Notes toward a new Catholic Dictionary.

Clericalist, (ˈkler-i-kə-ˌlist), noun.

A Catholic who, when confronted with Christ's threefold office of Priest, Prophet and King asks "What about comptroller?"

Latin Blog Of The Year.

Audio Latin Proverbs--you can hear how it sounds, too.

There are widgets and links aplenty--enjoy!

The Traditionalist Spring.

Read this entire essay by John Zmirak, which is upbeat, clear-eyed, and radiates hope.

If bishops faithfully follow the Holy Father’s wishes—which apparently now extend to training new priests to say both rites—it will work miracles at luring back the scandalized souls of the 70s. It will gradually convince the gun-shy, self-styled Traditionalists to poke around at their old parishes. This will take time, of course. Given the sheer number of falsehoods imposed on Catholic laymen trying to schlep our way to Heaven by “highly placed officials” and the committees who loved them, is it any wonder that when some people learned the truth, they became a little… suspicious? No wonder so many of those people I met at reluctantly tolerated “indult” Latin Masses—it was easier, in some places, to get permission for gay-sponsored Dignity liturgies—carried plastic grocery bags full of poorly printed pamphlets with the names of “cardinals who are 33rd degree Freemasons.” It wasn’t so much a sign of a “schismatic mentality” (although that exists) as a symptom of Post-Conciliar Stress Disorder. I once adopted a beagle whose previous master used to beat him; he still winces whenever I try to pet him. But he’s learning to trust….

Pope Benedict understands all this, and has shown a fatherly compassion toward those of us who suffered from priestly liturgical abuse. His warmth and wisdom are washing away the bitterness, even as solemn liturgies attract new vocations to the priesthood. (When I was in Rome, the Latin liturgies were always scattered with curious seminarians from Indiana.)

What remains is an outreach to the other lost sheep of the 1970s, the millions who drifted away from catechetical psychobabble and liturgies lacking the dignity of Cub Scout ceremonies. Faced with the prospect of a Church that was being dressed up by wishful thinkers in the trappings of dying, “mainline” Protestantism, one out of three Americans who grew up Catholic have already left the Church. Many ceased all religious practice, but far more sought out the starker certitudes of Evangelical churches—whose embrace of Biblical principles and rejection of sacramental rites is straightforward and sincere.

I’m not saying that people who’ve gone off to Pentecostal churches to speak in tongues will be lured back by hearing Latin. But the recovery of the Church in the West from a generation of chaos and self-indulgence can only be advanced by the slow and solemn recovery of dignity, beauty, and order.

Rarely have I so wanted to be right.

I'm still mulling the MySpace mass below. I have a post brewing, but the short of it is this: it takes a "perfect storm" of breakdowns in the culture, Church and family to get to something like that.

It's impossible to picture forty years ago--yes, even in the go-go Sixties--a priest or anyone with the Church's imprimatur, saying "We're going to celebrate a Jubilee Mass for the local Franciscan Sisters. I need three young ladies in the parish to dance about the altar dressed in these."

The reaction would have been most unaffirming, I think.

The bad news, of course, is: here we are.

The good news is that all it takes are a couple of broken links in the chain along the way to make sure it doesn't happen again. Of course, it's going to take a lot of hammering to break the links, but it's not like we have much of a choice.

So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.

The Church Extremely Militant.

We made it to the Tridentine Mass again on Sunday--the elder two were clamoring for another visit. This time, they were much better behaved. Rachel, alas, was not--no patience for it yet.

The crowd was a little bigger than the last time, and a whole lot younger.

More good news: I think the TLM is reviving the parish to a degree. There were new steps leading to the entrance, and a new parish sign proudly advertising the Mass. Moreover, there was restoration underway inside the parish itself. Emphasis on "restoration"--not renovation. The old-school Stations of the Cross--entirely in Polish--were carefully protected and prepared for resetting. Scaffolding is in place, and new ceiling paint seems to be the order of the day.

Maddie: "This is the most beautiful church I've ever seen." Of that, I have no doubt. When she is of an age to travel, I'll direct her to Santa Maria Assunta on the island of Torcello in Italy. I'm pretty sure her Dad's rabid love of all things Byzantine will prove contagious. OK--most things Byzantine--the blindings and mutilations aren't on the list.

Moving on.

One of the great things about the old iconophile churches is that you are always noticing new details, or appreciating old details in a new way. This time, it was the former: somehow, I just noticed a major mural in the church this weekend.

In a remarkable coincidence, I read Tom's post on the Black Madonna of Czestochowa last Friday. I was familiar with the Black Madonna beforehand, having read and re-read James Michener's Poland, which features the icon--and has great battle scenes--as a teenager. We attend a parish which is about half Polish and has two Polish priests, so the Prices are well on our way to becoming honorary Poles--that is, if the Italian half of the parish doesn't get us first. But the Poles are in the lead--our one relic is from St. Faustina, and both our priests allow the kids to punctuate the liturgy with misbehavior short of confessed contract hits, so the Italians have some catching up to do.

So, as I am looking up to the immediate left of St. Josaphat's high altar, I spot a mural with some odd details. No, not the Virgin standing in the sky above a river, surrounded by the heavenly hosts, but the details below--soldiers? Modern soldiers? With rifles?

Yes--and also abandoned Maxim guns. I start craning my neck to get more details, but I already know what it is--it's the Battle of Warsaw, August 1920, a/k/a Cud nad Wisla, the Miracle at the Vistula.

In fact, the mural is a copy of this painting:

Picture credit here.

Yep, the mural even has the priest raising the crucifix as the Poles send Tukhachevsky's Red hordes into pell-mell retreat. Apparently, it wasn't quite triumphant enough for the exultant parishoners, who prevailed upon the artist to make it obvious that the Polish biplane was strafing the Russians.

I'll see you your Santiago Matamoros, and raise you the Miracle at the Vistula. Make sure you stop by to see St. Josaphat when you are in town.

Mass of the Ages, Part II.

We made it to St. Josaphat on time and piled into the great old Church--built in 1888, in the heart of Detroit's Polonia District. We didn't have time to get over to Sweetest Heart of Mary, but next time, next time. The crowd was disappointing, I have to admit.

But I picked up on more this time, with more of the Mass being prayerfully sung by the celebrant, Auxilliary Bishop Thomas J. Gumbleton. It's starting to percolate a little more.

Beg pardon? Oops. My mistake--the celebrant was indeed a Detroit auxilliary bishop--big kudos to the AoD for that--but it was Bishop Earl Boyea.

I keed, I keed.

Sorry about the coffee on the monitor and keyboard.

Moving forward. It is indeed starting to make more sense and is becoming easier to follow, and would have been even more so had my eldest two developed a more Tridentine spirituality since October. My daughter was too distracted by the surroundings and kneelers and my son...

I have termed Dale's ideal form of worship as "charismatic." Upon further reflection, this is inaccurate. It is more properly described as "Norse."

As in a preference for howling and hacking things with a war axe. He punctuated the bishop's homily on Cana with a long, consonant-impaired bellow on nothing in particular. He also reappeared in the row of pews in front of us after worming his way past the deployed kneelers. He also needed a diaper change.

Maddie was also less than angelic, finding the food selection inadequate.

At the end of it all, a lovely old woman two rows behind us said "What well-behaved children you have!" Ooookaaay. Well, I have to admit they didn't set anything on fire.

No--she was serious, and spent five minutes talking with Heather.

I spent the same time preventing The Boy™ from ascending the high altar.

We met a pleasant young couple afterwards--they have five and one due in May. What is it with Catholics and the legal profession, anyway? Dad was a lawyer, too. They were also ex-SSPX, and had nothing good to say about the experience. I didn't press. A good experience--genuinely nice people, and it's nice to occasionally know you aren't virtually alone in the world.