It's Time for Tradititional Catholics to Become Leaders
I was recently reminded of a story, or rather a legend, about a priest in the Archdiocese of Cincinnati. I can't vouch for the veracity of the story, but neither am I inclined to disbelieve it, since I’m from the neck of the woods where the priest concerned served as pastor.
Back in 1973 the archbishop of Cincinnati, Joseph Bernardine, was celebrating his first Chrism Mass at the cathedral. He was surrounded by all the priests of the archdiocese as he offered the Mass, but at one point in the ceremony he noticed an elderly priest standing toward the back, and it appeared to Bernardine that he wasn’t participating. After the chrism Mass, the archbishop approached the elderly priest and asked him if he had concelebrated the Mass or not.
The elderly priest shook his head sadly and replied, “I’m sorry, Your Excellency, but I’m afraid I don’t know how.”
Archbishop Bernardine was surprised that after four years there were priests in the archdiocese who didn’t know new order of the Mass. He told the elderly priest that he would be sure to send someone at once to make sure he was properly trained. The priest thanked Archbishop Bernardine and then excused himself.
The priest, as the story goes, was the pastor of a small rural parish in the far northern part of the archdiocese, in Mercer County. That particular County had been inhabited by German Catholic immigrants who had built huge German Gothic churches, their towering steeples seeming to grow wildly like weeds in the corn fields. Catholics in that day and in that place were quiet, mind-your-own-business sort of people, who, for better or for worse, took to change very slowly and suspiciously. The new vanguard in Cincinnati considered that part of the archdiocese as a backwater, and, as it turned out, there was a lot on the archbishop’s plate that year, and he soon forgot his conversation with the elderly priest from that far northern corner of his archdiocese.
The following year sadly the elderly priest passed away just before Easter, and this jarred the archbishop’s memory about his conversation with the priest. Fearing that his parish may be a bit backward, he sent as a replacement a young priest thoroughly convinced of the “Spirit of Vatican II” and enthusiastic about the new Mass and creative liturgy.
The new priest arrived just days before the Sacred Triduum, and he was surprised to find some rather serious problems. There were no “proper” vestments at all, and the new priest was happy that he had brought his own set of modern Mass vestments. He also found a rather odd problem with the liturgical schedule for the Triduum. He was confused by the fact that the “Easter Vigil” was scheduled for eight in the morning on Holy Saturday. He was even more surprised that there were no missals for the new Mass anywhere in the parish. In order to say the new order of the Mass the new parish priest had to visit another nearby parish staffed by the Redemptorists to borrow the needed liturgical books.
When the new priest related these oddities to the Redemptorist priest, that priest chuckled. “That old priest,” explained the Redemptorist, “has never said the new Mass.” He patted the new pastor on the shoulder. “In fact, if you look closely at that missal over there, you will see it’s from the 1930s. Those people over there haven’t known any changes to the liturgy since they built that church a hundred years ago.”
Incredibly, for nearly six years after the implementation of the new Mass, there was at least one parish in the Archdiocese of Cincinnati that hadn’t even experienced the liturgical changes of the late 1950s… or so the legend goes. However, with a bit of effort and some special attention by men of a more modern bent, things in that part of the world were eventually set “aright”, and today that same northern and isolated part of the Archdiocese is now stuck in the crazy 70s, ecclesiastically speaking. Like I said, the people there take to change, for good or for bad, slowly and suspiciously.
The story, whether true or embellished, does demonstrate that the vast majority of Catholics, no matter how stubbornly they take to change, looks to the Church and churchmen for guidance and leadership, and will follow the promptings of churchmen for good or for ill simply because they know of no other way.
Traditionalists often have a tendency to see themselves as an isolated group at war with the rest of the “novus ordo establishment” to which they lump any and every Catholic that exclusively attends the Ordinary Form of the Roman Rite. However, these are not the folks against whom we should be fighting, but quite the contrary! The vast majority of Catholics have simply followed the promptings of the churchmen. Keep in mind that if there had been no new order of the Mass, these same Catholics would not have clamored for one. The history of its implementation tells us that the new Mass was foisted on the people, and the people accepted it because that is what Catholics had always done before: they accepted what their pastors and bishops told them to accept. The Modernists and liberals skillfully used this reality to advance their agenda, as did sexual perverts and thieves who weaseled their way into the Church with the Modernists. Fifty years later, the mentality is entrenched, but no more entrenched than the Mass had been before 1969. Turning it around is not impossible or even improbable.
It is important, therefore, that traditionalists, especially traditional priests, become real leaders, instead of a whining group of isolated complainers on the fringes. The Traditional Latin Mass and traditional Catholicism are superior to the alternatives: the Ordinary Form and the liberal experiment, which is now being perceived for the complete failure it is by all but the most entrenched liberals. However, mainstream Catholics will never experience the Traditional Latin Mass if traditionalists do not step up and become the leaders that Christ is calling us to be for His Church. The best way for us to become effective leaders is to pray that God grants us an abundance of charity, so that it might overflow into a genuine concern for our neighbor, which above all is a desire that our neighbor discovers the fullness of the Catholic faith.
Back in 1973 the archbishop of Cincinnati, Joseph Bernardine, was celebrating his first Chrism Mass at the cathedral. He was surrounded by all the priests of the archdiocese as he offered the Mass, but at one point in the ceremony he noticed an elderly priest standing toward the back, and it appeared to Bernardine that he wasn’t participating. After the chrism Mass, the archbishop approached the elderly priest and asked him if he had concelebrated the Mass or not.
The elderly priest shook his head sadly and replied, “I’m sorry, Your Excellency, but I’m afraid I don’t know how.”
Archbishop Bernardine was surprised that after four years there were priests in the archdiocese who didn’t know new order of the Mass. He told the elderly priest that he would be sure to send someone at once to make sure he was properly trained. The priest thanked Archbishop Bernardine and then excused himself.
The priest, as the story goes, was the pastor of a small rural parish in the far northern part of the archdiocese, in Mercer County. That particular County had been inhabited by German Catholic immigrants who had built huge German Gothic churches, their towering steeples seeming to grow wildly like weeds in the corn fields. Catholics in that day and in that place were quiet, mind-your-own-business sort of people, who, for better or for worse, took to change very slowly and suspiciously. The new vanguard in Cincinnati considered that part of the archdiocese as a backwater, and, as it turned out, there was a lot on the archbishop’s plate that year, and he soon forgot his conversation with the elderly priest from that far northern corner of his archdiocese.
The following year sadly the elderly priest passed away just before Easter, and this jarred the archbishop’s memory about his conversation with the priest. Fearing that his parish may be a bit backward, he sent as a replacement a young priest thoroughly convinced of the “Spirit of Vatican II” and enthusiastic about the new Mass and creative liturgy.
The new priest arrived just days before the Sacred Triduum, and he was surprised to find some rather serious problems. There were no “proper” vestments at all, and the new priest was happy that he had brought his own set of modern Mass vestments. He also found a rather odd problem with the liturgical schedule for the Triduum. He was confused by the fact that the “Easter Vigil” was scheduled for eight in the morning on Holy Saturday. He was even more surprised that there were no missals for the new Mass anywhere in the parish. In order to say the new order of the Mass the new parish priest had to visit another nearby parish staffed by the Redemptorists to borrow the needed liturgical books.
When the new priest related these oddities to the Redemptorist priest, that priest chuckled. “That old priest,” explained the Redemptorist, “has never said the new Mass.” He patted the new pastor on the shoulder. “In fact, if you look closely at that missal over there, you will see it’s from the 1930s. Those people over there haven’t known any changes to the liturgy since they built that church a hundred years ago.”
Incredibly, for nearly six years after the implementation of the new Mass, there was at least one parish in the Archdiocese of Cincinnati that hadn’t even experienced the liturgical changes of the late 1950s… or so the legend goes. However, with a bit of effort and some special attention by men of a more modern bent, things in that part of the world were eventually set “aright”, and today that same northern and isolated part of the Archdiocese is now stuck in the crazy 70s, ecclesiastically speaking. Like I said, the people there take to change, for good or for bad, slowly and suspiciously.
The story, whether true or embellished, does demonstrate that the vast majority of Catholics, no matter how stubbornly they take to change, looks to the Church and churchmen for guidance and leadership, and will follow the promptings of churchmen for good or for ill simply because they know of no other way.
Traditionalists often have a tendency to see themselves as an isolated group at war with the rest of the “novus ordo establishment” to which they lump any and every Catholic that exclusively attends the Ordinary Form of the Roman Rite. However, these are not the folks against whom we should be fighting, but quite the contrary! The vast majority of Catholics have simply followed the promptings of the churchmen. Keep in mind that if there had been no new order of the Mass, these same Catholics would not have clamored for one. The history of its implementation tells us that the new Mass was foisted on the people, and the people accepted it because that is what Catholics had always done before: they accepted what their pastors and bishops told them to accept. The Modernists and liberals skillfully used this reality to advance their agenda, as did sexual perverts and thieves who weaseled their way into the Church with the Modernists. Fifty years later, the mentality is entrenched, but no more entrenched than the Mass had been before 1969. Turning it around is not impossible or even improbable.
It is important, therefore, that traditionalists, especially traditional priests, become real leaders, instead of a whining group of isolated complainers on the fringes. The Traditional Latin Mass and traditional Catholicism are superior to the alternatives: the Ordinary Form and the liberal experiment, which is now being perceived for the complete failure it is by all but the most entrenched liberals. However, mainstream Catholics will never experience the Traditional Latin Mass if traditionalists do not step up and become the leaders that Christ is calling us to be for His Church. The best way for us to become effective leaders is to pray that God grants us an abundance of charity, so that it might overflow into a genuine concern for our neighbor, which above all is a desire that our neighbor discovers the fullness of the Catholic faith.
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