This question has been kicking at the backdoor of my mind since we have been exclusively assisting at the Traditional Latin Mass as a family for the past five years. At times I have had to ask myself why we made the switch over: is it because we feel more at home among those who attend the TLM, with people of like mind? Is it because we know what to expect and can set our watch by the rubrics? Is it because it fosters an atmosphere of devotion (it does) and rightful orientation (ditto)? Is it because it gives us some kind of bragging rights, since the Traditional Latin Mass is defacto and objectively a “better” Mass that reflects its true sacrificial nature? Has the Mass, in this way, become a kind of “end?”

And do the degree that we are talking about the means: has the Traditional Latin Mass made me holier?

This is an unnerving question to ask oneself. On the one hand, God often shields our eyes from our spiritual progress for our own benefit. Were we to see the degree to which we have progressed in the spiritual life, we may get puffed up with pride or believe we ourselves are the reasons for our advancement. 

But on the other hand, what if the form of Mass that we attend truly has no bearing on the ultimate means and ends of personal holiness? What if we are simply “trading” sins and imperfections in transferring our record from one Mass to another, like playing Spiritual Whac-a-Mole?—we were once lax and presumptive, but now we are haughty and judgmental, for example. What if the Mass is akin to a Sacrament which always give grace, but only if we receive it with the right disposition? In other words, just because we have the form down, doesn’t mean our dispositions are worthy. And at the end of the day, isn’t holiness for God’s sake the end we should be seeking, by whatever means we are afforded?

The first lesson in the Baltimore Catechism concerns itself with the End of Man--the purpose for which he was created: namely, to know, love, and serve God. Children recount this from their St. Joseph’s catechism: “God made me to know Him, to love Him, and to serve Him in this world, and to be happy with Him forever in heaven.” This is in accordance with the greatest and first Commandment given to us by our Lord himself in Mt 22:37: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with thy whole heart, and with thy whole soul, and with thy whole mind.” 

In the 19th chapter of Matthew’s gospel preceding this proscription, a man approaches Jesus seeking the end of attaining everlasting life (Mt 19:16), to which Jesus gives him the means: to keep the Commandments (v 17). The man replies that he has kept all these, to which Jesus replies, “If thou wilt be perfect, go sell what thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come follow me” (Mt 19:21).

St. Peter exhorts in his first epistle, “According to him that hath called you, who is holy, be you also in all manner of conversation holy. Because it is written: You shall be holy, for I am holy” (1 Peter 1:15-16). Of course he is simply reiterating what Yahweh communicates to His people in the Torah, “Be ye holy, because I the Lord your God am holy” (Lev 19:2).

An end of something is the goal, the destination, what one seeks. The means, in contrast, are what one uses to achieve the end. According to Paul Tatter, “Ends are about the present, not about the future.  A present end may not survive into the future, but it might be helpful now.  Ends help us to decide what to do in the present; they are useful guides in our activity.”[1]

So, what then, is our end as Christians? To secure eternal life for ourselves? Or to be holy? Are they one and the same? And in what does holiness consist? In faith? In works? In perfection (detachment)? 

Even then, we must ask, “is holiness itself a means or an end?” If we fulfill the Greatest Commandment to “know, love, and serve” God with our “whole heart, soul, and mind,” we have achieved the end, the purpose for which we were created according to the Catechism. But to pursue holiness for its own sake as an end is gravely misleading; for as Scripture also attests, “no one is righteous, no not one” (Rom 3:10). To the degree that we attain holiness in this life as a means, however, this gets us closer to the state of union with God, which should be our ultimate end both in this life and the afterlife. What must we do to save our souls? To save our souls, we must worship God by faith, hope, and charity; that is, we must believe in Him, hope in Him, and love Him with all our heart.  

What, then, is the purpose of the Mass? When we ask ourselves if holiness is a means or an end in order to determine that “useful guide in our activity” in this life, and if we must worship God by faith, hope, and charity in order to save our souls, we should remember that the means instituted by our Lord to enable men at all times to share in the fruits of His Redemption are the Church and the Sacraments (BC, Q114). 

The ends for which the sacrifice of the Cross was offered were:  1. To honor and glorify God;  2. To thank Him for all the graces bestowed on the whole world;  3. To satisfy God's justice for the sins of men;  4. To obtain all graces and blessings  (Q267). Likewise, the four ends of the Mass (the memorial of the sacrifice of the Cross) are: Adoration, Thanksgiving, Atonement and Petition. 

Ask any ordinary Catholic on the street why they attend Mass on Sundays and you might get any of the following responses:

“The Church says I have to.”

“I enjoy seeing and interacting with the people in my faith community.”

“I desire to receive Jesus in the Eucharist.”

“I recognize that God’s justice demands due worship.”

“It keeps me in line and makes me a better person.”

If one googles “What is the purpose of going to Mass?” you get back a varied number of responses ranging from “The Mass is an opportunity for us to join together as a community of believers and pray and celebrate together” to “its purpose is to send forth the faithful to bring forth the Good News of Jesus, and to be His presence in the world.” Some responses focus more on why one should go to Mass, or spits out bullet-point “Five Good Reasons to go to Mass” type articles.

Simple observation would preclude me from being able to deduce that the Latin Mass has made me a holier person by itself. Does it have the potential to do so like a sacramental that excites in us pious dispositions, by means of which we may obtain grace (in contrast to a Sacrament which gives the grace itself)? Yes it does, of course. But so does the Novus Ordo Missae, as countless canonized saints from the twentieth century who never attended the Latin Mass but only the N.O. attest to. They have run the race and attained the end of holiness, men and women and children who lived in the friendship of God in this life and are now eternally with him in the next.

What I am realizing—whether it was five years ago at my standard-fare suburban parish or now as a devoted TLM adherent—is that at the end of the day after Mass has ended, it is me that is kneeling in the pew. 

Still me. Same me. 

Now, can I say that if we would have remained in the New Mass I would have had to contend with barriers to attaining holiness, or perhaps we would have “bloomed where we were planted” as a family?; On the flipside, can I really affirm that the Latin Mass has defacto made me a better, more sanctified Catholic—or simply one with an liturgically ideological prerogative? It’s hard to say outside the mind of God.

To the degree that I am abandoning myself more and more to the mercy of God and becoming imperceptibly holier day by day in the process is the degree to which the means I am employing attain the ends which I am seeking; ie, a “means to an end.” But when I ascribe the form of the Mass—or even just attending Mass by itself in whatever form—as an end in and of itself, I can be assured that it will not “make” me holier of its own accord. At the end of the day, I remain. The same me, failing to be reborn and attain my end and pointing to this or that as the reason why; the same me in need of regular confession, mercy, and grace. A beggar takes grace like bread--wherever he can get it. And we are all no better than hungry beggars before the majesty of God.

"Just Catholic"

We've all probably overheard a Christian of the evangelical persuasion describe themselves matter-of-factly as being "just Christian." The innuendo, of course, is that denominational distinctions are an unnecessary and distracting dressing from the real work of following Jesus. Thus there is a sort of proud (not necessarily bad) self-satisfaction that the "just Christian" is above such trappings; whether one is a Methodist or a Presbyterian or a Baptist isn't concerning to the so-called non-denominational Christian. Even the qualifier "just" in "Just Christian" of evangelical Protestant reductionism is essentially a form of unapologetic (Christian) Minimalism. 

For traditional Catholics, this Christian Minimalism is a foreign concept. Although some modern(ist) Catholic churches and architectural styles have sought to borrow from this kind of Christian essentialism and distilled the liturgical space to only what it deems "necessary," historical Catholicism makes no apology for it's opulence and adornment as a point of pride. To hell with minimalism--we are Maximalists the core. 

Architecture and liturgy do not exist in a vacuum, though. They reflect and manifest the law of belief in every gilded leaf and marble cherub. One may be able to distill Christianity into one great law, as our Lord did: Love God, love neighbor. But to attempt to apply the same principal to a religion as rich, deep, and theologically layered as Catholicism would be insultingly simplistic. Evangelical Protestants may be able to get away with this kind of distillation, because it is congruent with their low-church, anti-intellectual ethos. But there is a lot more to Catholic history, theology, spirituality, and liturgy than meets the eye.

That's why I smile a little when Catholics themselves use this kind of nomenclature. "I'm Just Catholic," they might say. I don't think we always realize just how much of the Protestant ethos we have absorbed as Catholics in not only our modern liturgy, but our worldview. This tends to manifest itself in comments like, "Jesus in the Eucharist is what matters," or "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you," or "I'm involved in my parish," etc. 

To be honest, though, there's a kind of innocence (or willful ignorance, depending on the person) that seems...nice. The way you want to go back to a kind of Stand By Me childhood when things weren't so contentious and complicated and you could just walk for days on a railroad track looking for a dead body with your friends. When you could be "just Catholic" and qualifiers like being a "Pope Francis Catholic" or a "JPII Catholic" or a "Trad Catholic" weren't necessary. 

I envy that innocence a little, lamenting that I can't unsee all that I've uncovered as a Catholic digging for the truth of things for the past twenty five years. One of the worst parts of that is the kind of caste-system many of us have developed--whether consciously or subconsciously--as it relates to the other members of our corporal body; that is, each other.

If you're reading this as a trad Catholic, and you're honest with yourself, you probably look at yourself and your branch of the Church Militant as a kind of elite fighting force, not unlike the Marines. The ARMY, by extension, just Aint Ready (to be a) Marine Yet. Even within your own branch, there's the rank-banter. Like, "whose tougher, the MARINES or the SEALS?" Or you have people acting like top-brass while not even realizing or caring that the Merchant Marine or U.S. Coast Guard exist.

We don't always make these biases known, but we tend to have a kind of Maslow Hierarchy of Needs for our personal Catholic liturgical life. A lot of people were forced to take a look at their liturgical values and do a needs assessment during COVID when churches shut down and Traditionis Custodes was dropped on us. People were exposed to curious oddities in their youtube searches like the Canons Regular of St. John Cantius in Chicago, or found their local Society chapel open for business. 

As a result, we often unconsciously size up people, not as fellow "Just Catholic"s, but in a kind of liturgical caste system. I know you know what I'm talking about, because I unfortunately do it too. And if you don't, let me try to illustrate what it looks like using Microsoft Paint on my computer. Ah, here we go:

 

Now, this is just one hypothetical example I came up with, and may look different depending on your vantage point. You might be the "I'd rather die than participate in the New Mass" type and so you may have the SSPX at the summit and all the other limp-wristed modernists under your spike-studded thurible. Or you may be an Eastern-rite Catholic smirking at the fact that many Latin-loving Catholics don't even know there are 23 other rites beyond their own in the Church. Or you may be a patriotic American Catholic who has no issues with guitars at Mass as long as the priest gives a good homily. Or you might not ever want to set foot in a TLM because you "heard those people were 'not nice'." Whatever, you get my point. 

The thing is, this is such insider baseball, and I feel like I'm seeing more people in the Church who are getting so-called "red pilled" who are majoring in the minors and getting tunnel vision. I'm glad I traveled when I was younger, both across the U.S. and abroad, because it was good for me to see there was more to the world than outside my state or local community. But we also know people who have never left the town they grew up in, and have strong opinions about lots of things but not always the larger-scale ability to see outside their own walls. 

Whether you travel or never leave the state is kind of besides the point, though. Both are completely valid ways of approaching life. The issue is more when the globe-trotter comes home from Kathmandu and looks their nose down on their local community for being "ignorant," or when the local community shuts out an outsider simply because "he's not from around here."  Both are examples of the way we have trouble seeing outside our own bubbles.  

I really try not to have this kind of special-forces attitude attached to any kind of liturgical preference. Because we will not be judged (by God) on what liturgy we attend, but on the degree to which we sought to become holy in this life given the circumstances we find ourselves in. Not everybody has a FSSP, SSPX, and diocesan TLM within half an hour of them the way we do. I realize that colors my perspective, and belies my ignorance. Some people are lucky to have a mission chapel or even just a standard fare N.O parish within an hour or them if they are really rural. To feel that you cannot be saved unless you find a TLM is, I don't know...it just seems off base. 

I know many people who not only don't give much thought to the TLM, but are content to stay in their local Novus Ordo parish. For them it's not a matter of Aint Ready to Marine Yet, but being proud to be ARMY. And to be honest, a lot of these folks put me to shame in their personal piety, sanctity, and charity to others. I could use a little bit of that humble innocence. When did things get so complicated, anyway? 

All this being said, we are going to be down at the beach this weekend and I find myself in the First Friday/First Saturday conundrum. Do I go to the local casual vacation Novus Ordo and just put my head down and swallow my....pride? Do I drive an hour and a half four times to attend the TLM back in the city? Do I look up the SSPX RESISTANCE rogue "independent" priest down there for Communion (I'm not inclined to do this, just using it as an example of the complications we find ourselves in these days)? 

Some days, I find myself looking back longingly on my early days as a Catholic, when I didn't know any better that there was anything beyond being "Just Catholic." But those days I wept softly in my hands before Communion, whereas now my heart has scabbed over more and there are more layers to chip away at. Those days I read voraciously--the Catechism, the Fathers, the spiritual classics. Now I'm lucky if I pick up a book and make it through more than a chapter, so lazy and complacent I have become. Back then, I was excited to meet other Catholics in public and on the street--fellow pilgrims! Kindred souls!. Now I size people up, vet, view with suspicion: well, just what kind of Catholic are you now? 

There's something to be said to the awe and wonder of a new Catholic who hasn't had too much weight placed on their shoulders yet, whose innocence has been preserved--not from sin and a sordid past, but from the toxic in-fighting and lack of charity in our own ranks. Who recognize their ransom debt is stamped PAID and can think of nothing else but how grateful they are, like the Samaritan leper in today's Gospel who returns to give glory and worship to Christ while the other nine can't be bothered to.

I would love to go back to those early days to visit, get some perspective, feel a little more virgin and a little less jaded. Where the Mass was not something to scoff at or force yourself to stomach, but a pearl of great price you run home to sell everything you have to buy. Where I was more concerned with working out my salvation in fear and trembling than I was with what category of Catholic I am. If you figure out how I can reclaim this beginner's heart, please let me know. I do miss it.  

The Immolation of a Holy Oblation

As a Catholic being raised up almost exclusively in the New Rite from the age of eighteen to thirty-eight, I look back on those two decades with a few curious memories that pop up. As I have written here, I would have considered myself a "lefty Catholic" in terms of my prioritization of serving the poor and being committed to the works of social justice during that period. I experienced and took part in many egregious liturgical abuses that were simply commonplace in the circles I traveled in. Part of that I would chalk up to ignorance; you don't know what you don't know.

But there were two instances, even as a young, newly Confirmed left-learning Catholic, in which I remember being very put off by something the Novus Ordo as celebrated ad populum expressed. 

We had a priest in college who was very, let's just say, theatrical. The altar became a kind of 'center-stage' where he could be the center of attention, a performer if you will--in the gestures, the inflections, the homily, and just the overall focus. Looking back now, I remember this priest being somewhat flamboyant, but the "look at me" charades were really offputting to me at the time, when I should have been fine with it.

The second instance was similar to the first--I was living in the city after college, and this particular priest was not so much flamboyant as he was gregarious. He was a good preacher, and used the opportunity at the pulpit to try to instruct the faithful, which was admirable. But again, there was just the trigger in me that the Mass was not the place to make yourself known as a personality. I even wrote this priest an anonymous letter in which I complained about this (which I rightly or wrongly regarded as ego-centric). 

I wouldn't have been able to make sense why these 'priests on center stage' would bother me then, as I had no language to articulate it. But now, I think I do. 

Part of the problem, of course, is worship ad populum, versus ad orientum. This is the objective orientation of the priest towards the congregation in the Novus Ordo, versus with his face 'towards the East," to God (or, depending on one's perspective which would betray one's anthropological bias, "away from the people.")

I never really had any "golden unicorn" gateway drug of a "reverent Novus Ordo" to transition to Mass in the Extraordinary Form. We quit it cold turkey (at least on Sundays), and part of that was because my paradigm was starting to shift in seeing what the Mass really was: that is, front and center, it was a sacrifice. Not a "sacrifice to be there" (in terms of driving distance or longer Masses), mind you, but a sacrifice in way the Jews would understand it "the blood of oxen and goats" (Heb 10:4). In the usus antiquior, the emphasis is not on a communal meal, but a true sacrifice. 

Sacrifice is the highest form of religious worship, and true sacrfice requires three essentials: priest, victim, and immolation. "This absolute dependence of man upon his Creator is expressed in the destruction, or change, of the thing offered" [1] 

When we hear the term 'immolate' we think of those Buddhist monks setting themselves on fire in political protest in Vietnam or Tibet. They 'sacrifice' their bodies (by the unholy act of suicide) which are rendered to ashes, completely consumed by the flames of that act. There is nothing left. 

This act of immolation--the killing and utter destruction of the victim in the act of sacrifice--is largely obscured in the New Rite. I think this is what, at my core, chaffed against what worship should be, even when I experienced it as a liberal teenager and in the New Mass. The priest as victim should be immolated, be consumed into sacrifice and disappear if you will. But instead these priests took the opportunity to put themselves in front of the altar prancing around and gesticulating with their personalities center-stage. You couldn't not see them.

Contrast this to the priest's presence in the Extraordinary Form. He essentially disappears. A minimal amount of his personality comes through, held back by the rubrics of the Mass for the benefit of the faithful. He "prays the black and does the red," and any other priest who is trained to do so can step in seamlessly take his place were he not available. The lamb, the sacrificial victim, is killed and burned up--immolated. This is a worthy sacrifice and is fitting to worship. Because the four elements of this worship--priest, victim, altar, and sacrifice--are essentially inseparable, the priest mystically does so as well. 

For the faithful, we have the benefit of "seeing Christ" in this sacrifice, not seeing Fr. Bob or each other. We do not travel to hear an "awesome homily" as Protestants do or "see people and catch up", but to offer fitting sacrifice of ourselves in the sacrifice of Christ the Paschal Lamb in atonement for our sins. This can be a paradigm shift in how we think about the nature and purpose of sacrifice for those who may only know the New Mass. At least if was for me. When you do reorient yourself, though, you start to "see" with different eyes what is really taking place before you at the altar. Christ is the ultimate sacrifice pleasing to the Father. Sacrifice is the essential form of religion, and the immolation of the oblation reminds us that "God is a consuming fire" (Heb 12:29)

[1] The Latin Mass Explained (Moorman), 5, 15

The Novus Ordo May One Day Save Your Life

 One of the struggles I have as a traditionally-minded Catholic is to be on guard as David was when he prayed, “Who can discern his errors? Forgive my hidden faults. Keep your servant also from willful sins; may they not rule over me. Then will I be blameless, innocent of great transgression" (Ps 19:12-14). Catholics who have such dispositions towards Tradition may find themselves on the high ground in some areas, while completely blindsided by others. I think this is especially the case when it comes to a critical spirit, and pride--dangerous and pernicious sins that burr into the crevices of our spirit and make a home without us even realizing it. 

While I believe the Holy Father's inquisition against Traditionalists is unjust and targeted, it is similar to the way stereotypes operate--there is always a degree of truth in the broad-brushing. Are Traditionalists one-hundred percent "Triumphalist, self-absorbed, Promethean neo-Pelagians?" as Pope Francis has uncharitably referred to them? Of course not. Are there degrees and elements of this in many of them? For sure. Are traditionalists greater saints than the rest of us? God only knows.

I find myself slipping into this kind of subtle nose-snubbing, sometimes without even realizing it, separating traditional Priests and congregants from N.O. priests and congregants in a kind of unconscious "A-list" and "B-list", Marines vs. Army, etc. I think part of that is that I am using the wrong canon (ruler) to measure with. While I believe that the Extraordinary Form is as a matter of objectivity more beautiful, more reverent, and more fitting liturgy for worship than the Ordinary Form, this is not a silver bullet for transforming oneself or one's family into saints on it's own. The canon in this sense for us should not be "which liturgy is more reverent" or "which group of congregants has it right," but "to what degree am I being made holy myself?" 

I have written before about various reasons why, were push come to shove as it relates to the implementation of Traditionis Custodes, assisting at the SSPX is off the table for us. This is a personal decision that every individual and head of household needs to discern for themselves, what line they will and will not cross were the Latin Mass to be taken from them. I have wrestled a lot with this, and do not take these matters lightly. While educating myself on the history, their canonical status and Archbishop Lefebvre himself, I have grown more sympathetic and understanding towards the Society. 

But there are still elements which give me pause, despite those who seem to gloss over such issues. I've already written about the marriage issue here. But there is another more general disposition being that many Society priests will provide council against attendance at the New Mass, even when there is no traditional Mass available:

"When it comes to attendance at the Novus Ordo Mass, SSPX priests do not hesitate to tell faithful that they should not attend that Mass under any circumstances, even on a Sunday and in a place where no traditional Mass is available. It is a very clear and straightforward matter. 

The purpose of attending Mass is to give glory to God and to sanctify one’s soul. But we hold that the New Mass is not pleasing to God and so dishonors Him. As such, to attend the Novus Ordo Mass is to go against the very purpose for going to Mass. Instead of honoring God by attending Mass, one is dishonoring God by doing so. "

If one takes this matter of not fulfilling their Sunday obligation lightly, they should prayerfully reconsider what is at stake here. For this counsel no longer becomes one of preference or objective reverence, but elevates a beautiful and reverent illicit Mass above a potentially banal and unedifying Mass which is nevertheless both valid and licit. In other words, in the example of when one is traveling, there is no excuse to forgo Sunday Mass even when there is no Traditional Latin Mass and the Novus Ordo is the only option. Canon 844.2 states:

§2. Whenever necessity requires it or true spiritual advantage suggests it, and provided that danger of error or of indifferentism is avoided, the Christian faithful for whom it is physically or morally impossible to approach a Catholic minister are permitted to receive the sacraments of penance, Eucharist, and anointing of the sick from non-Catholic ministers in whose Churches these sacraments are valid.

There is no doubt or argument that the sacrament of Holy Eucharist is valid when confected in Society chapels. There is also no doubt that whenever necessity requires it, the Church permits the faithful to receive these valid Sacraments. I think the issue here is the license the faithful take with "as true spiritual advantage suggests." That is, the argument being made is that the Novus Ordo is so egregiously offensive to God and so spiritually damaging to the formation of faith, that this constitutes justification for the regularization outside of emergency situations to take refuge in a SSPX chapel. In other words, the exception is now made the norm. In my own humble opinion, this is a tenuous reasoning that carries with it spiritual perils that may not be immediately apparent.  

Society priests were truly worthy of admiration during COVID when chapels were kept open as some diocesan churches shuttered in response to the virus; they recognized the "essential nature" of spiritual nourishment, whereas many diocesan parishes may have regarded it otherwise. Of course, this statement is easy to make in retrospect, when the reality is that two years ago was that no one really knew the degree of threat which the virus posed and how it was transmitted; pastors were making best judgments with limited information. To that end, a little grace would go a long way.

And yet, some saw this valiant witness of the SSPX during this time and took up a home there. Some (as one young father I am loosely acquainted with) even seemed to adopt a semi-Donatist mindset of regarding Novus Ordo priests who shut down churches and withheld sacraments during this period as apostates.  

All this being said, it is wishful thinking that the New Mass (which comprises over 98.5% of Masses celebrated in the United States) will go by the wayside. The reality on the ground is, most of your sacramental exposure--for better or for worse--will be proxy to a so-called "Novus Ordo priest."

I wrote in The Hunger Years that,

"A time is coming when people will seek absolution for their sins and find, not a priest unwilling to open the door, but no priest at all. A time is coming when people will notice they are hungry for the Eucharist, for the Holy Mass, for a blessing—the very things we take for granted today—and they will go away hungry because there is no priest to feed them. Faithful Catholics will want to have their children baptized, want to get married, and will find waiting lists months long. The churches they knew from their youth will be museums. Those in mortal sin will beg for a priest to hear their confession and will not be able to find one. Those possessed by demons will have no recourse, and exorcists will be so overwhelmed they will have no choice but to turn people away.

We are entering the mission era of the Church in the United States. You would be wise to prepare yourself now with spiritual food for the journey, with the Eucharist, daily Mass, Confession—because the hunger years are around the corner. Avoid mortal sin like the plague. Fast and pray for the Lord to call up mighty warrior priests who are not afraid to go into the fray. Get your own house in order so you can evangelize as a living example to others. Be open to life and welcoming of children. Instruct them well and be intentional about passing on the Faith and living it out. Encourage your sons to become priests if it is God’s will for them. Catholicism is not like other Christian denominations. No priests means no Mass. No Mass means no Eucharist. No Eucharist means no life within you."

When I get kind of liturgically and spiritually snobby without realizing it, I'm sometimes reminded that the vast majority of people in need of grace do not have ideological dogs in the fight. For some, they may have been away from the Church for decades and are just one confession away from salvation. For others, they may be Christians of a another denomination and have an insatiable appetite for the Lord's flesh and blood. Others may be on their deathbed and desire the grace of Extreme Unction to find a final resting place. Or, they might simply be like my Latin Mass attending friend who was going through a hard time in her life. I curtly tried to spare her one night when she asked where she could attend Mass in our area on a Tuesday, but was humbled at her response; "No TLM tonight; just the Novus Ordo," I said. She told me plainly in response, "Friend, I need Jesus."

There is an incredibly moving scene in Padre Pio: Miracle Man (1:47-1:51 for the particular scene) in which Padre Pio faces his Vatican persecutor during his final hours and illuminates the priest to a memory in which he closes the door on a soldier seeking absolution; the priest acted in fear and dereliction of duty, and the soldier was killed, unconfessed. The hardened priest is filled with shame, yet Padre Pio reassures him, "I absolved him for you," (by way of the miracle of bilocation). Not only that, but the saintly Padre Pio humbles himself before this priest to seek absolution at his hands in his final hours of life. Two priests--one saint, one sinner--embracing through the grace of the Sacrament.

I am relying on grace to preserve my family should our diocesan Latin Mass no longer be an option in the future, and I pray for discernment. It is not easy, nor is it easy to defer in a spirit of obedience our preferences when we are more inclined to dig our heels in in a spirit of defiance. I don't know what the right answer is, and continue to wrestle with it. But I do believe that God is faithful and will not abandon those who seek him with a pure heart. He will give us the grace we need on the day we need it, the way He provided daily manna for the wandering Israelites, even if it doesn't come in the form we expect. If we have the gift of the liturgy in the Extraordinary Form, thanks be to God. If God provides grace by way of the Novus Ordo, I do not want to spurn that grace. 

Take my life, Lord. Take my preferences and melt them in the refining fire of your love. Take my pride and my understanding and purify it for your glory. Take the impurities in my intentions and siphon them out, so that I am left with nothing but a contrite soul wholly dependent on you to live. Filter out a critical spirit and supplant it with pure gratefulness. Give me no more than my daily bread, that I may not curse you in hunger, nor forget you in satiation. Do not abandon me to the netherworld, but unite me with your servant so that I may pray, "Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me" (Ps 51:10).  

This Mass Will Be Your Last

If I was ever diagnosed with a terminal illness, I've often wondered, how I would I react? Would I be filled with fear and dread? Regret? Or would I suddenly be seeing life here on earth in technicolor? 

I would hope, the day I received my death sentence, that it would be in many ways "the first day of the rest of my life." That it would not be viewed as "taking away" something, but infusing a great gift of grace into my life. 

I feel like I have been spending the majority of my life in preparation for that moment, and yet it remains elusive, like a can continually kicked down the road. I could have another ten, twenty, fifty years left here on earth, which to be honest fills me with weariness. St. Bernard of Clairvaux said, "How consoling it is to see a just man die! His death is good, because it ends his miseries; it is better still, because he begins a new life." 

Thomas a Kempis noted that it is even more dangerous to live long,

Alas! length of days doth not always better us, but often rather increaseth our sin. 

O that we had spent but one day in this world thoroughly well!

Many there are who reckon years of conversion; and yet slender is the fruit of amendment.

If to die be accounted dreadful, to live long may perhaps prove more dangerous. 

(Imitation of Christ, XXIII)

Like the early Christians awaiting the Parousia on the edge of their seat, as the weeks and months go on you eventually you start to doubt, perhaps, that Christ is going to be coming back in your lifetime. But when you were convinced he was, you lived each day on the cusp of Judgment as if it were your last.

Those who live with a constant surge of cortisol (stress hormone) throw their body and endocrine system out of whack. We weren't meant to live in that constant 'fight or flight' state continuously as we do in the modern age. What we are meant to do, however, is not presume upon a tomorrow, as scripture says (Ja 4:13-15). This is the "Beginner's Mind" approach to seeing the world anew, every morning--that your life is a gift, not something owed. That each breath you take is a privilege, not a right. 

It can be transformative to live in the "Sacrament of the Present Moment," as Fr. Jean Pierre de Caussade calls it. You take nothing for granted. Your only preoccupation, then, should be to live in a state of grace, accepting what comes from the hands of Providence (Mt 6:34), as if each day was your last on earth. We can enjoy the fruits of this Sacrament of the Present Moment as this story from the East illustrates from a somewhat different vantage point:

A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung himself down over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him. Only the vine sustained him. Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away at the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet it tasted!

The intimacy which takes place at the foot of Calvary during the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, and the union with which we achieve with the reception of Holy Communion, can also be easily taken for granted. We speak about "having to go to Mass" on Sundays rather than having the privilege of assisting. We do not recollect adequately the state of union during the reception of Holy Communion with more than a few moments of silence. 

But what if this Mass you attend...what if it were the last Mass offered on earth? 

How would it change your disposition? To what extent would your hunger for the Lord burn? What would you sacrifice to be there? Like intimacy in a marriage, which can sometimes become commonplace and taken for granted over time, we find we have lost that "first love" of the Bride that quickened our pulse and took away our breath initially.

If we were told, "you have one month to live," would the world become lit up with color? Would the strawberry taste sweeter? Would our Communions become mystical? Would we be filled with fear and despair, or hope and joy? Perhaps this is a good litmus to keep in mind when we evaluate where we are on the narrow way.

We take our lives, our loves, and our Lord for granted with the presumption that we are owed a certain number of years, or the Mass, or good health, or what have you. The Lord in his desire that we fulfil the First Commandment to love Him with all our heart, mind, strength, and soul will take from us the idols of presumption, because He is a jealous God (Ex 20:5; 34:14; Deut 4:24). 

In his loving chastisement, He may take things from us. It may even be the Mass. For those He disciplines He loves (Heb 12:6). God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to His purpose (Rom 8:28). We have the chance to be born anew each day, to experience the Sacrament of the Present Moment, to view life through technicolor, to taste and see the goodness of the Lord (Ps 34:8). Let's not squander it. Assist at each Mass as if it were your last on earth!