Urgent re-post: Bishop attempts unlawful suppression.

I'll let this article from Rorate Caeli speak for itself. Pray during this Lent for this bishop.

Sede Vacante.

The blogosphere has been all a-twitter (n.p.i.) since 2/11. Until now, I have kept my thoughts close. How could I adequately express how the abdication of the Pope--my Pope, Benedict XVI--knocked the wind from my lungs? What could this mean? Why now?

Ironically, I was asking those same questions on April 19, 2005.

Back then, I was only just rediscovering what it means to be Catholic. I was a left-of-center Cafeteria Catholic who couldn't understand why God had chosen the dreaded "Rottweiller" to be His vicar. Wasn't the Church evolving? Becoming more inclusive? Surely this was a mistake--perhaps a recount was in order...? Little did I know how much this papacy would change the face of Holy Mother Church, and my own life.

I became a Catholic in 1991. My conversion was largely aesthetic: I was in love with the institution I saw on T.V. and in the movies. All that arcane ritual, incense, Latin and chant in majestic stone cathedrals lit by massive stained glass windows. Mozart's Requiem. Vestiges of a noble medieval past. I didn't care much for the doctrine; but that distasteful stuff was changing, right?

I was acutely disappointed to discover that those changes had also eliminated everything I loved. The new way of doing things didn't really move me the way "Cathollywood" did. I still chose to be baptized, but it wasn't long before I lost interest and wandered off. (I wasn't really that fond of hippie music.)

For six long years, I tried different things on for size, then lost belief in everything. I grew severely angry, depressed, nihilistic and bitter.

Flash forward to 1996. A few events had happened that shook my worldview significantly (I won't bore you with the personal details.) Nostalgic and a bit lost, I wandered into the chapel of the local Newman Center. I sat there for a good long while, staring at the altar and wishing I could come home. I'm not sure what moved me to talk with the pastor, but I did. He radiated peace, joy and wisdom. He was also a dreadful Neo-Modernist; but at that time I was ignorant. I didn't even know that term existed (truth be known, I wouldn't have cared if I had.) One talk led to another and I was soon singing with the choir every Saturday.

Then I rather abruptly met and married a Wiccan, outside the Church. I quit going again. Four years and one kid later, we were in divorce court. Broken, I moved back home to reassemble the pieces. For the sake of my kid, I went back to church. An acquaintance went to St. James the Just, so I started attending there, despite the infamous Father Erik J. Richsteig. (Had I heard the bells of fate ringing, I probably would have run in the opposite direction.) By then, I was used to the Novus Ordo. I even had my favorite hippie songs. I was singing in the choir again. My attitude hadn't really changed much, but it was changing. Slowly. The biggest catalyst for change were two dreadful words thundering out on April 19, 2005:

"Habemus papam."

The man I dreaded more than Jesse Helms was now the Holy Father. What to do? I chose to let it rest in God's hands. Over the course of a year, I discovered that everything I "knew" was wrong. My daughter made her first Communion. My ex-wife became a Catholic.

Then came Summorum Pontificum. Right about that time, I discovered that my ex-wife had fled to the SSPX in desperation, thanks to recurring issues in our lukewarm diocese. Like any good father, I began looking closely at this disturbing new influence in my daughter's life. In the process, I discovered the FSSP and an entire trove of Traddies in full communion with Rome. I was elated. I bought a 1962 Roman Catholic Daily Missal from Catholic Caravans when they came to visit our parish. Immediately afterwards I half-jokingly approached Fr. Richsteig to have it blessed, holding it aloft:

"Hey, Father! Are you going to give us a chance to use these?"

He gave me a look, made the Sign of the Cross over my new purchase, and slowly replied "HmmMay-be."

About a year later, he did (despite passive-aggressive resistance.) Every Wednesday and the first Sunday of every month. I became a regular attendee; soon I was learning to serve. The graces that come with service at the altar have changed my soul and my outlook forever. I joined the Confraternity of St. Peter, embraced the rich patrimony of the Extraordinary Form.

I had grown to love "our German Shepherd." My dismay was now joy. The Church I had wanted to join was here again (albeit diminished, in absolute ruins on our local level.) Pope Benedict XVI was to thank for it.

I also rejoiced when the Pope introduced changes to the English translation of the Novus Ordo Missae. By that time my doctrinal understanding had evolved into something unrecognizable from the shallow aestheticism that led to my baptism, the sappy & sentimental need to belong that had formed my "reversion" (both times.) Still a far cry from the depth and splendor of the Usus Antiquior which has become my preferred mode of worship, I see a glimmer of hope for the future of the Ordinary Form which was not there when His Holiness Benedict XVI became Pope. His papacy has formed my future, and that of my family.

On February 11, 2013 His Holiness knocked the wind out of me again.

I got a text from my fiancee. Our beloved Holy Father was resigning. I was stunned. Had the circling wolves at last devoured my dear shepherd? Anxiously I watched the news, hoping to make some sense of this jarring development.

Thanks to this insightful post by Dr. John C. Rao, I have some perspective and equilibrium again. I will pray for the coming Conclave. May God send us the Pope we need at this crucial time.

Veni, Creator Spiritus.

A Layman's Rant, Part One: On Music

Why do I fixate on the music? In a recent conversation with my ex-wife, she asked me that. (We have a kid together, so yes we do talk sometimes. She attends a traditional parish; occasionally we end up discussing the Church.) I’m frequently troubled by the music at Mass. At the time of the conversation, I couldn’t really articulate my reasons. Now I can.

There’s the obvious: I’m in the choir. Because of this, I’m very conscious of the music. But the largest reason is that music is a catechism. If there’s a more effective way to quickly learn something than setting it to a catchy tune, I haven’t heard of it. That’s why most of us learned our alphabet to the tune of Mozart’s variations on “Ah vous dirai-je Maman.” That’s why commercials frequently include catchy jingles. Regardless of how eloquently delivered or prosaically stunning, I doubt any of us catch ourselves muttering snatches of Father’s homily at random during the day. (If you’re an exception to this, I can recommend a couple of solid Catholic therapists with reasonable rates.) Music gets caught in our crania, following us home and going about our daily routines with us. Music reinforces basic doctrines on a deeper level than spoken words will. One would think that the people who are in charge of the liturgy would take special care to scrutinize the music and ensure that its message accurately reflects the mind of the Church.

Unfortunately, this is not the case. Open any Novus Ordo songbook (I won’t refer to them as hymnals because most of the songs therein do not qualify as hymns) and read a song at random. Only 1 in 10 at most contains anything resembling Catholic doctrine. Most are fuzzy and sentimental, focused on us—us feeling welcome and validated, us treating our neighbors kindly, us making sure that we share our ice cream, candy and toys with the other children on the playground. Us pinning “goodguy badges” to our lapels. While all of these messages--properly presented--might also reflect a Catholic approach to life, the songs I'm referring to don't. In Novus Ordo songbooks, almost all reference to anything unpleasant to think about (sacrifice, sinfulness, the Four Last Things) has disappeared. Ditto on hymns to any of the Saints except for a handful of popular Marian favorites. Songs labeled “Eucharist” are often the most egregious offenders—all about bread and wine, and the consumption of such. Or how that consumption unites us with Christ in some unclear manner. They don’t unambiguously reflect the reality of transubstantiation. Many make frequent reference to a table rather than an altar, overemphasizing the ritual meal with an occasional nod in the general direction of the Holy Mystery.

Many songs are equally at home in a Protestant setting. I was recently at an American Baptist church for a performance by a friend’s choral group. Curious, I perused the songbook in the pew while waiting for the show to start. Had I been a bit more naïve I would have been shocked to discover a number of songs frequently used at the Novus Ordo Missa contained in its pages. If a Protestant can use a Catholic tune without any doctrinal qualms, either the Protestant is about to swim the Tiber, the Protestant is indifferent, or the song reflects questionable doctrine. (If the tune wasn’t Catholic to begin with, one wonders why we’re using it in Mass.)

Where are all the good, old, Catholic hymns? The ones that reflect the one immortal Faith? Why don’t we use them anymore? Where is the Gregorian chant that the Vatican II document Sacrosanctum Concilium declared was to be given pride of place in a liturgical setting? Why are the only “traditional” hymns that are left songs that were penned by Protestants, from a Protestant understanding? Certainly, some of them are very inspiring and beautiful. But since music is a catechism, we should be more careful with our catechesis. Especially in a time where so many Catholics are confused about the nature and doctrine of the Faith.

That’s why I fixate on the music.