**Note: this is a long one and probably only exciting if you’re kind of a nerd and want to know about rites and ordinariates and such. I find all this fascinating!**
My last post on the Church of England was, I know, not the usual for this blog. But the new ordinariates are just so complicated that I thought you’d want some background explaining the context from which this all arose. Now we all know that the Church of England came from the Catholic Church (didn’t they all?), that there is great beauty in their traditions and liturgies, that there have been divisions from the beginning, and that these divisions have recently become so significant that many members have been returning to Rome after nearly 500 years.
Because of the age and beauty of the CofE liturgy, because it is so similar to the Catholic liturgy, and because of pastoral sensitivity, the Church in her wisdom has determined that former Anglicans shouldn’t be expected just to dive in to the Catholic melting pot and lose their particularly Anglican culture. Instead, she’s established the option of entering via the ordinariate. Distinct ordinariates have been established in different countries; so far, there’s one in England, Scotland, and Wales, one in the US and Canada (although Canada will be establishing its own soon), and one in Australia. I’m going to go ahead and refer to all three as “the Ordinariate,” by which I’ll mean any one of the three–as far as I know, the only distinction is regional, each being headed by a different ordinary but without any other real differences.
For a little more background, let’s talk for a minute about different rites in the Church. The Catholic Church is divided into two arms, the Western and the Eastern. The vast majority of Catholics (98%) are Roman Catholics, members of the Western Church whose liturgical language is Latin. The other two percent belong to different Eastern rites of the Church. There are 22 different Eastern rites (check them out here–very cool information). Each of these rites is completely in union with Rome; they have all the same doctrine as Roman rite Catholics but different liturgies and some different rules. For example, Eastern rite priests are permitted to be married. On the other hand, many Eastern rite churches require that the faithful abstain from meat throughout all of Lent. Nothing huge and nothing doctrinal.
Eastern rite Catholics are not the same as the Eastern Orthodox. The Eastern Orthodox are not in union with Rome; they don’t recognize the authority of the Pope. So while Eastern rite Catholics may look much more like Eastern Orthodox (bearded clerics with their wives, ornate vestments worn by a priest behind an iconostasis), they’re totally different. As a Roman Catholic, you’re welcome to attend a Melkite Mass, receive communion, go to confession, even register at the parish. Because they’re Catholic. We are not welcome to receive Sacraments in the Orthodox Church (although they’re valid) because our two churches are not in communion with one another.
Got that? Okay, well, the Anglican use Mass celebrated by the Ordinariate is not a rite distinct from the Roman rite the way that the Melkite or Ruthenian is. In much the same way that the Extraordinary Form (Tridentine/”Latin” Mass) is a version of the Novus Ordo, the standard form of the Roman rite, the Anglican use is a version of the Roman rite. Because it’s not a distinct rite, it feels very similar to the Novus Ordo Mass that you’re used to attending every Sunday. It’s generally the same shape and many of the words are the same or similar. Eastern rite liturgies, on the other hand, can be dramatically different. I was once 20 minutes into a Ruthenian Mass before I realized that Mass had started!
Because it’s not a different rite, members of the Ordinariate don’t have any different rules from other Roman Catholics. Priests of the Ordinariate are permitted to be married if they had previously been CofE priests, but the norm will not be for married men to be ordained. Even those who have converted have to get permission from the pope to be dispensed of the obligation of celibacy. They use the same lectionary, a very similar liturgical calendar, and the same Code of Canon Law (as opposed to the Code of Canons of the Eastern Churches). What’s different is the liturgy, as I’ll explain below, and the fact that it’s possible through the Ordinariate for entire Anglican parishes to convert to Catholicism, as was the case this past Saturday with the Anglican Cathedral of the Incarnation. Although there have been many difficulties because of red tape and property ownership, a number of entire Anglican parishes have already come over to Rome, maintaining their traditions and community while receiving the fullness of the Truth.
The idea is not to establish a new rite in the Church but to serve the needs of people who are so accustomed to lofty, sacral language in their liturgy, who cherish their roots in 16th century English Catholicism, and who may have lived for 60 years in a parish of 300 souls, a community much smaller than your average Catholic parish.
The Ordinariate is similar to the Archdiocese of the Military in that it covers a large area that is divided into more traditional geographical dioceses; parishes belonging to the Ordinariate (or the Archdiocese of the Military) are not part of the dioceses in which they physically exist but report directly to their particular ordinary.
Yet while the Archdiocese of the Military is in fact a diocese, the Ordinariate is not, technically. In the case of the U.S. Ordinariate, for example, the Ordinary is a former Episcopal bishop but has not been ordained a Catholic bishop. Msgr. Steenson is married, and while there have been many married priests in the Catholic tradition, there have never been married bishops (nor are there in Eastern Orthodoxy). Not being headed by a bishop, the Ordinariate clearly isn’t a diocese, although it’s closer to a diocese, as far as I can tell, than it is to anything else. The website of the U.S. Ordinariate explains the distinction this way:
However, a diocese is “territorial”: its members live in a specific geographical area. An ordinariate is “personal”: its members may live anywhere the ordinariate is authorized to function. They belong to the ordinariate because of a shared attribute; in this case, because they are former members of Episcopal or Anglican churches who now are Catholic, but wish to retain elements of their Anglican heritage.
The reason this is so hard to explain is that a personal ordinariate is a totally new thing in our Church. That’s why it was so exciting when Benedict XVI explained that this was going to happen–a totally new type of institute within the Church established to respond to a particular modern need of a particular group of people. Talk about New Evangelization–talk about pastoral compassion! I just find this all so exciting.
I’m hoping that gives you enough of an idea of what the Ordinariate is (not a rite, kind of like a diocese, similar to a movement, but mostly just all its own) to hear about the Mass I went to last week.
I was invited to daily Mass at the parish of St. Gregory the Great in Mobile. Since there are so few members of the Ordinariate in Mobile, Fr. Venuti is the pastor of St. Gregory, a community that meets at St. Mary’s Catholic Church, as well as being in residence at St. Mary’s, saying the Novus Ordo Mass for the rest of us. This is often the case with Ordinariate priests, especially as the Ordinariate is so new.
When I say “so few members,” I’m not kidding. At daily Mass, there was one person outside of Father’s wife and son and the friends I brought with me. From what I hear, Sunday Mass isn’t much bigger, providing you with an intimate community, if not the ability to sit back and observe. Fortunately, Mrs. Venuti was in the front, so we all just followed her lead. If you want to read exactly what we did, check out the order of the Mass here.
The first thing you notice, of course, are Father’s old school vestments and the fact that he’s facing ad orientem (or “with the people,” as opposed to towards the people). The language is different but familiar somehow–a more beautiful version of the usual, I guess. It really made me grateful for our new translation but hungry for the language I was hearing here: “that we may perfectly love thee, and worthily magnify thy holy Name,” for example–it just feels more glorious to me.
The first moment my jaw dropped was right at the beginning: before the Kyrie, Father read the greatest commandment:
Hear what our Lord Jesus Christ saith: Thou shalt love the LORD thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it: Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.
The rubrics said, though, that he could have chosen to read all 10 Commandments. A real examination of conscience, not just a second to think about our day. It made begging for mercy feel much more real.
When the Liturgy of the Word began, the different translation of Scripture (the Revised Standard Version or RSV) had that same foreign-yet-familiar feel. I can’t say that I prefer one or the other, but it certainly made me listen when the cadence was so different from the norm. The Mass had the standard form–first reading, psalm, Gospel acclamation, Gospel, homily–so familiar, I kept slipping and forgetting to say thou.
Father recited the petitions, filled with strong and poetic language like:
And to all thy people give thy heavenly grace, and especially to this congregation here present; that, with meek heart and due reverence, they may hear and receive thy holy Word, truly serving thee in holiness and righteousness all the days of their life.
And we most humbly beseech thee, of thy goodness, O Lord, to comfort and succor all those who, in this transitory life, are in trouble, sorrow, need, sickness, or any other adversity.
Now those are prayers! None of this “for Mary Sue on her birthday, that she would have a really fun day” nonsense that seems to creep into the Novus Ordo. The petitions seem to come only in four forms with no option to add specific intentions; they covered so much, though, that one wouldn’t really need to.
After the petitions, there was another penitential rite. I’m beginning to see why people talk about Catholic guilt–and yet I’m convinced that those who really humble themselves before God don’t drown in shame the way seculars often do. In any event, I found the placement beautiful; we’ve asked for blessings and we beg again for mercy before we approach the table:
Almighty God, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, maker of all things, judge of all men: We acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness, which we from time to time most grievously have committed, by thought, word, and deed, against thy divine Majesty, provoking most justly thy wrath and indignation against us. We do earnestly repent, and are heartily sorry for these our misdoings; the remebrance of them is greivous unto us, the burden of them is intolerable. Have mercy upon us, have mercy upon us, most merciful Father; for thy Son our Lord Jesus Christ’s sake, forgive us all that is past; and grant that we may ever hereafter serve and please thee in newness of life, to the honor and glory of thy Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
It’s hardcore, but it was followed by Father saying, “Come unto me, all ye that travail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you.” (Other consoling verses were possible there as well.) In case that wasn’t sensitive enough for you, it was followed by the sign of peace.
The placement of the kiss of peace was once of my favorite things about this liturgy. It followed an act of contrition, so the act of offering peace to our neighbor stemmed directly from expressing our sorrow to God. It made the handshakes feel more like an effort at reconciliation than a coffee break, the way they often do in the Novus Ordo. And this reconciliation is just as tied to approaching the altar when placed right before the consecration as it is right before communion. I think moving it earlier also helps me stay focused from the Sanctus all the way through communion, rather than taking a break from prayer to chat before the Agnus Dei.
The Offertory seemed (to my untrained eye) to be almost identical to the Novus Ordo. The Eucharistic prayer was very similar as well, albeit with that high sacral language that I love. It wasn’t until the Our Father that I saw another significant difference–we kept going! We didn’t stop after evil. You know that awkward moment that you always forget to warn your Protestant friends about and they say “for thine” loudly while everybody else is silent? It didn’t happen. No “deliver us, Lord,” just straight through to the end and moved on. If that’s not a concession to Protestant prayer, I don’t know what is.
“Lord I am not worthy” took on greater depth and humility when preceded by this prayer, recited by all the people:
We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord whose property is always to have mercy. Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the Flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his Blood, that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen.
We received communion kneeling at the altar rail–love it. And then prayer and blessing and dismissal. Like in the Extraordinary Form, the prologue to John’s Gospel is read at the end of Sunday Mass, a little throwback to the Tridentine Mass.
For most of the Mass, I pretty much knew what I was supposed to do and say, even if I didn’t know what was coming next. I had to remember to say “thee” and “thou” and keep my eyes on my missal for sudden divergences from the Novus Ordo, but it was much more familiar than the Eastern rite liturgies I’ve been to, much more accessible than the Extraordinary Form, and much more profound than the Novus Ordo.
Yup–I liked it better. Now, a lifelong Catholic can’t be a member of the Ordinariate–the purpose is to serve converts. I can, however, attend Anglican use Masses whenever I want to, and believe me, I will. The Latin of the Extraordinary Form is off-putting to me, but I’m beginning to understand when people lament the vernacular of the Novus Ordo. Maybe what we need, though, is a less vernacular vernacular–language that’s comprehensible but clearly sacred. That’s what the Anglican use Mass offers us, and that’s what I’ll be back for.
If you want to check it out for yourself, here are the American Ordinariate parishes, listed by state. If you’ve got more questions, check out the U.S. Ordinariate’s FAQ–very helpful. Fr. Venuti and some of his priest friends write for a blog on the Ordinariate, in case you’re a stalker like me and kind of obsessed with different liturgies.
It shouldn’t have come as any surprise to me a while back, then, when I stood up to give a ten-minute talk before Mass and found myself saying that every moment of the Mass is a proof of God’s love. What else could it be? But when I asked the congregation to spend the Mass asking themselves how that was true at every turn, I knew I (or, rather, the Holy Spirit) was on to something.
When he seceded from Rome, Henry appointed Thomas Cranmer as Archbishop of Canterbury, the head bishop in his church. Unfortunately for Catholics, Cranmer had very Protestant sensibilities. He maintained much of the pomp and circumstance (and Catholic doctrine) during Henry’s lifetime, but when Edward VI took the throne in 1547, all bets were off.
