Quasimodo the bell ringer was named in honor of the first word of the Introit of the Mass of Low Sunday, the day on which he was discovered on the steps of Notre Dame. Mozart, Beethoven, Vivaldi, Hadyn, Schubert and countless other artisans set its ordinary parts to the greatest musical compositions. Matthew Passion, the account read every Palm Sunday for a millennium before its composition and for three centuries thereafter. Inspired by its ever-fixed lectionary, Bach set to music the St. It is a product of Jerusalem, Athens and Rome. It retains in its lexicon the three great tongues of our patrimony, Latin, Greek and Hebrew. It is the living descendent of the Temple sacrifice of Jerusalem, carried through the Hellenized world at last to Rome, where it was imbued with the “noble simplicity” and austerity that was the quintessential mark of the great empire of the West. It is an ancient poem, like those of Homer, handed down across the ages, that cannot be judged by any one era or place, but that belongs to all time, and to no time. It is the same sensibility that, years later, especially after the promulgation of Summorum Pontificum, reinforced my more informed revulsion at the arrogance and Philistinism of the reformers who so readily discarded the pearls of their own inheritance.įor, apart from its spiritual merits, the Traditional Mass is a cultural treasure of incomparable value. It is a sensibility that drew me to the “traditional” things of our religion as a young teenager, long before I had ever experienced the Traditional Latin Mass, during that time when the TLM was virtually extinct. I did not convince my friend that night, but I have never wavered from my conviction in this regard. We can only admire such venerable and timeless treasures of our cultural patrimony, the achievements of man and their influence down through the ages.
For we do not judge the Mona Lisa, a work that has fascinated the centuries and stands at the center of all Western art. She responded with equal incredulity-by her taste, it was a rather dull painting.īut, I told her, your taste is irrelevant or malformed. I directly informed her that she was not permitted to “not like” the Mona Lisa. She remarked that she did not care for the Mona Lisa. For reasons I have long forgotten, I mentioned the Mona Lisa to a young lady sitting there on the barstool next to me. One night, many years ago, I found myself embroiled in an unusual argument at a bar on Second Avenue in Midtown Manhattan. Daringly Balanced on One Point: The New Papal Letter on Liturgy.The Consecration of Russia Overturned Roe v."Unity Über Alles": Bishop Burbidge in His Own Words.The “Latin Novus Ordo” Is Not the Solution.Shia LaBeouf Shows Bishop Barron the Heart of the Trad Movement.12th Sunday after Pentecost: Mugged by the Truth.
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