Last Sunday my 9-year old son and I went to out little church in Burgum, the St.-Martin’s Church. It's more a chapel than a church (see above). I returned to the R.C. church a year ago, and this year my son had been baptized and received his 1st Holy Communion. When we entered, we saw a whole group of men also entering the church from the altar’s side. They were dressed in black cassocks with white shirts on it, and they went to the choir’s place. I whispered in my son’s ear that it was a visiting choir because I was sure of that now. After a minute (we had taken our places) another stranger entered the altar stage: an old man, leaning on a stick, the priest, we didn’t see him before yet. He looked very stern and strict, and I feared for an old-fashioned service in which the rules of the Church would be stressed (again). I estimated his age on around 80 years and I never saw a priest with such an apostle-like appearance before. Despite his stick he had a strong and impressive posture, not a gram of superfluous fat, you could expect only old muscles under his garb. We were sitting in the second row so we could see everything. His hands which he would be using during the Mass emphasizing what he said, were beautiful and strong, the kind of hands old masters like Rembrandt and Michelangelo used as examples for their studies. His face, like I said, was stern and strict, imagine how St. Peter must have looked like in peoples’ minds and you have an idea. His hair was still fully present (unlike mine) and silver-white. He made fear for the worst, when he gave silent directions to the four Mass Servers, boys of around 15 years of age, that they should go elsewhere, not standing in their right places as they were: they were supposed to sit down that moment at the beginning, on their chairs at the right side. Then he climbed the altar, leaning on his stick and waited for Mrs. Jansen (fictitious name), the assistant-pastor, who would do the welcome word. Mrs. Jansen welcomed the priest and the choir and she announced what was supposed to be known (but I didn’t read it in the parochial guide, my fault), that we would have a Gregorian Mass. After her, the priest, I would almost say: “opened his mouth and spoke, saying:” “Well, that wasn’t a very good management of the stage for a start”, referring to the four Mass Servers on their wrong places. But he said it with a voice and tone one wouldn’t have expected: relaxed, mildly. Then he continued by referring to the special day it was, emphasizing that we had come together because it was the xth Sunday before Pentecost – which wasn’t true, many people had come because it was a Gregorian Mass – their xth Sunday could also be celebrated in their “own” churches in the area -, also in such a way that a slight irony was noticeable. Anyway, the Holy Mass started.
Introibo ad altare Dei, ad Deum qui laetificat iuventutem meam.
(I will ascend to the altar of God, to God who is the joy of my youth). When I had about my son’s age I was a Mass servant myself, and these were the words I heard hundreds of times, as the very first words of every mass, spoken by the priest at the foot of the altar, standing left of me, me kneeling at his right side, the audience of faithful behind us. I never understood these words, because God isn’t supposed to be only one's youth’s joy. But I never asked an explanation to parent, teacher or priest, I took it as it was. Later on I read translations in Dutch, saying “to God who is my joy since my youth” but I wasn’t satisfied by such “improvements” of the original words, dating back to AD 200 or so. Later again, I was 61 years of age and returned back to the Church, I discovered their true meaning: these words were intended for me personally, period. In my youth I had tasted the benefits of faith, and now God had called me back, as a lost son, or as a shepherd looking for his one lost sheep out of his flock of hundreds. That’s it, I don’t know why and how, I only feel it’s that way. I can only hope (and I think it's true) my son feels the same non-deliberated or reasoned “radiation” as I felt at that time. The words were not spoken this time, liturgy has changed since 1955. But I heard the old, Gregorian songs again, and sung them by heart, literally and metaphorically, because I remembered their texts, their melody and also their meaning because my parents had given me the advantage of a classical education with Greek and Latin. And I realised at the same time how Latin had estranged the faithful from Rome because only a small elite knew it, and if songs and prayers are in a strange language they cannot arise from the heart. That’s the other side of the coin, the one side is that for those who understand it – the priest also said it – it is a beautiful language, very well suited for religious expression.
De profundis clamavi ad Te Domine, Domine, exaudi vocem meam.
From the depths I cried to Thee Lord, Lord, listen to my voice. (I love Mozart's version of the psalm). This psalmtext was the theme of the Mass. Clamavi, said the priest, (pronounced with the “a” not in the English way but as it is pronounced in all other languages), isn’t that expressing its meaning far better that the Dutch “ik heb geroepen”? (the English “I cried" also expresses its meaning very well) There is something of “shouting” in it. I love Latin.
It was time for the sermon. The priest cam down and took place in a chair, and so for the first time in my life I experienced a priest or vicar holding a sermon while sitting. I must say, it was a good experience. The sitting posture gives dignity and wisdom, more than the standing posture which gives a rather “exclaiming” and prophesizing idea. Especially this priest, looking so much like St. Peter or a medieval bishop, spread an air of wisdom around him, which filled the whole church. He spoke slowly and with a firm and clear voice with a Southern accent, from around Roermond I guess (my sister lives there). He spoke about the gospel of that Sunday, Jesus visiting the house of a Pharisee, and how He dealt with His host and a sinful woman coming in, dropping tears on His feet which she wiped off with her hair. It was very impressive, although the priest didn’t say anything extra loud, he kept many silences in his story. It was for everybody as if (s)he was present at the event.
At the end of the Mass he announced that he was going to sing the words that never are said anymore in modern liturgy: ”Ite, Missa est”, followed by the people: “Deo Gratias” (“Go, the Mass has ended”, and: “Thanks to God”). I remember of course the jokes we schoolboys made about these words J. Then he forgot something because he wished everybody a good Sunday, and got a reminder form his “disciples”: of course the blessing, which was done of course, together with a small sermon.
Then we sang the beautiful old Maria-song “Salve Regina, Mater Misericordiae”, and went home or to the parish house for coffee.
After the Mass I praised my son for his endurance, the songs must have meant a sacrifice for him (although my wife told me otherwise, that it was only a pose), and that day it seemed he needed to express (much) more attachment to me than usual which made me happy.
The last days I ‘m also a bit annoyed about the “right-wing” declarations from the official church in Rome, I have to find my way and place in it. So I have problems with women not being allowed at priesthood, (although Mrs. Jansen would be a perfect priest), with divorced people not allowed to the Holy Sacrament, and with sudden exclamations such as I read in the paper from a Roman, Italian cardinal, that Catholics are “not allowed” to donate money to Amnesty International, because this very, very, Christian-acting organisation gives help to raped girls in the South of Sudan where everybody knows how a horrific hell is going on. Many of these girls have an abortion apparently with the approval and maybe help of Amnesty International (although A.I., as far as I know, doesn’t supply help on the spot but gives moral , influential and financial support), and that’s enough reason for the Vatican to issue an official declaration like this. I comfort myself with the thought that it’s not the princes and the Holy Father, the bishops and the priests who judge, they are not supposed to be moral judges but spriritual leaders and sometimes they might think they can stand between God and mankind, instead of guiding men to God.
An example of how wrong religious leaders can be is the way the famous 17th-century philosopher and scholar Spinoza was expelled from both his Jewish community and the Christian community of Amsterdam. By strict reasoning he concluded that God was in everything, an idea now widespread but at the time a blasphemy, because God was in those days a man in a place called heaven from where He ruled the world and the universe, which he created long ago. For me, God is in everything and all that has been created is an expression of His omnipresence. This makes one humble and happy at the same time, and aware of all the mistakes men can make abusing His omnipresence, including oneself, not merely including, but especially focused on oneself. Please Your Excellency Mr. Cardinal, go and visit an abbey of the Benedictines for some time (they are the school example of hospitality) and listen what the brother who is cleaning the corridor has to say or better, has to keep silent and take an example.
I’m glad I can share this with my blog, Those who have eyes to read, may read it. So mote it be.
Introibo ad altare Dei, ad Deum qui laetificat iuventutem meam.
(I will ascend to the altar of God, to God who is the joy of my youth). When I had about my son’s age I was a Mass servant myself, and these were the words I heard hundreds of times, as the very first words of every mass, spoken by the priest at the foot of the altar, standing left of me, me kneeling at his right side, the audience of faithful behind us. I never understood these words, because God isn’t supposed to be only one's youth’s joy. But I never asked an explanation to parent, teacher or priest, I took it as it was. Later on I read translations in Dutch, saying “to God who is my joy since my youth” but I wasn’t satisfied by such “improvements” of the original words, dating back to AD 200 or so. Later again, I was 61 years of age and returned back to the Church, I discovered their true meaning: these words were intended for me personally, period. In my youth I had tasted the benefits of faith, and now God had called me back, as a lost son, or as a shepherd looking for his one lost sheep out of his flock of hundreds. That’s it, I don’t know why and how, I only feel it’s that way. I can only hope (and I think it's true) my son feels the same non-deliberated or reasoned “radiation” as I felt at that time. The words were not spoken this time, liturgy has changed since 1955. But I heard the old, Gregorian songs again, and sung them by heart, literally and metaphorically, because I remembered their texts, their melody and also their meaning because my parents had given me the advantage of a classical education with Greek and Latin. And I realised at the same time how Latin had estranged the faithful from Rome because only a small elite knew it, and if songs and prayers are in a strange language they cannot arise from the heart. That’s the other side of the coin, the one side is that for those who understand it – the priest also said it – it is a beautiful language, very well suited for religious expression.
De profundis clamavi ad Te Domine, Domine, exaudi vocem meam.
From the depths I cried to Thee Lord, Lord, listen to my voice. (I love Mozart's version of the psalm). This psalmtext was the theme of the Mass. Clamavi, said the priest, (pronounced with the “a” not in the English way but as it is pronounced in all other languages), isn’t that expressing its meaning far better that the Dutch “ik heb geroepen”? (the English “I cried" also expresses its meaning very well) There is something of “shouting” in it. I love Latin.
It was time for the sermon. The priest cam down and took place in a chair, and so for the first time in my life I experienced a priest or vicar holding a sermon while sitting. I must say, it was a good experience. The sitting posture gives dignity and wisdom, more than the standing posture which gives a rather “exclaiming” and prophesizing idea. Especially this priest, looking so much like St. Peter or a medieval bishop, spread an air of wisdom around him, which filled the whole church. He spoke slowly and with a firm and clear voice with a Southern accent, from around Roermond I guess (my sister lives there). He spoke about the gospel of that Sunday, Jesus visiting the house of a Pharisee, and how He dealt with His host and a sinful woman coming in, dropping tears on His feet which she wiped off with her hair. It was very impressive, although the priest didn’t say anything extra loud, he kept many silences in his story. It was for everybody as if (s)he was present at the event.
At the end of the Mass he announced that he was going to sing the words that never are said anymore in modern liturgy: ”Ite, Missa est”, followed by the people: “Deo Gratias” (“Go, the Mass has ended”, and: “Thanks to God”). I remember of course the jokes we schoolboys made about these words J. Then he forgot something because he wished everybody a good Sunday, and got a reminder form his “disciples”: of course the blessing, which was done of course, together with a small sermon.
Then we sang the beautiful old Maria-song “Salve Regina, Mater Misericordiae”, and went home or to the parish house for coffee.
After the Mass I praised my son for his endurance, the songs must have meant a sacrifice for him (although my wife told me otherwise, that it was only a pose), and that day it seemed he needed to express (much) more attachment to me than usual which made me happy.
The last days I ‘m also a bit annoyed about the “right-wing” declarations from the official church in Rome, I have to find my way and place in it. So I have problems with women not being allowed at priesthood, (although Mrs. Jansen would be a perfect priest), with divorced people not allowed to the Holy Sacrament, and with sudden exclamations such as I read in the paper from a Roman, Italian cardinal, that Catholics are “not allowed” to donate money to Amnesty International, because this very, very, Christian-acting organisation gives help to raped girls in the South of Sudan where everybody knows how a horrific hell is going on. Many of these girls have an abortion apparently with the approval and maybe help of Amnesty International (although A.I., as far as I know, doesn’t supply help on the spot but gives moral , influential and financial support), and that’s enough reason for the Vatican to issue an official declaration like this. I comfort myself with the thought that it’s not the princes and the Holy Father, the bishops and the priests who judge, they are not supposed to be moral judges but spriritual leaders and sometimes they might think they can stand between God and mankind, instead of guiding men to God.
An example of how wrong religious leaders can be is the way the famous 17th-century philosopher and scholar Spinoza was expelled from both his Jewish community and the Christian community of Amsterdam. By strict reasoning he concluded that God was in everything, an idea now widespread but at the time a blasphemy, because God was in those days a man in a place called heaven from where He ruled the world and the universe, which he created long ago. For me, God is in everything and all that has been created is an expression of His omnipresence. This makes one humble and happy at the same time, and aware of all the mistakes men can make abusing His omnipresence, including oneself, not merely including, but especially focused on oneself. Please Your Excellency Mr. Cardinal, go and visit an abbey of the Benedictines for some time (they are the school example of hospitality) and listen what the brother who is cleaning the corridor has to say or better, has to keep silent and take an example.
I’m glad I can share this with my blog, Those who have eyes to read, may read it. So mote it be.
1 comment:
Thanks for sharing these thoughts that arise from deep within your soul.
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