The July-August NOR features my article “Two Immediate Threats to Contemporary Liturgics.” In it, my thesis is that three disciplines employed in the methodology of modern liturgical studies are not in proper relationship: there is a limited perspective on history, an overwrought but selective focus on canon law, and too little good theology.

On history, my argument is simple: The 20th-century focus of ressourcement liturgy on the Church of the first five centuries is unduly limited and therefore skews broader perspectives. Yes, the first five centuries were formative and, therefore, in a certain sense, normative to Catholic liturgy. But the Holy Spirit “did not rest” from the sixth through twentieth centuries, only to blast through newly opened “windows” in 1965. Where is the theological grounding for this alleged pneumatic dormancy? The Holy Spirit was active the entire time and, therefore, not every liturgical development (especially those of the Middle Ages, Renaissance, and Tridentine/post-Tridentine eras) represents “deformity” in the “pure” liturgical forms of the Church. Good Catholic liturgy is not AD 1-476 then post-1969.

On canon law, my argument is that resort to it is overwrought but selective. Yes, a bishop is responsible for the integrity of the liturgy in his diocese. But he is responsible for all the liturgy. He should not be an “enforcer” when it comes to allegedly creeping “traditionalism” but remain silent when priests treat the Eucharistic Prayer as personal improv with just enough attention to form to avoid rendering the consecration invalid. The power of canon law should not be seen as voluntaristic; “pay, pray, and obey” supposedly went out-the-post-Conciliar/synodal door. Canon law should be at the service of good (and, therefore, defensible, not just plausible) theology. Canon law does not make theology good.

On theology, well, it’s often been the stepchild to liturgy. Once upon a time, liturgy was mere rubricism. Then it became history. Now it’s canonical decree. The vital missing link, however, is sound theology. Lex orandi, lex credendi. Without good theology, the rest collapses.

Along with that article, I want to commend a second one in Adoremus, just published, of which I am equally proud: “Much Ado about Clothing” (see here). The two articles complement each other. In fact, “Much Ado” shows what I am getting at in the more theoretical “Liturgics” article.

The inspiration for the second article was Charlotte bishop Michael Martin’s proposal in his now-leaked liturgical document to ban priests from using the old prayers said while putting on vestments for Mass. When I read that, my surprise was twofold: that there were still priests who used those prayers and that we had a bishop ready to order them, “Don’t pray!” Yes, the old vesting prayers largely fell into disuse post-1969. The fact some priests recovered them seems not to be grounds for prohibition. After all, post-1969 there are no “revised” vesting prayers. Indeed, there are no prayers at all.

What does that mean? It means that we have reduced the donning of liturgical vestments to a purely functional role: “get dressed for Mass.” But vesting for Mass is not ecclesiastical cosplay. Preparation for Mass is not — or at least should not be — purely “practical,” i.e., light the candles, put on a chasuble, have three lay people fuss six times about whether the ribbons in the lectionary already on the ambo are in the right place. It should be, first and foremost, prayerful. If we understand the ministers at the altar to be “working together” (“liturgy” etymologically means “the work of the people”), their preparation should be communally prayerful. In the average parish, is it?

The vestments we use have a history. They began as common clothing but eventually became sacralized and acquired more than literal meanings, e.g., the chasuble was more than just an outer coat but also came to symbolize putting on “the yoke of Christ.” Most of the vesting prayers have a moral content to emphasize the moral rectitude demanded of the celebrant vis-a-vis the celebration. The cincture, for example, symbolized girding one’s self against lower passions and drives, the amice in part to shield the head from thoughts of evil. Did then-Fr. McCarrick think of them on Christmas Eve 1971 while vesting in the sacristy of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, when he made the groping contact with an altar boy that led to his eventual laicization?

Do most priests today know the symbolic history of what they are putting on for liturgy? My point about selective historical treatment: the sacralization of the vestments we know now only began at the end of the first five centuries. Do priests pray and recollect the moral sentiments prerequisite to what they are about to do? That is good liturgics. Or are we just to “put on the vestments” with no prayer because a bishop has decided that is “good liturgics” and causa finita? Let’s at least be candid if we demand such disciplinary positivism in our dialogical, synodal Church.

In writing that article, I also noted that the Eastern Churches — those in communion with Rome and those not — also seem to have preserved their vesting prayers and the tradition of prayer while preparing for Divine Liturgy. Given the focus Pope Leo XIV has given to good relations with the East, should we not ask whether our current practice of utilitarian “putting on the costume” is the real outlier?

Finally, as I note at the very end of the article: When a bishop decides to read the General Instruction on the Roman Missal (GIRM) so rigidly as, e,g., to prohibit the St. Michael Prayer, then one must ask whether the post-Vatican II tradition of the “meet-and-greet-handshake line” of the typical parish Sunday morning also has GIRM grounding. There’s no provision in the GIRM for Father, like a local Congressman, to shake hands and kiss babies after Mass.

Now, I am not criticizing the priest being available after Mass. It is a good thing. But if you are going to be a “strict constructionist” about the GIRM, well, what’s good for the goose… And we should ask ourselves another, liturgical theology question: Where’s prayer fit in? While Padre is shaking hands and the altar boys have scurried down the side aisle to take off their robes, put out candles, and turn out lights, when do the ministers of the altar communally express thanks for the liturgy in which they have just been privileged to participate? We rush into the liturgy and out of it, focused more on parking lot timing logistics. We don’t seem to pray very much before or after Mass. That — not whether some of my priests were using the old vesting prayers — would seem to be what ought to concern a bishop liturgically.