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Coming Clean About My Latin Problem

Image: screengrab of SanctaMissa.org

My name is Steve, and I go to the Latin Mass – but I don’t know Latin.

It’s been this way for years. At first, when I started out attending an indult Mass in the days before Summorum Pontificum, I thought someone might notice. But I was good at masking the symptoms, and nobody caught on. If I was looking at my hand Missal, they had no way of knowing which side I was reading. When I’d be invited for dinner at the house of a fellow Latin Masser, I’d quietly demur as they said the “benediction” instead of good old-fashioned “grace.” Eventually, through repetition, I learned how to pray most of the rosary in Latin, and that just gave me more cover. Once in a while, I’d throw out the only line I could remember from the Latin course I took during the one year I homeschooled:

“Non tam praeclarum est scire latine quam turpe nescire.”

They tell me it’s from Cicero. When I say it, it sounds sort of Italian. But that’s probably because that’s how the instructor on the audio cassette sounded. It means, ironically enough, “It is not so much excellent to know Latin as it is a shame not to know it.” Or at least, that’s how I remember the translation, but I can’t be sure – because I don’t speak Latin. I could have it totally wrong, like those college students who get tattoos of Chinese characters that are supposed to say something like “Hope” or “Love” or “Serenity” and in fact say, “I charged this stupid American $50 for a tattoo that says how stupid they are. Stupid. Stooopid.”

When it finally dawned on me that nobody would ever figure me out, it was a little surreal. I realized that I was what they call a “functional Latin ignoramus.” I’ve been going to the Traditional Latin Mass every Sunday since 2004. I get through the whole thing, I do my prayers, I even go up to communion. I smile. I shake hands. Sometimes I joke around. “How about that Collect, eh?” or “Wow, that Introit was spot on today, amirite?” Nobody knows the truth, and they don’t need to.

So really, I thought, who am I hurting?

It got weird, though, when people started arguing with me about how Latin in the liturgy is exclusionary. How it raises the bar too high for entry for most folks. How it makes it impossible for people who never took Latin to have any idea what’s going on. I’d feel the flop sweat start, the bile rising up in the back of my throat as the fear of discovery seared through me like a wave of hot panic. I wanted to tell them. I wanted to get it off my chest. I wanted to scream from the rooftops, “I GO TO THE LATIN MASS AND I DON’T KNOW ANY FREAKING LATIN! DOES THAT MAKE ME LESS OF A PERSON? AM I SINGING THE SALVE REGINA CORRECTLY? DOES GOD EVEN LOVE ME?!?

But I kept my mouth shut. I had a family. A reputation to consider. I was, by this time, writing in defense of the Traditional Latin Mass pretty regularly. I might not survive being exposed.

Like any addict, I told myself I was different. That things wouldn’t catch up to me. That I could just keep going to the TLM and just keep reading the English parts and watching where the priest was and figuring it out by way of the various easy-to-use resources available for that sort of thing and I could maintain my facade. And I knew, deep down, that the priest didn’t need me. I knew that like the Levitical priests of the Old Testament, only he could enter the Holy of Holies and offer the oblation of sacrifice, the sin offering, the Perfect Victim. I knew that not a single thing I did, whether I prayed my missal, walked a crying baby, zoned out because I was tired, or even prayed my rosary during some portion of the liturgy, made a whit of difference as to whether the sacrifice was efficacious. I was completely irrelevant to the outcome of the liturgy, even though the outcome of the liturgy was the most relevant thing in the world to me.

You might think that not mattering would bother me, but it actually made everything easier. In a way, it made me more co-dependent than ever before. I didn’t have to hold anyone’s hand during the Pater Noster. I didn’t have to touch anyone during the sign of peace. I wasn’t expected to mumble my assent to the responsorial psalm or vocalize my participation in the prayers of the faithful. I had left all that behind. I had put myself right smack in the middle of a liturgy where I had absolutely no exterior job to do other than kneel, stand, sit, and receive the Eucharist. It was the perfect cover, and the priest was my enabler.

But then it happened.

My oldest son, who struggled to pay attention during Mass even after he made his first communion, was given a hand missal. It wasn’t even a full-fledged one. No ribbons, no propers, not one of these thick books with all kinds of things in it that might daunt a young mind, just a straightforward text with some sacred art that he could follow along with. I didn’t think much of it at first, but the next thing I knew, it was too late. He was following along. Eight years old, hyperactive, unable to focus on anything except Legos and TV, and suddenly there he was, instead of writing on the back of parish envelopes with stubby little pencils, beginning to show the signs of following me into addiction. I thought he would be immune. Everyone always said it was too hard for kids. That even adults couldn’t follow this dusty old Mass. The barriers were too much to surmount. But there I was, watching a child, my own flesh and blood, turning the pages of his little book and knowing where the priest was and what he was doing, his small whisper occasionally reaching my ears, “Dad, which page are we on now?”

He was just like me. He was going to the Latin Mass, getting something out of it, and all without knowing a word of Latin.

I had ignored the signs, I guess, when his older sisters and mother had done the same. Tried to tell myself that they were not really paying attention, but just holding the books while they thought about kittens and rainbows and makeup and other girl stuff. But to see my son, the oldest of my four boys, following in my footsteps? I finally realized that I was leading by example, and it was all my fault.

So I’m coming clean. I am here to admit the truth: I get more out of the Traditional Latin Mass than I ever have from any other liturgy, and I’m a complete and total poser when it comes to “Latin, the living language of the Church.” (If I wasn’t, I might know how to write that in Latin. I tried. It came out all wrong. Even with the help of Google.)

More to the point, though, I’ve decided not to run from who I am. Instead, I’m here to embrace it. I have no intention of changing. My addiction is not going to go away. I need a meaningful Mass, one rich with symbol and gesture and prayer and reverence. One that has stood the test of time over many, many centuries, and has spiritually nourished countless saints. People say it’s too difficult, that they couldn’t live like that, but maybe they should walk a mile in my shoes before they condemn me. I’m not a bad person because I love the TLM but am clueless about the “L” part. We’ve all got our problems. And what I get out of it…it’s worth it to me. Who are you to judge?

I also wanted to speak up for those afraid to speak for themselves. A lot of you out there are probably just like me, quietly hiding your ignorance of Latin as you come to Mass in your suits and long skirts and chapel veils and go through the motions along with the rest of us, silently reading the prayers at the foot of the altar on the English side with an occasional glance at the Latin just because it sounds cool and you can make out a few root words here and there.

I am here to tell you that YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

Do not let them shame you! It’s okay to want Mass to be mysterious. It’s okay not to understand everything that’s going on 100%. Do you think the people knew what the High Priest was doing when he went in to offer sacrifice on the day of atonement? For heaven’s sake, they stayed outside. They tied a rope around his leg to pull him out if anything happened because nobody was allowed to go in except him. Did that stop them?

It’s also okay to want to step into a sacred space and time. To step out of the banality of the every day world and into something transcendent. Sublime. We don’t come for something quotidian. This is something secret, something special. It does not speak to us in common words. It causes us to sit up and take notice. To pay attention. It demands something from us – as good liturgy should.

The Church recommends Latin for all. No less a pope than Pope St. John XXIII, who invoked the Second Vatican Council which is largely (and somewhat falsely) attributed with the abandonment of Latin in the liturgy, spoke beautifully of the importance of Latin in the life of the Church in his apostolic constitution, Veterum Sapientia

Of its very nature Latin is most suitable for promoting every form of culture among peoples. It gives rise to no jealousies. It does not favor any one nation, but presents itself with equal impartiality to all and is equally acceptable to all.

Nor must we overlook the characteristic nobility of Latin formal structure. Its “concise, varied and harmonious style, full of majesty and dignity” makes for singular clarity and impressiveness of expression.

[…]

[T]he Catholic Church has a dignity far surpassing that of every merely human society, for it was founded by Christ the Lord. It is altogether fitting, therefore, that the language it uses should be noble, majestic, and non-vernacular.

The pope went on to order the bishops to ensure the study of Latin for those entering the priesthood and teaching theology. He also wanted the traditional curriculum restored, so that all students could have a grounding in this ancient and venerable language.

As everyone now knows, his orders were disobeyed.

Catholics like me, therefore, are bereft of the treasure of knowing Latin. But if we come clean, if we step forward into the light, perhaps we can effect change. As that one awful, awful, just really terrible hymn they made me sing at my first communion said, “Let our tears be turned into dancing.” I can’t quote any more of it without risking nausea, but perhaps the realization that we love the Church’s liturgy enough to want to be there even when it’s in a language we don’t know might help bring about a restoration of Latin study to edify the generations that follow.

Until then, we will persevere, and I am here to tell you that it is not so difficult as you may believe. There are even certain benefits to our condition. When you have to follow along in a hand missal, for example, it’s a bit more challenging than attending a liturgy you know by heart. It requires you to check, if you’ve lost yourself in prayer, to see where the priest is. You have to turn pages, check propers, and ensure that you’re in the right place at the right time if you wish to follow along. Believe it or not, this is a far more active form of participation than mere repetition “like zombies” (to use the words of my 9-year-old daughter) can provide. If you don’t believe me, try it some time.

And as long as you have your handy missal, you can go anywhere in the world where they have a TLM and get the same Mass – a Mass you can follow along with eye, mind, and heart. Whether you’re in Manhattan, Vienna, Budapest, or Hong Kong, you can experience the universality of the Church through a single, structured liturgy and a single, structured language. (Conversely, pick a different parish at random out of a phone book each Sunday for a month just in your own diocese and you’ll find a vastly differing experience, to say nothing of what you’ll find during international travel.)

Many people think that Latin Massers are hung up on Latin in the liturgy because they love the language so much. I certainly like the way it sounds, and care deeply about what it represents, but I suppose it’s hard to truly love what you don’t know. In that sense, Cicero was right. For Catholics, it truly is excellent to know Latin. It’s also a shame not to know it, but I get by. Many do.

In discussions of liturgy, I’ve often told people that Latin is, in many respects, the least important thing that distinguishes the Traditional Latin Mass from the new missal. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t important. It means everything in the ancient liturgy is.

Do not be ashamed. It’s okay to admit the truth. Non-Latin speaking TLM-lovers of the world, unite!

Originally published on March 11, 2015. 

26 thoughts on “Coming Clean About My Latin Problem”

  1. The flip side to this is the opposition to the TLM who argue that they (or for the younger crowd, their mom, dad, aunt, grandparents) went to the Mass in Latin and “didn’t get anything out of it”.
    I don’t think they realize they’ve just admitted that a) they’re illiterate and can’t read the English in the Missal or b) had parents who shamefully neglected their duty to teach them what Mass was about or c) just aren’t very bright.
    None of which reflects on the Mass itself.

    While we’re confessing- what initially drew me to the TLM was the chance to wallow in Latin, even though it took some time to get used to ecclesiastical vs. classical. The great beauty and depth of the liturgy dawned on me gradually. Mea culpa.

    Reply
  2. OK, I’ll send you another Franklin.

    Judith had always imagined that Roman Catholics had a special grace or charism – whatever the word was – enabling them to understand Latin. Perhaps they had, but it was quite certain that they were not using it. Nobody was paying the slightest attention to the priest, just as the priest was paying not the slightest attention to the congregation.

    In front of her, the older children were rolling their coppers about the floor while the younger ones filled their mother’s handbag with sticky sweet-papers or used the bench as an improvised trapeze. All this without the parents taking any notice whatsoever, except when the father gave the youngest a good clout for climbing up his back and landing, over his head, on the bench in front. Dad was far too occupied in arranging little pictures of saints in a much-thumbed book called, Judith could see, The Garden of the Soul. Mum sighed spasmodically as she rattled, very literally, though the Rosary. Much the same was going on all round her.

    However, all these good people must have had a vague consciousness of what was happening at the altar because they all followed with unbelievable discipline a sort of sacred gym of breast-beating, cross-signing, kneeling, sitting, standing and the like.…

    Then things seemed to start in earnest. The priest began fiddling about with his tools in complete silence. Dad started to clout his children at regular intervals. Something was up. From her mediaeval studies, Judith recognized the Sanctus. There was a surge onto knees; she could hear the click in the old folk’s joints. There was another bell and even the smallest child in front of her disappeared under the bench. Then there were six bells and the elevation. Judith knew what it meant: it was the consecration, the Real Presence. There fell a silence like the primeval silence before ever the world came to be. It was colossal.

    Anyway, so it went on, all utterly inhuman, out of this world.…

    So that was Mass. Certainly it had been nothing like her preconceived notion as to what a religious ceremony ought to be. It was not in any sense a community service; everybody seemed to be doing exactly as he liked. There was no question of “improving” anybody. Neither were there any of those ghastly, smug prayers which used to make her writhe at school.…

    In the sharp light of a first impression Judith could see the problem clearly. It had nothing to do with particular theological arguments; it concerned the whole orientation of man’s outlook. Was religion centered on man or was it centered on God? She hunted round in her mind until she had found the correct terms. Was it theocentric or anthropocentric? Was the basic religious act one of adoring or one of begging? The Mass gave a peremptory answer: the religious act was theocentric; it was an act of adoration. All those strange folk, including the boisterous family in front of her, were not begging for peace or justice but, quite unselfconsciously, were attempting to adore. The object of their adoration, too, was perfectly clear: it was the Real Presence.

    In practice, the Real Presence came as a bit of a shock to Judith. She had naturally met a number of apparently sane R.C.’s. She had always taken it for granted that by the Real Presence they must mean something other than a real presence. They must attach the notion of reality to their supreme symbol; “symbolic reality” would be a better term. It was the same with “transubstantiation”; she took it for granted that sane R.C.’s must mean that the significance of the bread and wine had changed; in ordinary language it would be “trans-signification.” But the experience of one Mass had disillusioned her. It was abundantly clear from their whole attitude that those pious Papists, groveling on the floor with rosaries, Gardens of the Soul and sticky sweets, believed quite literally in the Awe-ful Presence…

    The insignificance of the priest also surprised her. She had always understood that Catholicism was priest-ridden. But the priest seemed to be no more than a craftsman, of much less personal importance than the chaplain at school. All the priest did was turn up with his little mate and lay on the Body and Blood of Christ as the plumber lays on the water. He picked up his tools and vanished once the tap of Eternal Life had been turned on.

    By this time Judith was alone in the church apart from the priest. A moment ago he had been decked out in lace and silks. Now he knelt, a block shadow, at the altar rails. Yes, Judith could see how it was: he had enacted his part, the gay moth fluttering around the Light of the World; inevitably he had scorched his wings and was again no more than a mournful caterpillar.

    It took enormous courage. Judith went up to him and said: “Father, I want to become a Catholic.”

    Bryan Houghton, Judith’s Marriage, pp. 19–22

    Reply
  3. Excellent! Thanks Steve. I go to the TLM not because of the Latin, but because I can kneel to receive on the tongue from a priest, and I KNOW there will be no liturgical abuse and it will be not only valid but also licit. I don’t love Latin, I love a reverent and beautiful Liturgy and good solid orthodox preaching, both of which are rare these days and far more likely to be found at a TLM than anywhere else.

    Reply
  4. While I agree that for purposes of worship and devotion, a knowledge of Latin is not necessary, I do think if one has intellectual or academic interests in the Roman liturgy, one should study Latin. The nuances of the Latin texts can be quite informative, and even the best hand Missals don’t catch these. This recent talk by Fr. Hunwicke encapsulates this point perfectly. It helps that he is an excellent Latinist.

    http://yourlisten.com/cenacleosb/fr-john-hunwicke-the-grammar-of-worship

    Also, if we are seeking to re-establish Catholic culture, we should do everything we can to ensure that our children are given ample opportunity to formally study Latin. Not only does it connect them with centuries of ecclesiastical texts, but it also gives them a better command of their own language, as well as giving them access to the treasury of ancient Roman literature, much of which contains wisdom that is highly applicable to modern problems.

    Reply
    • There was a misleading typo in the piece, which I regret. In the section where I said, “It’s also not a shame not to know it”, the second “not” shouldn’t have been there. It *is* a shame not to know it. I wish I did. Which is why I hope my children will have the opportunity to learn more Latin than I did. (And since I learned none, that’s a pretty low bar.)

      Reply
  5. I admit I’m craving to celebrate Mass in Latin. But over in La Paz-Bolivia there is not such a thing. Still I’m learning the prayers in Latin, and want to learn now how to conjugate verbs. The reason is simple, Latin has to do a lot with my mother tongue (Spanish), but it also relates to the German (which I also speak medium level)…so in short it is a fun process. I’m thankful to have this itch for languages and I sure hope to have a basic Latin level by the time I go to the Monastery.

    Reply
  6. The SSPX has the TLM.
    SSPX ‘spokesman’ : Theology of Vatican Council II is in agreement with the strict interpretation of extra ecclesiam nulla salus
    http://eucharistandmission.blogspot.it/2015/03/sspx-spokesman-theology-of-vatican.html

    Vatican Council II (premise-free) agrees with the SSPX position on an ecumenism of return and non Christians needing to convert for salvation
    http://eucharistandmission.blogspot.it/2015/03/vatican-council-ii-premise-free-agrees.html

    Reply
  7. Most of the propers you hear at Mass are in fact from the psalms, so I suggest to anyone who wants to improve their understanding of Latin/the TLM: buy the Baronius Press Roman Breviary. Vatican II called for the laity to pick up the divine office in their spiritual lives anyway. Unlike the online version the Baronius Press book neatly lines up the Latin and the English translation. Those who pray/have prayed the Liturgy of the Hours should already be familiar with the structure, otherwise use the guide that comes with it or refer to the online version to learn the structure. Force yourself to read the Latin, out loud if possible. When you pause at each of the asterisks, look at the parallel English translation before continuing with the Latin. Admittedly this will be a very slow process at first, so make sure you give yourself plenty of time, and it would probably be best to start with only one of the little hours and add more as you get better.This breviary runs on a one-week cycle, so as time goes on you will quickly be familiarized with many psalm phrases and you will recognize them when you hear them at Mass, even if you can’t dissect the grammar. Especially on feast days many of the readings at Mass will in fact be taken directly from the breviary (or does the breviary take them from the Mass?). Of course, none of this is a replacement for taking a Latin class, but if all you want is to improve your prayer life, this is a good way to go about it.

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  8. Bishop Scharfenberger of the Albany Diocese said High Mass in the Extraordinary Form this morning at the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception. Lots of quite time. No mics except at the lecturn. Latin? No Latin? No problem!

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  9. Does it really matter that you know exactly what the priest is praying at a given moment? Isn’t it suppossed to be inaudible anyway? I thought the actions (which even a completely illiterate person can grasp) would be sufficient to know as much as a person would need to know? Knowing more is of course good, but is it really necessary?

    In a way, I feel that one of the advantages of the TLM is that it has very rich actions that communicate the sacredness of what is happening. Even the use of Latin in that sense is like an action that serves to communicate the sense of mystery and importance by using the language set aside for this specific purpose. As the old adage goes, actions speak louder than words 🙂

    Reply
  10. Yes, Judith could see how it was: he had enacted his part, the gay moth fluttering around the Light of the World;

    Well, that’s another piece of fine literature that’s been desecrated by the homosexual lobby.

    Reply
  11. Sorry for the digression but the following is sad [we can no longer pray in unison]:

    Before heading out, the Pope called on the group to pray the Hail Mary together in their own respective language, as they all called for peace. – Source: http://www.romereports.com/pg161462-pope-to-middle-eastern-nuns-pray-for-white-glove-persecution-to-stop-en

    Reminds me reading a lament of a prelate [I believe], who said the faithful no longer can recite the Pater Noster together at St. Peter’s.

    Reply
    • The Church’s and the Pope’s competency: Faith & Morals.
      *
      The Church’s, the Pope’s, and the Magisterium’s relationship with science: If required, to make a judgment whether or not a science, its methodology, and its conclusions [etc.] are compatible with the Faith [& Morals].
      *
      Infallibility:

      – What is covers: Cf. CCC 2035.

      – The Church’s: Cf. CCC 889-91.

      – The Magisterium of the Pastors’: Cf. CCC 2051.

      – The Pope’s: Cf. CCC 891.

      Reply

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