My Appeal to Pope Leo XIV: The TLM Is Easier for Me to Actively Participate In

I recently listened to Michael Knowles’ interview with Cardinal Raymond Burke. Toward the later part of the interview, there was a discussion on the Traditional Latin Mass. His Eminence said:

I think that the most important thing is for those who love the Traditional Latin Mass [TLM] to make known to their bishops, and to the Holy Father most of all, their desire to worship according to this form, and that they’re not calling into question the validity of the Second Vatican Council. (32:57)

Upon hearing this, I was inspired to send a letter to the Holy Father in accordance with my canonical right and obligation (CIC, can. 212, §2). However, that canon says that our opinions should not only be made known to the “sacred pastors” but also to “the rest of the Christian faithful.” In this spirit and as a participation in “synodal dialogue,” I desire to share in more detail what I sent to Pope Leo XIV: I desire to worship with the TLM because I find it easier to understand and participate in.

I was raised Catholic and attended Catholic high school, but I didn’t truly believe or embrace the Faith until I was in college. The parish I grew up in was a typical but not extreme “spirit of Vatican II” church. I found Catholicism (as I knew it) to be uninteresting, unreasonable, and uncomfortably silly. This dramatically changed when I was exposed to the Church’s intellectual tradition and simultaneously met my closest spiritual mentor, my former pastor and college chaplain. I began to reorient my life around the Truth under his direction.

But there was a serious stumbling block. I understood why the Church teaches that “the sacrifice of Christ and the sacrifice of the Eucharist are one single sacrifice” (CCC 1367) in terms of argumentation. I trusted that it was sound, but I couldn’t see it for myself. It simply did not “match” my lived experience of the liturgy.

My pastor invited me and several other college men to attend a Latin Mass on his day off—this was during the time of Summorum Pontificum. It was a low Mass in the ugly convent chapel. I had no idea what he was saying or doing. I thought it would be the “regular” Mass in Latin. However, I quickly perceived with intense curiosity that the form of prayer was different than anything I had experienced. When that consecrated host was elevated, it clicked. For the first time, I realized I truly was at Calvary.

I still (regretfully) do not know Latin. If I don’t have my hand missal, I have no idea what the priest is saying aside from the ordinary parts. However, the vernacular does not guarantee liturgical understanding and participation either; many hear the English words but still do not know what is actually happening—especially with the liturgy as a sacrifice. Furthermore, Latin isn’t actually what spoke to me then and continues to touch my soul when I attend the TLM; though the language is important, it is much more than that. Rather, it’s the whole sacrificial experience clearly yet mystically expressed in the traditional rite. 

Before proceeding, we should clarify the sacrificial nature of the liturgy. Let’s use the Second Vatican Council’s explanation:

The liturgy is considered as an exercise of the priestly office of Jesus Christ. In the liturgy the sanctification of the man is signified by signs perceptible to the senses, and is effected in a way which corresponds with each of these signs; in the liturgy the whole public worship is performed by the Mystical Body of Jesus Christ, that is, by the Head and His members. (Sacrosanctum Concilium 7)

What exactly does this mean? What is key to remember is that the liturgy “re-presents” the sacrifice of Calvary rather than repeating it or offering another sacrifice (cf. CCC 1366). The Body offered on the Cross is the same Body offered on the altar but in an unbloody manner; the one act of the Son offering Himself to the Father is offered here and now (cf. CCC 1365; Mediator Dei 70). The whole Church is present and active because Christ offers His whole Body, which includes His Mystical Body. We, as the Mystical Body, offer ourselves with and under His primary action as the Head and High Priest being exercised through the ordained priest (MD 69; CCC 1548). All of the visible, external, and sensible signs in the liturgy (architecture, music, words, gestures, etc.) are supposed to correspond to these sacramental realities.

When I go to the TLM, I see this immediately—even at a low Mass and in times of personal desolation. I can see how every gesture, word, and action of the priest is carefully directed toward the altar for the sake of an offering that is beyond him. If he prays it with genuine devotion, he wondrously conveys to me the weight of his ministry.

The traditional forms of architecture and altars—even when not ornate—lead me to understand that I am dwelling in a distinct place as the heavenly offering breaks into time and space in the offering before my eyes (cf. SC 8). The orchestral flow of the TLM makes it seem that once we begin we cannot stop because we are being almost endlessly “assumed” into divine life. The Gregorian chant makes me feel that the angels are singing over me to assist in offering my Mass intention where my “feeble senses fail” (Tantum Ergo). Most importantly in my view though, I am formed to understand how exactly I “participate” in the offering.

The Second Vatican Council explicitly stated that “full and active participation” or “fully conscious” participation was the chief aim for liturgical reform (SC 14). I completely agree that full and active participation is necessary for the faithful; I came to understand this most deeply at the TLM. However, I believe we have forgotten that liturgical participation is not primarily exterior but, as Pope Pius XII taught, chiefly interior (MD 24). The interior spirit should then be expressed exteriorly so that we worship whole and complete, soul and body.

If there is exterior action with no interior participation, then it is not full and active participation, and vice versa. But if the interior spirit collapses, so will its exterior manifestation. As hearing the English does not always imply understanding, so, too, saying responses and singing hymns does not always imply full and active participation. In this light, liturgical participation is also sacrificial.

Recall that as the Body is united to the Head in the offering, the faithful are united to the priest—who alone performs the action as a representative of Christ the Head rather than of the faithful (cf. MD 92). This, however, does not mean that the faithful do nothing or that their participation is shallow. Recognizing the sacrifice offered by Christ through the priest, Pius XII says that “all Christians should possess, as far as is humanly possible, the same dispositions as those which the divine Redeemer had when He offered Himself in sacrifice” (MD 81), so that “with the High Priest and through Him they offer themselves as a spiritual sacrifice” (MD 99).

Because I understand the liturgy as a sacrifice more easily at the TLM, I find it easier to participate with this interior, sacrificial spirit. It doesn’t feel like I have to “do” anything, because once my heart is offered on the altar, Christ comes to be crucified in me (cf. Galatians 2:20). This gives rise to my exterior participation as opposed to hindering it. I am moved to sing the Latin chants, say the responses, and carefully attend to my posture at the TLM as if it all pours from my heart as an oblation. Furthermore, because the TLM is so different from anything else I do or experience, I am fiercely exhorted to orient my life in view of the liturgy and because of what we do there, rather than the other way around.

Here the liturgical offering of the lay life—taught by Pius XII (MD 104) and Vatican II (Presbyterorum Ordinis 5; SC 48)—becomes especially intense. As a husband, do I love my wife in such a way that Christ will graft it into His own offering when I come to Mass? As an educator, do I teach in the same way? Will I allow the liturgy to form a sacrificial rhythm for my sufferings and sorrows? Interestingly, the TLM is what made me actually understand Vatican II’s teaching on the lay offering. I only heard of it when that priest introduced me to traditional liturgy.

At this point, you might be surprised to hear that I attend the Novus Ordo regularly on Sundays. I am not writing this as a “traditionalist Catholic” who only and exclusively attends the TLM, though I attend it whenever it is offered on special feasts in my diocese. I have also attended the so-called “unicorn Novus Ordo” (ad orientem, chant, altar rails, etc.) during travels. I have had many prayerful experiences at Novus Ordo Masses, especially more solemn and traditional ones. Still, I prefer the TLM; and if I could, I would exclusively attend it. I am not interested in a “reform of the reform.”

I do not deny that the Novus Ordo can give rise to the sanctifying experiences I have described—it clearly did for St. Carlo Acutis. I do not deny that it can be celebrated in a way very similar to the TLM. I do not believe TLM Catholics are automatically holier and that Novus Ordo Catholics are inferior. I do not absolutely deny the idea of mutual enrichment (though I believe the TLM does most of the enriching). I also acknowledge that, as a sinner, my difficulty engaging the Novus Ordo can be and often is my fault.

Even so, the truth is that when I attend the Novus Ordo, the sacrificial understanding and participation does not come easily—even with all my theological studies. Why? Because the constant experience of sacred signs is more of a formative than academic study. For me, the signs at the TLM are more effective. My participation at the Novus Ordo is fruitful because I orient my liturgical vision and participation there according to my memories of the TLM.

This is my experience. I am not trying to impose it on everyone else or question those who are fed by the Novus Ordo. However, this experience is undeniably a common one—especially among young Catholics. There is a reason the FSSP seminary has a waiting list and that even within the Novus Ordo traditional vocations are growing. I do not deny the authority of the Second Vatican Council and that there was (and is) a need for some kind of liturgical reform. However, I agree with Joseph Ratzinger (future Pope Benedict XVI): “Someone who does not think that everything in this reform turned out well and considers many things subject to reform or even in need of revision is not therefore an opponent of the ‘Council’” (Collected Works: Theology of the Liturgy, 576).

I do not know the solution for the growing liturgical divide in the Church, but I do know that this issue ultimately will not be solved by canonical censures or decrees. I also believe that having two “expressions” of the Roman Rite is not sustainable long-term; but this, too, will not be solved by quickly abolishing one or the other. So, what was the point of sharing my experience? I earnestly begged our Holy Father to restore Pope Benedict XVI’s Summorum Pontificum, so that in freeing the pre-conciliar liturgy to breathe alongside the post-conciliar liturgy the Holy Spirit could be given the space to slowly and organically solve this complex crisis—even if it takes generations beyond mine.