Professor Anthony Esolen (of the Dominicans' Providence College) gave a wonderful talk on Thursday entitled "Catholicism: The Last Hope of a Dying Culture," sponsored by the Tocqueville Forum on the Roots of American Democracy. While I'll comment more in-depth on this talk in a couple of days, I'd just like to offer some thoughts on a rather profound point which Prof. Esolen brought up in passing.
He referenced a vision which Bernard of Clairvaux had of the fallen angels, whose legs are without knees, a physical manifestation of their refusal to serve God, that sin which resonates throughout all of hell, that sin which caused Lucifer to be thrown from Heaven in his simple assertion that "Non serviam" (I will not serve). But why be kneeless? Kneeling, quite simply, is a sign of physical deference, a physical action which makes manifest interior movements of the heart. Just as kissing is one of many signs manifesting the romantic love between a couple, so is kneeling the natural position one takes when showing respect for something or someone. I've heard of this imagery before, the imagery of the fallen to lack the ability to kneel, and I think it's imagery which has powerful implications for Catholics today.
Back in the pre-Vatican II days, Esolen pointed out, the congregation would approach the altar after the consecration of the Eucharist, and kneel alongside one another on an altar rail in order to receive the Sacrament. While this tradition is still central to the Mass at some parishes, we generally approach the sanctuary in a single-file line, as if we're exchanging a ticket for something of unspeakable mystery. Weird, no? Haven't we lost a profoundly communal aspect of the Mass? Haven't we lost the understanding that the Mass is a communal ritual, something to be partaken in together, as one body of the faithful?
The General Instruction of the Roman Missal holds that "In the dioceses of the United States of America, [the faithful] should kneel beginning after the singing or recitation of the Sanctus until after the Amen of the Eucharistic Prayer, except when prevented on occasion by reasons of health, lack of space, the large number of people present, or some other good reason. Those who do not kneel ought to make a profound bow when the priest genuflects after the consecration. The faithful kneel after the Agnus Dei unless the diocesan bishop determines otherwise."
And yet, it's rather widespread practice in many parishes to not kneel during the appropriate times. I can't help but feel uncomfortable going to the 7:30pm Mass at Dahlgren, where few people kneel; don't get me wrong, I love the priests who say the 7:30, I think the choir and music are powerfully reverent (save, perhaps, for the bongo drums), but I can't help but get the feeling that folks are largely ignorant of the symbolism inherent in physical posture. Now, this is admittedly a judgment of the way in which the liturgy is practiced at Georgetown, but I want to stress the fact that this is not borne from animosity.
This is largely a symptom of the "happy-go-lucky" feeling which so many contemporary liturgies are plagued with. Of course, the Mass is a celebration which finds its roots in agapic eucharistic meals (the standard for first and second century Christians), but it is, in its most fundamental essence, a sacrifice. But, not just any sacrifice. The Sacrifice. The Sacrifice which set loose humankind from our broken nature, the Sacrifice of God-made-man which makes possible our salvation, the Sacrifice which demonstrates what deepest love requires of us.
We have undoubtedly lost the sense that the Mass truly is a sacrifice in many modern liturgical practices; this is in part the beauty of the Tridentine Mass, as it is charged with an atmosphere that heightens our awareness of the Mass's mystery. The sacrifice of the Mass is truly something to rejoice in, but joy does not necessarily equate with bongo drums and liturgical dancing (at least in our culture). This joy is something far more interior, a joy which recognizes that the Mass is one of the most wonderful and beautiful gifts given to us; this is a joy whose overwhelming beauty ought to bring tears to our eyes and force us to our knees.
Yours in Christ,
Dave Gregory
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