EXCERPT: Why has confession collapsed? Some blame the new format. Some blame Vatican II’s less strict style of Catholicism. Some blame secular culture’s guilt-free, sin-blind ethos.
I suspect all these things are factors, but they overlook another key factor: the self-destructive consequences of the “golden age” of Confession.
The problem was rooted in the sheer volume of confessions. Even with abundant numbers of priests, the typical large parish could only manage so many weekly confessions by keeping each confession short. But since priests needed to impose penance before each absolution, They required some way of rapidly determining a “fair” penance even for the most complicated confession. This forced clergy to develop a short-cut method for matching the “punishment” (penance) to the “crime” (sins).
Seminaries responded by training clergy to rapidly rank each sin. Thus moral theology boiled down to classifying hundreds of immoral acts into “venial” and “mortal” sins, along with the rationale for each category. Little attention was paid to any in-depth study of good and evil, grace and freedom, conscience and responsibility.
Meanwhile penitents were trained to prepare for confession by “examining your conscience” using a similar “shopping list” of sins from which to select personal failings – again, with little reflection on the shape of one’s whole moral life or the course of one’s moral development.
The concrete results: penitent and confessor met in the box armed with corresponding mental checklists. As the penitent listed items they confessed, the confessor silently ticked off “matching” penances (usually a certain number of “Our Fathers” and “Hail Marys”) to ensure that the punishment would fit the crime.
In my experience, this whole process – driven by efficiency and leading to rote ritual acts – amounted to nothing less than the reduction of sin, guilt, and responsibility to mere trivial matters. The most appalling sins got routinely dismissed. This trivialization caused a general dulling of the moral sensibility of laity and clergy, especially regarding behaviors that harmed other individuals (e.g. betrayals of trust) or society itself (e.g. racism, ethnic prejudice, or the glorification of violence).
It is no accident that this trivialization coincided with an era of widespread priestly sex abuse. That scandal’s history shows many priest abusers confessed to bishops, performed some “penance” (ranging from suspension to confinement in religious houses to some period of distant exile) and then were routinely returned to their priestly duties – recycled into new parishes to abuse new victims.
Bishops apparently thought that a good act of contrition and a suitable penance settled the matter. In short, they had so trivialized the moral life that they became blind to the real nature of sin: corrosion of the abuser’s character; long-term effects on victims and the consequent need to make amends, impact on millions of Catholics; damage to the credibility and authority of the institutional church; offense to God.
This attitude has not yet disappeared. Benedict XVI’s recent apology to the Irish people included just such a prescription for abuser priests:
I urge you to examine your conscience, take responsibility for the sins you have committed, and humbly express your sorrow. Sincere repentance opens the door to God’s forgiveness and the grace of true amendment. By offering prayers and penances for those you have wronged, you should seek to atone personally for your actions.
Because the “golden age” of confession trivialized morality, routine confession ultimately became irrelevant to people’s real lives.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
#286: So Many Different Differences
Despite the strong emotions unleashed by changes in liturgy, not all our differences over liturgy are equal. The fact is our differences over liturgy come in many shapes and sizes.
Many differences over liturgy, for example, are really about the psychological preferences of individual people. Such preferences remain subjective and personal. There is no right or wrong, good or bad -- these are differences we should all be prepared to live with.
People also have aesthetic differences over liturgy, rooted in different ideas of beauty and taste. Mostly such differences are purely subjective and negotiable, yet I believe there is such a thing as "bad taste."
Then there are cultural differences. These vary, not from individual to individual, but from place to place and people to people. Most of us are creatures of our own culture, and are not totally at ease with liturgy rooted in a vastly different culture. But our discomfort does not make it "bad liturgy." It simply means Catholicism is for all cultures, not just my own.
There are also differences rooted in history, and especially in historical shifts. Any historical shift requires adaptation, and some people resist any change. But the historic motives behind such changes usually outweigh personal preferences.
There are, of course, practical differences about how well historic changes get implemented. But implementation mistakes make a strong case against bad implementation--not against change itself.
This can get into subtle differences over the "pastoral effectiveness" of liturgy. Liturgy is not entertainment, and the Eucharist’s validity does not depend on the quality of its performance. But the way liturgy is performed can shape its power to affect people's lives. This involves a lot of judgment calls, where people of good will can differ -- but those judgments still must be made. For example: will the proposed new translation’s awkward language, grammar, and unscriptural references make things better or worse?
So far I’ve only noted differences based on preferences, but there are also differences over principles, and some of these are not negotiable at all. I see people debating three types of principles.
First, there are liturgical principles. These are official norms for distinguishing good (proper) and bad (improper) liturgy. Most norms are very general: Vatican II's liturgy document, for example, calls 12 times for "active participation" without getting into specifics.
Second, there are theological principles. These define the meaning and value of our worship--the very nature of liturgy, rooted in our core beliefs as Catholics. So, for example, when Vatican II declares that liturgy is the "public worship" offered by the Body of Christ to God, it leaves little room for dispute or debate. People may prefer a more solitary style of worship, and may even be permitted it under some conditions--but they have no basis for claiming their preference is a better way.
Third, there are "spiritual" principles--and here everyone agrees in principle but not in practice. No one doubts, for example, that liturgy should be "reverent," "solemn," and should impart a sense of "mystery" and the "sacred." The trouble is, people define these terms in varied, often arbitrary ways. Calling for liturgical "reverence” is common sense, but limiting that to "kneeling" is an arbitrary construction. Who is to say what our actions symbolize? The overwhelming bulk of human actions have no intrinsic symbolic meaning until someone assigns one--and if someone chose these meanings, someone can also change them.
St. Augustine gave best advice for dealing with our differences:
In necessary things: Unity;
In questionable things: Liberty;
In all things: Charity.
It may be that our theological and liturgical principles provide necessary grounds for a unified yet global Catholic liturgy, but in a Catholic tradition with 23 authorized rites, most other differences leave lots of room for freedom to follow our preferences. In any case, none of our differences justifies a failure of charity.
Many differences over liturgy, for example, are really about the psychological preferences of individual people. Such preferences remain subjective and personal. There is no right or wrong, good or bad -- these are differences we should all be prepared to live with.
People also have aesthetic differences over liturgy, rooted in different ideas of beauty and taste. Mostly such differences are purely subjective and negotiable, yet I believe there is such a thing as "bad taste."
Then there are cultural differences. These vary, not from individual to individual, but from place to place and people to people. Most of us are creatures of our own culture, and are not totally at ease with liturgy rooted in a vastly different culture. But our discomfort does not make it "bad liturgy." It simply means Catholicism is for all cultures, not just my own.
There are also differences rooted in history, and especially in historical shifts. Any historical shift requires adaptation, and some people resist any change. But the historic motives behind such changes usually outweigh personal preferences.
There are, of course, practical differences about how well historic changes get implemented. But implementation mistakes make a strong case against bad implementation--not against change itself.
This can get into subtle differences over the "pastoral effectiveness" of liturgy. Liturgy is not entertainment, and the Eucharist’s validity does not depend on the quality of its performance. But the way liturgy is performed can shape its power to affect people's lives. This involves a lot of judgment calls, where people of good will can differ -- but those judgments still must be made. For example: will the proposed new translation’s awkward language, grammar, and unscriptural references make things better or worse?
So far I’ve only noted differences based on preferences, but there are also differences over principles, and some of these are not negotiable at all. I see people debating three types of principles.
First, there are liturgical principles. These are official norms for distinguishing good (proper) and bad (improper) liturgy. Most norms are very general: Vatican II's liturgy document, for example, calls 12 times for "active participation" without getting into specifics.
Second, there are theological principles. These define the meaning and value of our worship--the very nature of liturgy, rooted in our core beliefs as Catholics. So, for example, when Vatican II declares that liturgy is the "public worship" offered by the Body of Christ to God, it leaves little room for dispute or debate. People may prefer a more solitary style of worship, and may even be permitted it under some conditions--but they have no basis for claiming their preference is a better way.
Third, there are "spiritual" principles--and here everyone agrees in principle but not in practice. No one doubts, for example, that liturgy should be "reverent," "solemn," and should impart a sense of "mystery" and the "sacred." The trouble is, people define these terms in varied, often arbitrary ways. Calling for liturgical "reverence” is common sense, but limiting that to "kneeling" is an arbitrary construction. Who is to say what our actions symbolize? The overwhelming bulk of human actions have no intrinsic symbolic meaning until someone assigns one--and if someone chose these meanings, someone can also change them.
St. Augustine gave best advice for dealing with our differences:
In necessary things: Unity;
In questionable things: Liberty;
In all things: Charity.
It may be that our theological and liturgical principles provide necessary grounds for a unified yet global Catholic liturgy, but in a Catholic tradition with 23 authorized rites, most other differences leave lots of room for freedom to follow our preferences. In any case, none of our differences justifies a failure of charity.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
#285: Our Liturgical Experiences
EXCERPT: A battle looms over pending changes in the English text for our Mass prayers. Part of me agrees with a recent reader comment on my blog saying that this is a misplaced debate.
Indeed, arguing whether we say "and also with you" or "and with your spirit” reminds me of Gulliver’s Travels, where Gulliver encounters Lilliput’s battles between “Big-endians” and “Small-endians” over how to crack an egg (a satiric episode spoofing contemporary English liturgical battles!).
Still, the reality is that people have strong feelings about even the minute details of their worship experience. People feel strongly about liturgy because it provides the framework for their worship. Since the Eucharist is the summit of Christian faith and practice, it's no surprise that people cling fiercely to their way of worshiping. Perhaps we need to reflect on our own experiences and what they mean to us—and, just as important, why they mean so much.
Reflecting on my own experience, I amazed to realize how many different ways I have encountered the Eucharist in my life.
I've been part of congregations from as few as five for house Masses, to more than 400,000 for John Paul II's first US Mass on Boston Common. I've attended charismatic groups celebrating Mass in homes, in parishes, and in sports arenas. I've been in catacombs and cathedrals, monasteries and seminaries, modest homes and huge outdoor settings.
I've celebrated Mass in many languages: Latin, Greek, English, Spanish, Vietnamese, Haitian Creole, Cape Verdean Creole, German, and even Armenian.
I've been part of Mass presided by the Pope, by cardinals, by bishops, by monks and abbots and religious and ordinary parish priests. I've been in Masses with no music, folk-music, organ alone, organ with soloists, organs with choir, choir and orchestra, boy choirs, women's choirs, mixed choirs, rock bands, or even simple solo trumpet.
I've seen Masses lasting fifteen minutes and others lasting three hours, Masses with no one receiving Communion to Masses where Communion alone took nearly an hour. I was married at Mass, and my kids were all baptized at a Mass, and I was commentator at my high school best friend’s ordination Mass.
By global standards, all this represents only a fraction of the bewildering range of Catholic Liturgy over the past 50 years. Almost all my experience is based on only two versions of the Roman Rite: the "Tridentine Rite" dating largely from the 16th century, and the "Novus Ordo," the "new" version of the Roman Rite instituted in 1970. But even though the Roman Rite is used by the overwhelming majority of Catholics, the Catholic Church has authorized 23 different rites for celebrating Mass. My own experience has left out 21 of them! (See a complete list of Catholic rites here: http://www.ewtn.com/expert/answers/rites.htm .)
For me, all my varied experiences of the Eucharist have enriched my Catholic identity. I’ve had my own personal preferences, and I still do. I also have strong feelings about what strikes me as “good” and “bad” liturgy—and I have witnessed more than my share of both.
But for me the bottom line has been: all these variations on Catholic worship have been just variations on one common theme: The Eucharist itself. In a word, for me every Mass has been THE Mass.
Indeed, arguing whether we say "and also with you" or "and with your spirit” reminds me of Gulliver’s Travels, where Gulliver encounters Lilliput’s battles between “Big-endians” and “Small-endians” over how to crack an egg (a satiric episode spoofing contemporary English liturgical battles!).
Still, the reality is that people have strong feelings about even the minute details of their worship experience. People feel strongly about liturgy because it provides the framework for their worship. Since the Eucharist is the summit of Christian faith and practice, it's no surprise that people cling fiercely to their way of worshiping. Perhaps we need to reflect on our own experiences and what they mean to us—and, just as important, why they mean so much.
Reflecting on my own experience, I amazed to realize how many different ways I have encountered the Eucharist in my life.
I've been part of congregations from as few as five for house Masses, to more than 400,000 for John Paul II's first US Mass on Boston Common. I've attended charismatic groups celebrating Mass in homes, in parishes, and in sports arenas. I've been in catacombs and cathedrals, monasteries and seminaries, modest homes and huge outdoor settings.
I've celebrated Mass in many languages: Latin, Greek, English, Spanish, Vietnamese, Haitian Creole, Cape Verdean Creole, German, and even Armenian.
I've been part of Mass presided by the Pope, by cardinals, by bishops, by monks and abbots and religious and ordinary parish priests. I've been in Masses with no music, folk-music, organ alone, organ with soloists, organs with choir, choir and orchestra, boy choirs, women's choirs, mixed choirs, rock bands, or even simple solo trumpet.
I've seen Masses lasting fifteen minutes and others lasting three hours, Masses with no one receiving Communion to Masses where Communion alone took nearly an hour. I was married at Mass, and my kids were all baptized at a Mass, and I was commentator at my high school best friend’s ordination Mass.
By global standards, all this represents only a fraction of the bewildering range of Catholic Liturgy over the past 50 years. Almost all my experience is based on only two versions of the Roman Rite: the "Tridentine Rite" dating largely from the 16th century, and the "Novus Ordo," the "new" version of the Roman Rite instituted in 1970. But even though the Roman Rite is used by the overwhelming majority of Catholics, the Catholic Church has authorized 23 different rites for celebrating Mass. My own experience has left out 21 of them! (See a complete list of Catholic rites here: http://www.ewtn.com/expert/answers/rites.htm .)
For me, all my varied experiences of the Eucharist have enriched my Catholic identity. I’ve had my own personal preferences, and I still do. I also have strong feelings about what strikes me as “good” and “bad” liturgy—and I have witnessed more than my share of both.
But for me the bottom line has been: all these variations on Catholic worship have been just variations on one common theme: The Eucharist itself. In a word, for me every Mass has been THE Mass.
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