Discerning the Lex Orandi

When Pope Francis re-imposed restrictions on the liturgy that predated the reforms of the Second Vatican Council (1962-65) — a liturgy often referred to as the old Latin Mass — he made a strong statement concerning the decisive significance of the reformed rites: “The liturgical books promulgated by Saint Paul VI and Saint John Paul II, in conformity with the decrees of Vatican Council II, are the unique expression of the lex orandi of the Roman Rite,” Francis wrote in his apostolic letter, Traditiones custodes, issued this past July.

Anyone familiar with the history of liturgy and liturgical theology will recognize this expression. The law of prayer (lex orandi) provides the law of belief (lex credendi); it is the classic formulation of the early Christian writer, Prosper of Aquitaine (390–455). The Pope’s claim that the reformed liturgy is “the unique expression of the lex orandi of the Roman Rite” is therefore an affirmation of startling importance. It clearly means that the rites as they were reformed now supply that rule or standard, and those that preceded them do not. The truths contained in the previous forms are not lost. But they have been subsumed into the reformed liturgy and re-articulated there in new ways. The reformed rites now provide the norm, not only for how we worship but also for how we believe, the lex credendi. 

The problem is that many Catholics, even some bishops, seem to have only a weak grasp of what the lex orandi of the reformed liturgy truly is. How is it different, and why is this important? More than fifty years after Vatican II, many take the lex orandi completely for granted while others may never have embraced it in the first place, if their local experience of or education concerning the reformed rites was superficial. At the popular level, some associate the liturgical reform entirely with ephemera, such as new music or a modern aesthetic. But the reform was not undertaken merely to introduce guitars or discourage the use of chapel veils or change around the furniture in the sanctuary, though it has done all those things. The reform has always had a much more serious theological agenda. If we are to comprehend and support what Pope Francis has done in Traditiones custodes — “Guardians of the tradition,” in English — we need to understand what that is.

… the reform was not undertaken merely to introduce guitars or discourage the use of chapel veils or change around the furniture in the sanctuary, though it has done all those things.

Pope Benedict XVI, who hoped to encourage traditionalists to accept Vatican II, also inadvertently played into a weakening of our sense of how essential the reform of the liturgy really was. Through his 2007 motu proprio, Summorum Pontificum, which freed the older rites to be celebrated whenever a local community or cleric desired them, he promoted a practical situation in which the old rites and the new were presented as equally valid choices for our time, to be pursued at will. This dulled our wits and blurred our appreciation of their significant differences. Even now, after Traditionis custodes was issued, many of our American bishops seem to be treating the choice to celebrate the older rites as an option with no downside, rather than a loss—for at least some of the faithful—of the precious heritage of Vatican II.

Pope Francis, on the other hand, is speaking out of a more properly traditional viewpoint: the liturgy (lex orandi) will fashion how we believe (lex credendi). The reform was undertaken for a reason, and once undertaken it set the norm for the Church’s worship. The reformed liturgy is therefore not just another option. The reformed rites are saying something distinctive which is necessary for the flourishing of Catholic faith in our time. This is why they are worth defending. 

So, what is the lex orandi of the reformed liturgy, and how is it distinct from what came before? I would suggest four starting points for reflection on the lex orandi of the reformed liturgy that arise from a reading of the tradition and study of the Council’s reforms.

1. A rejection of the clericalist assumption

Absolutely central to the thinking that went into the reform is the rediscovery and embrace of an ancient conviction: the liturgy is fundamentally a faithful act of the people of God, rather than a clerical performance on their behalf. 

The ministerial priesthood remains integral to the liturgy, but ever since the post-Vatican II reform it stands in a much more explicit and robust relationship to the priesthood of the faithful. The people and the priest together, each in their own way, are an expression of the one priesthood of Christ. 

As the Council’s Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy urges, in the Eucharist the faithful are to be taught to “offer themselves” along with the sacrifice on the altar,  (CSL 48, cf also 7). Lay people now exercise liturgical ministries (such as reader and acolyte) in their own right; these functions are not a delegation of the role of the priest (cf. CSL 28–29). Consider even the simple fact that there were no rubrics for the people in the older ritual books. Now there are (CSL 31). This signals a fundamental shift in orientation.

2. Full, active, conscious participation

Much ink has been spilled on the question of what “full conscious and active participation” in the liturgy really means (cf. CSL 11, 14, 19, 21, 30, 41, 48, 79, 114, 124). Despite attempts on the part of some to argue that the call to participation can be fulfilled in a purely inward and spiritual manner by the laity (by keeping silence throughout the Mass, for example, or by performing other pious devotions while Mass is going on), the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy leaves us in no doubt that more is required. Why? Because our performance of the rites is what gives us access to the mystery we celebrate. Postures, gestures, song, silence, spoken words, responses, and acclamations undertaken together are all part of it. The lex orandi of the reformed liturgy takes seriously the embodied nature of Christian prayer, while never relinquishing the spiritual value of interiority. 

There have been recent reports in the media of young people who want the Latin Mass but have no interest in learning Latin, because they don’t want to know what the words mean. This is eerily similar to naysayers early in the liturgical movement who argued that active participation in the liturgy would not be desirable because it would distract people from their prayer! The reform represents a profound shift away from this way of thinking. The liturgy is a communal celebration, not an hour of private prayer and devotion. Participation is always desirable.

The liturgy is a communal celebration, not an hour of private prayer and devotion. Participation is always desirable.

The norm of active participation is challenging, because it means the faithful must engage with the mystery of Christ, the words of scripture, and the action of the Holy Spirit in real time. Yet it is worth the effort. How glorious that we can participate in offering the sacrifice. How meaningful that we can share communion with one another. The Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy tells us that Christ is truly present in the assembly as it prays and sings; we receive intimations of this gift of Christ’s presence as we lift up our hearts in song and prayer. Through active participation, the people of God are continually renewed in their identity as the Body of Christ — called, gifted, and sent on mission. By celebrating the liturgy, we are formed as Church.

3. “The Book is the chalice”

None of the reforms really make sense without grasping the importance of what the Council decreed concerning the Word of God. The Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy notes that “to achieve the restoration, progress, and adaptation of the sacred liturgy, it is essential to promote that warm and living love for scripture to which the venerable tradition of both eastern and western rites gives witness.” (CSL 24). In addition to encouraging Bible services, the Council decreed that “in sacred celebrations there is to be more reading from holy scripture, and it is to be more varied and suitable.” (CSL 35.4, 35.1, cf also 51). 

The reform went on to provide lectionaries for daily Mass and for every one of the sacraments—something never done before. The proportion of readings at Sunday Mass from both the Old and the New Testaments was also greatly increased. The 1962 edition of the Mass (before the reform) includes one  percent of the Old Testament and seventeen percent of the New Testament, whereas the Mass as it was reformed includes fourteen percent of the Old Testament, and seventy-one percent of the New Testament. But it is not just a question of quantity. The indispensable role of the Word within the Eucharist is what the reform sought to establish. The Catechism of the Catholic Church affirms that “the Eucharistic table set for us is the table both of the Word of God and of the Body of the Lord.” (CCC 1346).

The more abundant use of sacred scripture in the liturgy was not only an ecumenical gesture, though it was indeed that. It also altered the lex orandi by establishing the central importance of the texts of sacred scripture as nourishment for our faith. All of the spiritual and catechetical revival based on Scripture following the Council thus fed into the liturgy, and was enriched in turn by the liturgy. Lectio divina, lectionary-based catechesis, parish Bible study, and more, developed out of this strong foundation of the renewal of scripture in the liturgical life of the Church. 

In 1994, Father Pierre Jounel, a liturgical scholar and peritus at the Council, was interviewed about how the liturgical reforms of the Council had been received. He replied that “The thing that has worked best, it seems to me, is the recovery of the proclamation of the Word of God as a structural element in all liturgical celebrations. ‘The Book is the chalice’ said John XXIII. Everyone today is convinced of this.” 

 “The thing that has worked best, it seems to me, is the recovery of the proclamation of the Word of God as a structural element in all liturgical celebrations. ‘The Book is the chalice’ said John XXIII. Everyone today is convinced of this.”

4. The Paschal Mystery is the core of what we celebrate

Perhaps the most important theological shift in emphasis in the liturgical reform was the introduction of the idea of the paschal mystery as the central mystery that the liturgy celebrates (cf. CSL 5, 6, 61, 104, 106, 107, 109). In reaction to the Reformation, the Council of Trent had emphasized sacrifice as the theological center. Without abandoning the notion of sacrifice, Vatican II restored to our understanding of the liturgy the full context of the pascha—the passing over of Jesus, from his redemptive suffering and death, to new life, and to glory. The paschal mystery is something the faithful are baptized into. It is celebrated in the Eucharist and all the sacraments. 

Traditionalists have challenged this development. In 2001, in a book entitled The Problem of the Liturgical Reform, the Society of St. Pius X took aim at the paschal mystery as the very heart of what they reject in the reformed liturgy. For them, the Mass is about the expiation of sin through the sacrifice of Christ. The Resurrection really has nothing to do with it. 

Their detailed presentation in opposition to the reform helps us to see how very rich the lex orandi of the reformed liturgy truly is. We can be grateful that the paschal mystery of Jesus is indeed what we celebrate in the liturgy. Sunday, from ancient times, has been the day on which Christians celebrate the Resurrection (CSL 106), and the Eucharist is the quintessential expression of this “day of light.” Many of our liturgical texts and magisterial documents since the reform invoke the paschal mystery and invite us to enter into it. The memorial acclamation in the Eucharistic Prayer proclaims the redemptive death and resurrection of Jesus and looks forward to his coming in glory. In other words, the reformed liturgy celebrates the whole mystery—not only the cross but also Christ’s rising and glory. This has immense consequences for faith. It brings to the fore the joy of our salvation and proclaims Christ’s victory over death, while never forgetting that we attain this only through his saving death on the cross and by willingly answering his call to a life of sacrificial self-giving.

More could be said about the many subtle ways in which the reform has shaped our common prayer and worship, and thus exerted an influence on how we believe. Yet even these four suggestions can illustrate that it will not do to shrug our shoulders and say: “Old rites or new rites, it does not matter.” It does matter. The reform was intended as a means of profound renewal for the Church—some of which we have already experienced and some of which still awaits fulfillment.