His Holiness, Pope Francis wrote, in his 2021 letter, Traditionis Custodes, that:
An opportunity offered by St. John Paul II and, with even greater magnanimity, by Benedict XVI, intended to recover the unity of an ecclesial body with diverse liturgical sensibilities, was exploited to widen the gaps, reinforce the divergences, and encourage disagreements that injure the Church, block her path, and expose her to the peril of division.
When the Archdiocese of Washington, DC acted on Traditionis Custodes by limiting the regular use of the Latin or Tridentine mass to three churches and requiring other churches that wish to use the Latin mass to not only apply for permission, but for the priests who wish the celebrate the Latin mass to affirm, in writing, the validity of the Second Vatican Council, better known at Vatican II. In other words, to make a firm statement that would, among other thing, affirm their participation in the unity of the Church.
The Washington Post wrote that this was “spurring anger from church traditionalists.” More recently. In a later article, the Post recorded that, “Many who attend Latin Mass say they value the chance to meditate and contemplate during the long stretches when the priest is speaking quietly in Latin.”
The last quote struck me as I was reading Romano Guardini’s 1931 book, The Spirit of the Liturgy, because Guardini specifically argues that the idea of the mass as a time for individualized contemplation is wrong in a very important. Of course, he did not predict that nearly one hundred years later, the Latin mass would be a tool for division (seeing as how the Latin mass was the rule when he wrote it), but he clearly saw how the liturgy could be misused and misunderstood by making it about individuals and small groups, as the Pope saw happening, rather than as something universal. When writing about the fellowship of the liturgy, he is clear: except in certain, very specific actions, “the liturgy does not say “I,” but “We.”” In fact, the liturgy is a form of renouncement by each congregant of that which “exists merely for itself and excludes others.” He goes on to say, “It is not to serve as a model for the spiritual life of the individual, but for that of a corporate body.”
This, I believe, is why Pope Francis issued the letter: the Latin mass was being misused by certain individuals so as not to benefit the whole body of the Church, but as an exclusionary tool to signify an elect and indulge desires to feel superior to the majority of the Church Body.
The Spirit readily acknowledges independent cases, determined individually and on their merits, but when exceptions become the rule for small groups, the Church suffers from a lack of unity in the spiritual act which both its primary tool for pedagogy and for directing Catholics, as the Body of the Church, towards God, who is our end.
The liturgy is not about the “attitude to be adopted,” but the “form taken by the permanent legislation which will henceforth exercise an enduring influence upon the soul,” a clear call for obedience to Church teachings like Vatican II.
Church shopping is something we can all acknowledge happens in our society and Guardini does not address it in The Spirit. There will always be differences between parishes in culture; one may feel more welcoming than another to young people or parents with children at home or simply feel more like home because it has a particular ethnic or cultural identity, as in our Lady of China parish, here in the District, which offers mass Mandarin and Cantonese, or Saint Augustine, which was founded by emancipated Black Catholics and is still a symbol of the city’s Black Catholic community. But these differences are, ultimately, about making the parishioners feel part of the corporate body of the whole Church and not making a particular group separate from that body, for, “the primary and exclusive aim of the liturgy is not the expression of the individual’s reverence and worship for god,” because “the liturgical entity consists rather the united body of the faithful as such – the Church – a body which infinitely outnumbers the mere congregation.”
Guardini tells us that the entire gathering should take an “active share” in the execution of the liturgy and that everyone attending is “obliged to follow with a certain amount of attention.” Without discounting the possibility that a few attendees at the regular Latin masses that used to occur at seven parishes through the city were fluent in Latin, it can be safely said that most did not. After all, the quote about meditating when the priest was speaking in Latin clearly implies that they listeners were not understanding the words, but engaging in individual meditation while priest spoke, more or less unintelligibly in the background. And I do not accept that having memorized the meaning of repeated phrases or knowing certain words in Latin, as I do, is the equivalent of participating in a liturgy performed in a language in which the majority of the congregation is fluent.
I freely admit that I have attended Tridentine masses on several occasions and enjoyed them very much, but after reading The Spirit of the Liturgy and appreciating the wisdom of Traditionis Custodes, I also see the danger that lies within that appreciation. As someone who sees myself as exceptionally well educated, a person with a particular love of art, symbolism, history, and philosophy, my attendance reinforced feelings of difference, rather than unity. I also fell into the error of “appreciating the Church’s worship merely for the sake of its aesthetic value.”
I also do not believe that anyone in the Archdiocese meant for the Latin mass to represent separation from the body of the church, only that the regular use of it by parish congregations had been corrupted by a few so that it became a symbol of division, exclusion, and even disobedience, however well meaning.
This does not mean I will never attend another one, because there is certainly room for the particular form of personal contemplation it encourages in me and, apparently, in others. But, as Guardini emphasizes, that kind of individualism should remain the exception. So, my rule will be to follow his teachings, supported by the wisdom of Traditionis Custodes, through regular attendance at the standard masses offered at my parish of St. Peter’s on Capitol Hill and to participate in them as a small, but vital part of the corporate body of the Church.
Fascinating. Sort of. Actually, it was just interesting to return to my old world of political oppo and flacking, but from the other side of the aisle. You see, once upon a time, I had similar jobs, though I never rose as high. He makes some nice distinctions, such between a campaign guy (like himself, and, generally, me) and a Hill rat. But that’s not what this book is about, well sort of not. In some ways, it is a sort of anthropological study of a segment of Washington, DC (please note – Washingtonians pay more in tax dollars than they get back and most of the city has nothing to do with politics and government or things related to that world; most of the city works in restaurants, banks, retail shops, construction, etc; also, the last Democratic campaign bar, Stetson’s closed years ago; I’m not sure what the point of that last one is, but there you are).
But, I really could have used fewer sex-related insults. ‘Fluffer’ and ‘Trumpian cum dumpster’ felt a bit too much for me. Also, based on a relatively small sample size, the use of ‘butt hurt’ as a sort of insult, which combines implications of weak masculinity with gay panic humor, seems to be a conservative ‘thing.’ Can’t say I get the appeal.
He had a fun, if reductive and hackneyed list of various kinds of political strivers, from the Messiahs to Little Mixes (people who want to be – his word choice, not mine, though he acknowledges its tackiness – ‘the room where it happened), but I’m pretty sure I’ve seen something similar on Wonkette or the old (fun) Politico.
Miller’s depiction of his slow (?) descent into selling out (?) to the far right also felt rushed. He’s a better flack than he is a writer of long form non-fiction, I’d say.
I did learn one fun tidbit. After Trump had learned that he tested positive for COVID, he called up Chris Christie and asked him to play the role of Biden in debate prep. Unsurprisingly, Christie also contracted COVID and eventually ended up in the ICU, fearing for his life (his eternal soul? not sure). Trump called to make sure Christie wasn’t going to go public and blame him for getting COVID.
Overall? Well, I’m not saying it’s not fun to read Reince Priebus and Sean Spicer get their sad ambitions and wishy-washy nerdiness mocked, but I could also just watch an episode from the first season of the Big Bang Theory.
To my great joy, early in the book, a young man fantasizes that he is within the Barsoomian tales of Burroughs. Even more enjoyable, for me, at least, he name drops neither, just a character you’d only know from having read the books (or seen the movie).
This character grow into a sort of Vidal stand-in; an elite-born man who became a polemical political moralist, who also knew political Washington inside and outside.
Of course, the Washington of Washington, D.C. doesn’t exist anymore. Not in the least because you’ll rarely see Senators hanging around the city on weekends (they are back in the states they represent). But this book also realizes that. At one point, an aging, mostly moral, lion of the Senate muses that he almost lost re-election after being outspent and confesses some confusion over how television and radio ads changed things.
I gather he retroactively incorporated this into his ‘Narratives of Empire’ series, but it lakes the scope and sweep of the two I have read (Burr and Lincoln). It felt rather personal, not in the least because it covered a time when he was growing up in this older Washington.
That said, one can see in the aspiring politician Vidal’s critiques of Kennedy. In the leftist intellectual seduced by that rising star, Arthur Schlesinger (I don’t know what Vidal thought of him). But it’s not exact and more a nearby critique, than a direct one.
Lord help me, in many ways, it’s more Henry James than Gore Vidal, but the better for it. I had set aside my affections for him, but this reminded me that, actually, he’s a d—m fine novelist.
I can’t quite figure out what to make of Zoellick, the author. I live in Washington, DC and I’ve worked in government, so understand what it means for someone to be part of the foreign policy establishment, as Zoellick is, but beyond being a generic example of that, I don’t know what else to say, based on reading this book.
Did I like it all? Of course! It was fascinating. He gives Teddy Roosevelt a lot of credit for being a canny foreign relations player (he also, in a chapter covering Wilson, refer to him at ‘TR’ without giving me any notice that he was going to do that, which caused some initial, pointless confusion); provides a nuanced look at Japanese policy positions and motivations; gives space to previously unknown to me figures like Charles Evans Hughes, who, before becoming Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, played key roles for several presidents in the first quarter of the twentieth century; and did you know that Dean Acheson had ties to Alger Hiss?
Of course, as seemingly every one in the foreign policy establishment does, he gives kudos to James Baker, who I mostly remember as Dubya’s consigliere during the 2000 recount/debacle. I’m trying to be broadminded about him, but it’s not easy. However, President Trump made it easier to look at previous, failed Republican presidents and say to one’s self, well, at least he never instigated the sacking of our nation’s temple of democracy. He also compares Dubya’s vision to Kennedy’s and… I guess I don’t know enough to criticize, but the partisan in me rankles.
And a reminder, in case any reader forgot: the Vietnam-American War was a sad, embarrassing time in U.S. history. Also, not related to this book, but I saw a writer note this, but take a moment and think about your favorite Vietnam movie.
Is it Platoon or Born on the 4th of July or maybe Full Metal Jacket?
I ask because, that writer (whose name I sadly forget) noted that the answer to the question about Vietnam movies or books are invariably media about Americans… not about a Vietnamese person at all. Like a narcissist, it’s all about us.
He writes about, as he must, the famed Sovietologist (is that a real word, or did Foggy Bottom make it up?) George Kennan. I must confess that I have never read his ‘Long Telegram,’ but the description given of it makes it seem like Russia hasn’t changed since it was chief among Soviet republics.
I am old enough to remember when drug stores had revolving wire racks filled with inexpensive paperbacks. Mostly genre novels, maybe with a few classics (usually with more than usually lurid covers) thrown in. One of the books you always saw on those racks was a Doc Savage novel. Read more
No, not the classic wuxia movie, but this recreation of a Tibetan Buddhist shrine. I spoke to one of the security guard’s who said that she transferred to the Asian Art Museum just because she wanted the tranquility that rooms like this offered.
I was walking back towards Eastern Market on Sunday and made a point of walking Riverby Books. I have been trying to restrain my book buying habit lately but it was on my way back (I’d been visiting some museums earlier) so why not?
And I saw… well, you can see the pictures. Read more
I went into the office on a Sunday because I simply couldn’t believe that over the course of four and a half day holiday weekend I hadn’t received any work emails (I hadn’t but then again, our systems were being spotty and people claimed to have tried to send me documents).
Upon discovering that my fears were groundless and having already found parking downtown, I decided to spend a little flaneur time.
First, the National Museum of Women in the Arts.
The museum was not only free that day but featured a Book Art Festival, which is a fancy way of saying that young, creative types set up tables with their zines and chapbooks and letterpress creations.
Naturally, I bought five books. One of those books was a book of art reproductions created in the wake of Trump’s election which leads to my next fortuitous encounter.
While walking to Chinatown in search of noodles, I passed by a sign that pointed through a door and up some stairs to the Center for Contemporary Political Art.
the coffee philosopher 