The value of majesty and awe in Catholic liturgy

Earlier this year, a friend of mine asked to me to sponsor her initiation into the Catholic Church. My job is chiefly emotional support, as her instruction is conducted by the priests and catechists at our church, but I also am responsible both for representing the church to her by answering any questions she has (or directing her to someone who can) and for representing her to the church at her baptism, confirmation, and first Eucharist at this year's Easter Vigil Mass. I recently wrote her an email regarding the essence of Catholic faith and how we, as Catholics, are to worship in response to some concerns we shared about the way Catholicism is often presented, both in liturgy and in extra-liturgical activities. It is a good distillation of my thought over the past month, and so I offer it to you here, edited slightly for this blog:

Dear Amber,

I promised you the quote from Bishop Salvatore (of San Diego) regarding the restoration of the Tridentine Mass, and it follows at the bottom of this email [I have linked it here]. Though you and I have discussed the nature of worship at St. Brigid's a lot over the past months, I thought I would put some of my thoughts and perspective down on paper for you. Afterwards, you can read the Bishop's more reasoned and eloquent insistence on the value of Catholic tradition than what I told you last night.

The first truth about Christianity that the author C.S. Lewis brings up in his book Mere Christianity is that the universal fact about humans is that we don't do what we ought to do, and we are aware of it. Each day, each of us commit countless acts that we understand to be wrong, from simply missing breakfast to cutting another car off in traffic to carrying on an extramarital affair. This begs the question of whether the knowledge that we act wrongly at times implies that we are therefore aware of a universal "right," a moral law. I think the answer is an emphatic yes - we do know what is right internally, even if we can't necessarily articulate it to ourselves in thought or in word. And if there does exist a moral law, then we are bound to try to find out what it is and to live by it.

Another "first truth" Christianity teaches is that our world is created. Though a debate rages amongst the learned regarding the proof, or lack thereof, of this truth, I find that the incredible efficiency of organisms and the wonderful range of metaphysical (which is to say, supernatural or "beyond our experience of nature") events that happen to us--like love, for example--indicates that there is something truly glorious about the world that cannot have simply evolved by accident. It is much more reasonable to suppose that some wonderful entity created it to a purpose of delight and beauty. Yet consider that alongside our tendency not to do what we ought, and you reach the conclusion that we somehow are aware of the divine nature of ourselves and our existence but unable to participate fully. Somehow, we have decided to reject it--and we continue to do so through the sins we commit day.

The most important truth of Christianity, however, is that God, who loves us as His unique and glorious creation, wanted so much to heal the rift between us and Him that he "emptied himself" (Philippians 2:7)--which is to say, humiliated himself--to become one of us, "one like us in all things but sin" (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 467), then allowed himself to the perfect sacrifice to heal our original sin which separated Him from us, His creation. This is related in the stories of the Bible, which is literally the revealed word of God, and is the foundation of the Catholic faith and all Christianity. Jesus is indeed "the way, the truth, and the life" (John 14:6)--He gave us himself and His bride, the Church, to bridge the gap between our human iniquity and our human divinity. Hence the ancient title of the pope: Pontifex Maximus, which means "Great Bridge-Builder". The great role of the church is first to make the true presence of God available to us through the sacraments of baptism, eucharist, penance, confirmation, marriage, holy orders, and last rites; second, to foster a the parish and dioceses as the Body of Christ, a community of the faithful. Through the sacraments we better receive the grace necessary to lead a divine and holy life; the community of faith exhorts us to exert ourselves to do our part to reject our sin and "enter by the narrow gate" (Matthew 7:13), provides education and ministry, and offers emotional support to its members in times of trial.

That is the importance of the Universal Catholic Church, biblically instituted by Christ with Peter as it's first pope. And it is entrusted with dispensing and regulating the sacraments, which (it should be said) come from God and not us--so therefore it is not our place to "customize" them according to our preference. Hence the importance and strict canon law regarding marriage and the Eucharist, as well as the ability to grant indulgences (which is literally what happens when you receive the sacrament of penance). Hence also I feel that when things become as sentimental and cloying, as excessively emotional and supportive as they have been at St. Brigid's, there is a real danger that us, the people of God, will lose the essential awe and reverence that is fitting to us when we stand in the presence of God Himself in the sacramental liturgies. Emotional support is, after all, one of the less important ministries of the Body of Christ, especially if some kind of exhortation is more appropriate. That is why I get so frustrated with a sentimental approach to worship.

I think that a "support-group culture" grants people a sense of entitlement - it encourages them to demand acceptance "as they are." This is a mistake: in no wise should small character flaws and small physical or material indulgences become tacitly accepted. Fr. Steve's homily this morning on the temptations of Christ helped inspire me on the subject, because he explained that we are mistaken to think that we as God's children can expect to be "provided for" in a conventional sense; rather, to be a child of God (at least, to be a Catholic) is a challenge: a challenge to accept that we cannot expect to have what we want and we cannot expect to be free of suffering in this human life. To follow Christ is to follow in his temptations and sufferings: "If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me" (Luke 9:23). In fact, as committed children of God we can expect rather more suffering and privation than the rest of the world, since we are theoretically more equipped to deal with it. Our Church and faith life should recognize this in every ministry, and should encourage a loving and redemptive acceptance of suffering instead of trying to anesthetize it with a sentimental, community-oriented embrace. Certainly we should welcome everybody with compassion for their trials, but in love we should exhort and admonish them to be better people: to face their sins and flaws and help them, with the grace of God, to be more holy. I think the entire Church would be more receptive of this challenge to be holy if the sacraments were celebrated with reverence and majesty.

The final promise of a holy life, Amber, is to live in paradise as a child of God. It is a paradise the holy person reaches honestly, having paid their dues on earth by simple acts of love: love of God, love of others through God, and a loving acceptance of our assigned and merited suffering and toil--"cursed [is] the ground for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life...In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art and unto dust shalt thou return" (John 3:17). A very great pope taught us that "Love without sacrifice is mere sentimentality." This is our condition--humilitated by our sins before God, entirely reliant on his grace and sacrifice for our restoration to the paradise that Adam lost. And yet, he promises that if we follow Christ--whose path is articulated and maintained by the Church--we shall be rewarded with our ancient grace. I find this to be much more hopeful than the mere material happiness in the form of success, a husband, or simple earthly contentment that seems to be the focus of sentimental Christianity.

Below [here]you will find the better argument for majesty and tradition in Catholic celebration. Enjoy. I look forward to discussing more with you both as you continue your journey toward full communion with God as a Catholic, and after your acceptance at Easter,

Matthew Klobucher