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Chapter 1: The Prayer of the Liturgy
An old theological
proverb says, "Nothing done by nature and grace is done in vain." Nature and
grace obey their own laws, which are based upon certain established hypotheses.
Both the natural and the supernatural life of the soul, when lived in accordance
with these principles, remain healthy, develop, and are enriched. In isolated
cases the rules may be waived without any danger, when such a course is required
or excused by reason of a spiritual disturbance, imperative necessity,
extraordinary occasion, important end in view, or the like. In the end, however,
this cannot be done with impunity. Just as the life of the body droops and is
stunted when the conditions of its growth are not observed, so it is with
spiritual and religious life--it sickens, losing its vigor, strength and unity.
This is even more true where the regular spiritual life of a corporate body is
concerned. Exceptions play a far greater part, after all, in the life of the
individual than in that of the group. As soon as a group is in question, concern
is immediately aroused with regard to the regulation of those practices and
prayers which will constitute the permanent form of its devotion in common; and
then the crucial question arises whether the fundamental laws which govern
normal interior life--in the natural as in the supernatural order--are in this
case to have currency or not. For it is no longer a question of the correct
attitude to be adopted, from the spiritual point of view, towards the adjustment
of some temporary requirement or need, but of the form to be taken by the
permanent legislation which will henceforth exercise an enduring influence upon
the soul. This is not intended to regulate entirely independent cases, each on
its own merits, but to take into account the average requirements and demands of
everyday life. It is not to serve as a model for the spiritual life of the
individual, but for that of a corporate body, composed of the most distinct and
varied elements. From this it follows that any defect in its organization will
inevitably become both apparent and obtrusive. It is true that at first every
mistake will be completely overshadowed by the particular circumstances--the
emergency or disturbance--which justified the adoption of that particular line
of conduct. But in proportion as the extraordinary symptoms subside, and the
normal existence of the soul is resumed, the more forcibly every interior
mistake is bound to come to light, sowing destruction on all sides in its
course.
The fundamental conditions essential to the full expansion of spiritual life as
it is lived in common are most clearly discernible in the devotional life of any
great community which has spread its development over a long period of time. Its
scheme of life has by then matured and developed its full value. In a corporate
body--composed of people of highly varied circumstances, drawn from distinct
social strata, perhaps even from different races, in the course of different
historical and cultural periods--the ephemeral, adventitious, and locally
characteristic elements are, to a certain extent, eliminated, and that which is
universally accepted as binding and essential comes to the fore. In other words,
the canon of spiritual administration becomes, in the course of time, objective
and impartial.
The Catholic liturgy is the supreme example of an objectively established rule
of spiritual life. It has been able to develop "kata tou holou," that is to say,
in every direction, and in accordance with all places, times, and types of human
culture. Therefore it will be the best teacher of the "via ordinaria"--the
regulation of religious life in common, with, at the same time, a view to actual
needs and requirements.1
The significance of the liturgy must, however, be more exactly defined. Our
first task will be to establish the quality of its relation to the
non-liturgical forms of spiritual life.
The primary and exclusive aim of the liturgy is not the expression of the
individual's reverence and worship for God. It is not even concerned with the
awakening, formation, and sanctification of the individual soul as such. Nor
does the onus of liturgical action and prayer rest with the individual. It does
not even rest with the collective groups, composed of numerous individuals, who
periodically achieve a limited and intermittent unity in their capacity as the
congregation of a church. The liturgical entity consists rather of the united
body of the faithful as such--the Church--a body which infinitely outnumbers the
mere congregation. The liturgy is the Church's public and lawful act of worship,
and it is performed and conducted by the officials whom the Church herself has
designated for the post--her priests. In the liturgy God is to be honored by the
body of the faithful, and the latter is in its turn to derive sanctification
from this act of worship. It is important that this objective nature of the
liturgy should be fully understood. Here the Catholic conception of worship in
common sharply differs from the Protestant, which is predominatingly
individualistic. The fact that the individual Catholic, by his absorption into
the higher unity, finds liberty and discipline, originates in the twofold nature
of man, who is both social and solitary.
Now, side by side with the strictly ritual and entirely objective forms of
devotion, others exist, in which the personal element is more strongly marked.
To this type belong those which are known as "popular devotions," such as
afternoon prayers accompanied by hymns, devotions suited to varying periods,
localities, or requirements and so on. They bear the stamp of their time and
surroundings, and are the direct expression of the characteristic quality or
temper of an individual congregation.
Although in comparison with the prayer of the individual, which is expressive of
purely personal needs and aspirations, popular devotions are both communal and
objective, they are to a far greater degree characteristic of their origin than
is the liturgy, the entirely objective and impersonal method of prayer practiced
by the Church as a whole. This is the reason for the greater stress laid by
popular devotion upon the individual need of edification. Hence the rules and
forms of liturgical practice cannot be taken, without more ado, as the
authoritative and decisive standard for non-liturgical prayer. The claim that
the liturgy should be taken as the exclusive pattern of devotional practice in
common can never be upheld. To do so would be to confess complete ignorance of
the spiritual requirements of the greater part of the faithful. The forms of
popular piety should rather continue to exist side by side with those of the
liturgy, and should constitute themselves according to the varying requirements
of historical, social, and local conditions. There could be no greater mistake
than that of discarding the valuable elements in the spiritual life of the
people for the sake of the liturgy, or than the desire of assimilating them to
it. But in spite of the fact that the liturgy and popular devotion have each
their own special premises and aims, still it is to liturgical worship that
pre-eminence of right belongs. The liturgy is and will be the "lex orandi." Non-
liturgical prayer must take the liturgy for its model, and must renew itself in
the liturgy, if it is to retain its vitality. It cannot precisely be said that
as dogma is to private religious opinion, so is the liturgy to popular devotion;
but the connection between the latter does to a certain degree correspond with
that special relation, characteristic of the former, which exists between the
government and the governed. All other forms of devotional practice can always
measure their shortcomings by the standard of the liturgy, and with its help
find the surest way back to the "via ordinaria" when they have strayed from it.
The changing demands of time, place, and special circumstance can express
themselves in popular devotion; facing the latter stands the liturgy, from which
clearly issue the fundamental laws--eternally and universally unchanging--which
govern all genuine and healthy piety.
In the following pages an attempt will be made to select from the liturgy and to
analyze several of these laws. But it is an attempt pure and simple, which
professes to be neither exhaustive nor conclusive.
The first and most important lesson which the liturgy has to teach is that the
prayer of a corporate body must be sustained by thought. The prayers of the
liturgy are entirely governed by and interwoven with dogma. Those who are
unfamiliar with liturgical prayer often regard them as theological formula,
artistic and didactic, until on closer acquaintance they suddenly perceive and
admit that the clear-cut, lucidly constructed phrases are full of interior
enlightenment. To give an outstanding example, the wonderful Collects of the
Masses of Sunday may be quoted. Wherever the stream of prayer wells abundantly
upwards, it is always guided into safe channels by means of plain and lucid
thought. Interspersed among the pages of the Missal and the Breviary are
readings from Holy Scripture and from the works of the Fathers, which
continually stimulate thought. Often these readings are introduced and concluded
by short prayers of a characteristically contemplative and reflective
nature--the antiphons--during which that which has been heard or read has time
to cease echoing and to sink into the mind. The liturgy, the "lex orandi," is,
according to the old proverb, the law of faith--the "lex credendi"--as well. It
is the treasure-house of the thought of Revelation.
This is not, of course, an attempt to deny that the heart and the emotions play
an important part in the life of prayer. Prayer is, without a doubt, "a raising
of the heart to God." But the heart must be guided, supported, and purified by
the mind. In individual cases or on definite and explicit occasions it may be
possible to persist in, and to derive benefit from, emotion pure and simple,
either spontaneous or occasioned by a fortunate chance. But a regular and
recurrent form of devotion lights upon the most varied moods, because no one day
resembles another. If the content of these devotional forms is of a
predominatingly emotional character, it will bear the stamp of its fortuitous
origin, since the feeling engendered by solitary spiritual occurrences flows for
the most part into special and particular channels. Such a prayer therefore will
always be unsuitable if it does not harmonize, to a certain degree at least,
with the disposition of the person who is to offer it. Unless this condition is
complied with, either it is useless or it may even mar the sentiment
experienced. The same thing occurs when a form of prayer intended for a
particular purpose is considered to be adapted to the most varied occasions.
Only thought is universally current and consistent, and, as long as it is really
thought, remains suited, to a certain degree, to every intelligence. If prayer
in common, therefore, is to prove beneficial to the majority, it must be
primarily directed by thought, and not by feeling. It is only when prayer is
sustained by and steeped in clear and fruitful religious thought, that it can be
of service to a corporate body, composed of distinct elements, all actuated by
varying emotions.
We have seen that thought alone can keep spiritual life sound and healthy. In
the same way, prayer is beneficial only when it rests on the bedrock of truth.
This is not meant in the purely negative sense that it must be free from error;
in addition to this, it must spring from the fullness of truth. It is only
truth--or dogma, to give it its other name--which can make prayer efficacious,
and impregnate it with that austere, protective strength without which it
degenerates into weakness. If this is true of private prayer, it is doubly so of
popular devotion, which in many directions verges on sentimentality.2 Dogmatic
thought brings release from the thralldom of individual caprice, and from the
uncertainty and sluggishness which follow in the wake of emotion. It makes
prayer intelligible, and causes it to rank as a potent factor in life.
If, however, religious thought is to do justice to its mission, it must
introduce into prayer truth in all its fullness.
Various individual truths of Revelation hold a special attraction for the
temperaments and conditions to which they correspond. It is easy to see that
certain people have a pronounced predilection for certain mysteries of faith.
This is shown in the case of converts, for instance, by the religious ideas
which first arrested their attention at their entry into the Church, or which
decided them on the step they were taking, and in other cases by the truths
which at the approach of doubt form the mainstay and buttress of the whole house
of faith. In the same way doubt does not charge at random, but attacks for the
most part those mysteries of faith which appeal least to the temperament of the
people concerned.3
If a prayer therefore stresses any one mystery of faith in an exclusive or an
excessive manner, in the end it will adequately satisfy none but those who are
of a corresponding temperament, and even the latter will eventually become
conscious of their need of truth in its entirety. For instance, if a prayer
deals exclusively with God's mercy, it will not ultimately satisfy even a
delicate and tender piety, because this truth calls for its complement-the fact
of God's justice and majesty. In any form of prayer, therefore, which is
intended for the ultimate use of a corporate body, the whole fullness of
religious truth must be included.
Here, too, the liturgy is our teacher. It condenses into prayer the entire body
of religious truth. Indeed, it is nothing else but truth expressed in terms of
prayer. For it is the great fundamental truths4 which above all fill the
liturgy--God in His mighty reality, perfection, and greatness, One, and Three in
One; His creation, providence, and omnipresence; sin, justification, and the
desire of salvation; the Redeemer and His kingdom; the four last things. It is
only such an overwhelming abundance of truth which can never pall, but continue
to be, day after day, all things to all men, ever fresh and inexhaustible.
In the end, therefore, prayer in common will be fruitful only in so far as it
does not concentrate markedly, or at any rate exclusively, on particular
portions of revealed truth, but embraces, as far as possible, the whole of
Divine teaching. This is especially important where the people are concerned,
because they easily tend to develop a partiality for particular mysteries of
faith which for some reason have become dear to them.5 On the other hand, it is
obvious that prayer must not be overladen and as a result form a mere hotchpotch
of ill-assorted thoughts and ideas--a thing which sometimes does occur. Yet
without the element of spaciousness, spiritual life droops and becomes narrow
and petty. "The truth shall make you free"--free not only from the thralldom of
error, but free as a preparation for the vastness of God's kingdom.
While the necessity of thought is emphasized, it must not be allowed to
degenerate into the mere frigid domination of reason. Devotional forms on the
contrary should be permeated by warmth of feeling.
On this point as well the liturgy has many recommendations to make. The ideas
which fill it are vital: that is to say, they spring from the impulses of the
heart which has been molded by grace, and must again in their turn affect other
eager and ardent hearts. The Church's worship is full of deep feeling, of
emotion that is intense, and sometimes even vehement. Take the Psalms, for
instance--how deeply moving they often are! Listen to the expression of longing
in the "Quemadmodum," of remorse in the "Miserere," of exultation in the Psalms
of praise, and of indignant righteousness in those denouncing the wicked. Or
consider the remarkable spiritual tension which lies between the mourning of
Good Friday and the joy of Easter morning.
Liturgical emotion is, however, exceedingly instructive. It has its moments of
supreme climax, in which all bounds are broken, as, for instance, in the
limitless rejoicing of the "Exultet" on Holy Saturday. But as a rule it is
controlled and subdued. The heart speaks powerfully, but thought at once takes
the lead; the forms of prayer are elaborately constructed, the constituent parts
carefully counterbalanced; and as a rule they deliberately keep emotion under
strict control. In this way, in spite of the deep feeling to be found in, say,
the Psalms (to instance them once more), a sense of restraint pervades
liturgical form.
The liturgy as a whole is not favorable to exuberance of feeling. Emotion glows
in its depths, but it smolders merely, like the fiery heart of the volcano,
whose summit stands out clear and serene against the quiet sky. The liturgy is
emotion, but it is emotion under the strictest control. We are made particularly
aware of this at Holy Mass, and it applies equally to the prayers of the
Ordinary and of the Canon, and to those of the Proper of the Time. Among them
are to be found masterpieces of spiritual restraint.
The restraint characteristic of the liturgy is at times very pronounced--so much
so as to make this form of prayer appear at first as a frigid intellectual
production, until we gradually grow familiar with it and realize what vitality
pulsates in the clear, measured forms.
And how necessary this discipline is! At certain moments and on certain
occasions it is permissible for emotion to have a vent. But a prayer which is
intended for the everyday use of a large body of people must be restrained. If,
therefore, it has uncontrolled and unbalanced emotion for a foundation, it is
doubly dangerous. It will operate in one of two ways. Either the people who use
it will take it seriously, and probably will then feel obliged to force
themselves into acquiescence with an emotion that they have never, generally
speaking, experienced, or which, at any rate, they are not experiencing at that
particular moment, thus perverting and degrading their religious feeling. Or
else indifference, if they are of a phlegmatic temperament, will come to their
aid; they then take the phrases at less than their face value, and consequently
the word is depreciated.
Written prayer is certainly intended as a means of instruction and of promoting
an increased sensibility. But its remoteness from the average emotional attitude
must not be allowed to become too great. If prayer is ultimately to be fruitful
and beneficial to a corporate body, it must be intense and profound, but at the
same time normally tranquil in tone. The wonderful verses of the hymn--hardly
translatable, so full are they of penetrating insight--may be quoted in this
connection:
Laeti bibamus sobriam
Ebrietatem Spiritus . . .6
Certainly we must not try to measure off the lawful share of emotion with a
foot-rule; but where a plain and straightforward expression suffices we must not
aggrandize nor embellish it; and a simple method of speech is always to be
preferred to an overloaded one.
Again, the liturgy has many suggestions to make on the quality of the emotion
required for the particular form of prayer under discussion, which is ultimately
to prove universally beneficial. It must not be too choice in expression, nor
spring from special sections of dogma, but clearly express the great fundamental
feelings, both natural and spiritual, as do the Psalms, for instance, where we
find the utterance of adoration, longing for God, gratitude, supplication, awe,
remorse, love, readiness for sacrifice, courage in suffering, faith, confidence,
and so on. The emotion must not be too acutely penetrating, too tender, or too
delicate, but strong, clear, simple and natural.
Then the liturgy is wonderfully reserved. It scarcely expresses, even, certain
aspects of spiritual surrender and submission, or else it veils them in such
rich imagery that the soul still feels that it is hidden and secure. The prayer
of the Church does not probe and lay bare the heart's secrets; it is as
restrained in thought as in imagery; it does, it is true, awaken very profound
and very tender emotions and impulses, but it leaves them hidden. There are
certain feelings of surrender, certain aspects of interior candor which cannot
be publicly proclaimed, at any rate in their entirety, without danger to
spiritual modesty. The liturgy has perfected a masterly instrument which has
made it possible for us to express our inner life in all its fullness and depth,
without divulging our secrets--"secretum meum mihi." We can pour out our hearts,
and still feel that nothing has been dragged to light that should remain
hidden.7
This is equally true of the system of moral conduct which is to be found in
prayer.
Liturgical action and liturgical prayer are the logical consequences of certain
moral premises--the desire for justification, contrition, readiness for
sacrifice, and so on--and often issue afresh into moral actions. But there again
it is possible to observe a fine distinction. The liturgy does not lightly exact
moral actions of a very far-reaching nature, especially those which denote an
interior decision. It requires them where the matter is of real importance,
e.g., the abjuration at baptism, or the vows at the final reception into an
order. When, however, it is a question of making regular daily prayer fruitful
in everyday intentions and decisions, the liturgy is very cautious. For
instance, it does not rashly utter such things as vows, or full and permanent
repudiations of sin, entire and lasting surrender, all-embracing consecration of
one's entire being, utter contempt for and renouncement of the world, promises
of exclusive love, and the like. Such ideas are present at times, fairly
frequently even, but generally under the form of a humble entreaty that the
suppliant may be vouchsafed similar sentiments, or that he is encouraged to
ponder upon their goodness and nobility, or is exhorted on the same subject. But
the liturgy avoids the frequent use of those prayers in which these moral
actions are specifically expressed.
How right this is! In moments of exaltation and in the hour of decision such a
manner of speech may be justified, and even necessary. But when it is a question
of the daily spiritual life of a corporate body, such formulas, when frequently
repeated, offer those who are using them an unfortunate selection from which to
make their choice. Perhaps they take the formulas literally and endeavor to
kindle the moral sentiments expressed in them, discovering later that it is
often difficult, and sometimes impossible, to do so truthfully and effectually.
They are consequently in danger of developing artificial sentiments, of forcing
intentions that still remain beyond their compass, and of daily performing moral
actions, which of their very nature cannot be frequently accomplished. Or else
they take the words merely as a passing recommendation of a line of conduct
which it would be well to adopt, and in this way depreciate the intrinsic moral
value of the formula, although it may be used frequently, and in all good faith.
In this connection are applicable the words of Christ, "Let your speech be yea,
yea,--nay, nay."8
The liturgy has solved the problem of providing a constant incentive to the
highest moral aims, and at the same time of remaining true and lofty, while
satisfying everyday needs.
Another question which arises is that concerning the form to be taken by prayer
in common. We may put it like this: What method of prayer is capable of
transforming the souls of a great multitude of people, and of making this
transformation permanent?
The model of all devotional practice in common is to be found in the Divine
Office, which day after day gathers together great bodies of people at stated
times for a particular purpose. If anywhere, then it is in the Office that those
conditions will be found which are favorable to the framing of rules for the
forms of prayer in common.9
It is of paramount importance that the whole gathering should take an active
share in the proceedings. If those composing the gathering merely listen, while
one of the number acts as spokesman, the interior movement soon stagnates. All
present, therefore, are obliged to take part. It is not even sufficient for the
gathering to do so by repeating the words of their leader. This type of prayer
does, of course, find a place in the liturgy, e.g., in the litany. It is
perfectly legitimate, and people desirous of abandoning it totally fail to
recognize the requirements of the human soul. In the litany the congregation
answers the varying invocations of the leader with an identical act, e.g., with
a request. In this way the act each time acquires a fresh content and fresh
fervor, and an intensification of ardor is the result. It is a method better
suited than any other to express a strong, urgent desire, or a surrender to
God's Will, presenting as it does the petition of all sides effectively and
simultaneously.
But the liturgy does not employ this method of prayer frequently; we may even
say, when we consider divine worship as a whole, that it employs it but seldom.
And rightly so, for it is a method which runs the risk of numbing and paralyzing
spiritual movement.10 The liturgy adapts the dramatic form by choice to the
fundamental requirements of prayer in common. It divides those present into two
choirs, and causes prayer to progress by means of dialogue. In this way all
present join the proceedings, and are obliged to follow with a certain amount of
attention at least, knowing as they do that the continuation of their combined
action depends upon each one personally.
Here the liturgy lays down one of the fundamental principles of prayer, which
cannot be neglected with impunity.11 However justified the purely responsive
forms of prayer may be, the primary form of prayer in common is the actively
progressive--that much we learn from the "lex orandi." And the question,
intensely important to-day, as to the right method to employ in again winning
people to the life of the Church is most closely connected with the question
under discussion. For it is modern people precisely who insist upon vital and
progressive movement, and an active share in things. The fluid mass of this
overwhelming spiritual material, however, needs cutting down and fashioning. It
requires a leader to regulate the beginning, omissions, and end, and, in
addition, to organize the external procedure. The leader also has to model it
interiorly; thus, for instance, he has to introduce the recurrent thought-theme,
himself undertaking the harder portions, in order that they may be adequately
and conscientiously dealt with; he must express the emotion of all present by
means of climaxes, and introduce certain restful pauses by the inclusion of
didactic or meditative portions. Such is the task of the choir-leader, which has
undergone a carefully graduated course of development in the liturgy.
Attention has already been called to the deep and fruitful emotion which is
contained in the liturgy. It also embraces the two fundamental forces of human
existence: Nature and civilization.
In the liturgy the voice of Nature makes itself heard clearly and decisively. We
only need to read the Psalms to see man as he really is. There the soul is shown
as courageous and despondent, happy and sorrowful, full of noble intentions, but
of sin and struggles as well, zealous for everything that is good and then again
apathetic and dejected. Or let us take the readings from the Old Testament. How
frankly human nature is revealed in them! There is no attempt at extenuation or
excuse. The same thing applies to the Church's words of ordination, and to the
prayers used in administering the sacraments. A truly refreshing spontaneity
characterizes them; they call things by their names. Man is full of weakness and
error, and the liturgy acknowledges this. Human nature is inexplicable, a
tangled web of splendor and misery, of greatness and baseness, and as such it
appears in the prayer of the Church. Here we find no carefully adapted portrait
from which the harsh and unpleasing traits have been excluded, but man as he is.
Not less rich is the liturgy's cultural heritage. We become conscious of the
fact that many centuries have co-operated in its formation and have bequeathed
to it of their best. They have fashioned its language; expanded its ideas and
conceptions in every direction; developed its beauty of construction down to the
smallest detail--the short verses and the finely-forged links of the prayers,
the artistic form of the Divine Office and of the Mass, and the wonderful whole
that is the ecclesiastical year. Action, narrative, and choral forms combine to
produce the cumulative effect. The style of the individual forms continually
varies--simple and clear in the Hours, rich in mystery on the festivals of Mary,
resplendent on the more modern feasts, delightful and full of charm in the
offices of the early virgin-martyrs. To this we should add the entire group of
ritual gestures and action, the liturgical vessels and vestments, and the works
of sculptors and artists and musicians.
In all this is to be learnt a really important lesson on liturgical practice.
Religion needs civilization. By civilization we mean the essence of the most
valuable products of man's creative, constructive, and organizing powers-works
of art, science, social orders, and the like. In the liturgy it is
civilization's task to give durable form and expression to the treasure of
truths, aims, and supernatural activity, which God has delivered to man by
Revelation, to distill its quintessence, and to relate this to life in all its
multiplicity. Civilization is incapable of creating a religion, but it can
supply the latter with a "modus operandi," so that it can freely engage in its
beneficent activity. That is the real meaning of the old proverb, "Philosophia
ancilla theologiae"--philosophy is the handmaid of theology. It applies to all
the products of civilization, and the Church has always acted in accordance with
it. Thus she knew very well what she was doing, for instance, when she
absolutely obliged the Order of Saint Francis--brimming over with high
aspirations, and spiritual energy and initiative--to adopt a certain standard of
living, property, learning, and so on. Only a prejudiced mind, with no
conception of the fundamental conditions essential to normal spiritual life,
would see in this any deterioration of the first high aims. By her action in the
matter the Church, on the contrary, prepared the ground for the Order, so that
in the end it could remain healthy and productive. Individuals, or short waves
of enthusiasm, can to a wide degree dispense with learning and culture. This is
proved by the beginnings of the desert Orders in Egypt, and of the mendicant
friars, and by holy people in all ages. But, generally speaking, a fairly high
degree of genuine learning and culture is necessary in the long run, in order to
keep spiritual life healthy. By means of these two things spiritual life retains
its energy, clearness, and catholicity. Culture preserves spiritual life from
the unhealthy, eccentric, and one-sided elements with which it tends to get
involved only too easily. Culture enables religion to express itself, and helps
it to distinguish what is essential from what is non-essential, the means from
the end, and the path from the goal. The Church has always condemned every
attempt at attacking science, art, property, and so on. The same Church which so
resolutely stresses the "one thing necessary," and which upholds with the
greatest impressiveness the teaching of the Evangelical Counsels--
that we must be ready to sacrifice everything for the sake of eternal
salvation--nevertheless desires, as a rule, that spiritual life should be
impregnated with the wholesome salt of genuine and lofty culture.
But spiritual life is in precisely as great a need of the subsoil of healthy
nature--"grace takes nature for granted." The Church has clearly shown her views
on the subject by the gigantic struggles waged against Gnosticism and
Manichaeism, against the Catharists and the Albigenses, against Jansenism and
every kind of fanaticism. This was done by the same Church which, in the face of
Pelagius and Celestius, of Jovinian and Helvidius, and of the immoderate
exaltation of nature, powerfully affirmed the existence of grace and of the
supernatural order, and asserted that the Christian must overcome nature. The
lack of fruitful and lofty culture causes spiritual life to grow numbed and
narrow; the lack of the subsoil of healthy nature makes it develop on mawkish,
perverted, and unfruitful lines. If the cultural element of prayer declines, the
ideas become impoverished, the language coarse, the imagery clumsy and
monotonous; in the same way, when the life-blood of nature no longer flows
vigorously in its veins, the ideas become empty and tedious, the emotion paltry
and artificial, and the imagery lifeless and insipid. Both--the lack of natural
vigor and the lack of lofty culture--together constitute what we call barbarism,
i.e., the exact contradiction of that "scientia vocis" which is revealed in
liturgical prayer and is reverenced by the liturgy itself as the sublime
prerogative of the holy Creative Principle.13
Prayer must be simple, wholesome, and powerful. It must be closely related to
actuality and not afraid to call things by their names. In prayer we must find
our entire life over again. On the other hand, it must be rich in ideas and
powerful images, and speak a developed but restrained language; its construction
must be clear and obvious to the simple man, stimulating and refreshing to the
man of culture. It must be intimately blended with an erudition which is in
nowise obtrusive, but which is rooted in breadth of spiritual outlook and in
inward restraint of thought, volition, and emotion.
And that is precisely the way in which the prayer of the liturgy has been
formed.
ENDNOTES
1. It is not by chance that "the religious Pope" so resolutely took in hand the
revision of the liturgy. The internal revival of the Catholic community will not
make progress until the liturgy again occupies its rightful position in Catholic
life. And the Eucharistic movement can only effectually distribute its blessings
when it is in close touch with the liturgy. It was the Pope who issued the
Communion Decrees who also said, "You must not pray at Mass, you must say Mass!"
Only when the Blessed Sacrament is understood from the point of view of the
liturgy can It take that active share in the religious regeneration of the world
which Pius X expected of It. (In the same way the full active and moral power of
the Blessed Sacrament is only free to operate unchecked when Its connection with
the problems and tasks of public and family life, and with those of Christian
charity and of vocational occupations, is fully comprehended.)
2. A proof of this is to be found in the often sugary productions of sacred
art--holy pictures, statues, etc.-- which appeal to the people. The people are
susceptible to powerful art when it is national; the Middle Ages are a witness
to this, and certain aspects of modern art. But the danger of lapsing into mere
insipidity is very great. The same thing applies to popular songs, and holds
good in other directions as well.
3. This does not mean that these truths are merely a mental indication of the
existing spiritual condition of the person concerned. It is rather a proof of
the saying, "grace takes nature for granted." Revelation finds in a man's
natural turn of mind the necessary spiritual premises by which the truths, which
are of themselves mysteries, can be more easily grasped and adhered to.
4. It is a further proof of Pius X's perspicacity that he made universally
accessible precisely those portions of the liturgy--Sundays, the weekly office,
and especially the daily Masses of Lent--which stress the great fundamental
mysteries of faith.
5. By this we do not mean that specific times (e.g., the stress of war) and
conditions (e.g., the special needs of an agricultural or seafaring population)
do not bring home certain truths more vividly than others. We are dealing here
with the universal principle, which is, however, adaptable and must make
allowances for special cases.
6. From the Benedictine Breviary, Lauds (e.g., the prayer at daybreak) of
Tuesday. [Literally, "Let us joyfully taste of the sober drunkenness of the
Spirit."]
7. The liturgy here accomplishes on the spiritual plane what has been done on
the temporal by the dignified forms of social intercourse, the outcome of the
tradition created and handed down by sensitive people. This makes communal life
possible for the individual, and yet insures him against unauthorized
interference with his inner self; he can be cordial without sacrificing his
spiritual independence, he is in communication with his neighbor without on that
account being swallowed up and lost among the crowd. In the same way the liturgy
preserves freedom of spiritual movement for the soul by means of a wonderful
union of spontaneity and the finest erudition. It extols "urbanitas" as the best
antidote to barbarism, which triumphs when spontaneity and culture alike are no
more.
8. Matt. v. 37.
9. We do not overlook the fact that the Office in its turn presupposes its
special relations and conditions, from which useful hints may be gained for
private devotion, such as the necessity for a great deal of leisure, which
enables the soul to meditate more deeply; and a special erudition, which opens
the mind to the world of ideas and to artistry of form, and so on.
10. The foregoing remarks on the liturgy have already made it abundantly clear
that the justification of methods of prayer such as, e.g., the Rosary, must not
be gainsaid. They have a necessary and peculiar effect in the spiritual life.
They clearly express the difference which exists between liturgical and popular
prayer. The liturgy has for its fundamental principle, "Ne bis idom" [there must
be no repetition]. It aims at a continuous progress of ideas, mood and
intention. Popular devotion, on the contrary, has a strongly contemplative
character, and loves to linger around a few simple images, ideas and moods
without any swift changes of thought. For the people the forms of devotion are
often merely a means of being with God. On this account they love repetition.
The ever-renewed requests of the Our Father, Hail Mary, etc. are for them at the
same time receptacles into which they can pour their hearts.
11. In earlier ages the Church practiced by preference the so called
"responsive" form of chanting the Psalms. The Precentor chanted one verse after
the other, and the people answered with the identical verse, or the partially
repeated verse. But at the same time another method was in use, according to
which the people divided into two choirs, and each alternately chanted a verse
of the Psalm. It says much for the sureness of liturgical instinct that the
second method entirely Supplanted the first. (Cf. Thalhofer-
Eisenhofer, "Handbuch der kathalischen Liturgik," Freiburg, 1902, I, 261 et
seq.)
12. The above remarks must not be misunderstood. Certainly the grace of God is
self-sufficient; neither nature nor the work of man is necessary in order that a
soul may be sanctified. God "can awaken of these stones children to Abraham."
But as a rule He wishes that everything which belongs to man in the way of good,
lofty, natural and cultural possessions shall be placed at the disposal of
religion and so serve the Kingdom of
God. He has interconnected the
natural and the supernatural order, and has given natural things a place in the
scheme of His supernatural designs. It is the duty of his representative on
earth, ecclesiastical authority, to decide how and to what extent these natural
means of attaining the supernatural goal are to be utilized.
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