Come in from the attic, and say the new Mass responses

On the first Sunday of Advent this year, the new liturgical responses will be implemented. With my parish, and maybe yours too, having been rehearsing responses for some weeks past, I thought we might chat about various aspects of it.

I suppose it is human nature for us not to enjoy change much, and something like a new liturgy can be disturbing for those who find tranquillity in familiarity.

On the one hand, I think changing the way one responds in Mass actually focuses on the meaning of what one is saying rather than just repeating things parrot fashion — a trait that many cannot avoid.

On the other hand, the new liturgical responses have given me a sinking feeling in my stomach; that same sinking feeling I had when as an eight-year-old altar boy I was told by my parish priest that I would not only have to learn all the Latin responses by heart, but also would have to understand what I was saying.

After years of pain and anguish, I finally got it right — just as the liturgy was officially changed into English! Once again, more pain and anguish trying to learn the responses without having to refer to a piece of paper. Of course, it would have been made easier if I had decided to take a few days or even just hours out of my time outside of church to study that new English liturgy and get it all off pat. But, like many others, I hoped that with time everything would come naturally.

Now it’s all happening again, and I can see myself having to refer, week after week, month after month, and probably year after year, to a pamphlet.

I will undoubtedly make a fool of myself by inadvertently giving one of the old responses and having to suffer withering glances from the pillars of the parish.

Space limits prevent me from going into the details of what has changed—last week’s Southern Cross covered that ground well with Bishop Edward Risi’s exhaustive aricle—except to say pretty much everything with the exception of the Our Father.

Most of it makes sense, barring a few of the changes. I suspect that the process that took place within the hallowed halls of the Vatican involved first changing the liturgy in Italian and then translating that into other languages.

I have a sneaking suspicion that some parts of the English version were the result of translations from Italian into German and from German into Serbo Croat and from there into Tamil and eventually into English.

Take this example: In the Communion rite at present we respond: “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, only say the word and I shall be healed.” From the first Sunday of Advent we shall be required to say: “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.”

Of course almost all Catholics will understand what this means—with the exception perhaps of eight-year-old altar servers and people whose first language is not English.

Yet it is pretty much beyond me why some parts of the new liturgy have been made a lot more archaic and less meaningful when the English version we have been using these past few decades has been more understandable.

On a lighter note, when I first came across this part of the new liturgy, my mind did wander somewhat. I had this mental picture of God listening to our request that we weren’t worthy to have him enter under our roof and wondering whether he could possibly enter into our lounges, TV rooms or kitchens instead?

Did we humans have the habit of inviting guests to come and have a cuppa or a dram of whisky sitting on the apex of the roof before going under it, perhaps via the chimney?

Would we would have to try to drink a cup of tea and dunk a Marie Biscuit while trying not to burn ourselves on the hot water geyser?

I sincerely hope that these mental pictures will not enter under my skull every time I say this response at Mass, because I would have to spend an inordinate amount of time in the confessional.

Meanwhile, I suggest we all embrace the new liturgy, avoid nitpicking the somewhat ancient and odd English, and use the opportunity to actually think about what we are saying. And at the same time offer up a little prayer for those eight-year-old altar servers who may wonder why on earth God would want to sit in the attic.