There are times (usually in the summer) when it happens that no one else is available to serve the traditional Latin Mass and I have the opportunity to don cassock and surplice. It is hard to describe my feelings on these occasions. Normally my perch is either up in the choir loft directing the schola or down in the pews following along in a missal. I do not often have the opportunity to see the Mass “close up” like this, and it always moves me—not to mention the fact that kneeling for so long on marble, keeping my back straight, is a good penance.
One thing that struck me this summer as I served a number of Masses is the immense beauty of the priest saying the “Secret” prayer silently—and since this is an example of a practice that liturgists in the middle of the 20th century assumed ought to be changed (and so it was changed in the Novus Ordo), it seems worthwhile to ponder it more carefully, lest we make the same mistake with some future edition of the traditional Missale Romanum.
At first, it bothered me that, whenever I was serving, I could not know what the priest was praying in the Secret, unless I remembered to look it up before or after Mass. But as time went on, the thick silence of that particular prayer, right before the great offering of the sacrifice (and at a moment when the Novus Ordo has habituated me to expect to hear something), made me realize with a new vividness how the Mass is a prayer directed to God first and foremost, to such an extent that my hearing and following of this prayer is secondary. The priest was not addressing it to me, but to God—and as I experienced this orientation of the prayer, it humbled me, focused me, purified me of some subtle remnant of self-interest that would take offense at not understanding everything. “It is good to hide the secret of a king” (Tobias 12:7).
Now, I know some of you are thinking: “Wait a minute, St. Thomas Aquinas says that we worship God not for His sake, since He gains nothing from our prayers, but for our sake, that we may be perfected by ordering ourselves to Him. And so it is crucial that we understand what we are saying; otherwise, why not have the entire Mass be a completely silent act of adoration culminating in communion? Surely, things are said aloud in order to be grasped by us, since God has no need of our words.” Not surprisingly, I agree with this point; I would never say that we should have no idea of what is going on or what is being prayed in the liturgy. This is why much of the Mass, whether Solemn, High, or Low, is sung or spoken aloud, and this is why, in an age of near-universal literacy, daily missals are an excellent aid. My own spiritual life has been immensely nourished by years of following along in my missal, which, together with the singing, the postures and gestures, and simply watching and listening, has been an incomparable apprenticeship to the sacred liturgy, the Church’s school of prayer par excellence.
