Paix liturgique

I would like to speak once more about the Holy Father’s catechesis of August 26 regarding the liturgical reform (https://www.vatican.va/content/leo-xiv/fr/audiences/2026/documents/20260826-udienza-generale.html), which caused some unease among defenders of the traditional Mass.

I have already remarked that it seemed "out of place ", as if it had been delivered during the days of jubilation which surrounded the beginning of the reform, in the early years of its implementation, when its promoters (particularly Paul VI) enthusiastically praised the benefits it would bring to the Christian people—a people who, however, shortly thereafter began to abandon the banalized celebrations which were offered to them. In fact, Paul VI’s disappointment was immediate, and Annibale Bugnini himself, the architect of this reform, was one of its casualties. Instead of receiving the Roman purple, he was exiled in 1975 to a minor embassy (Tehran)—not because the Pope believed the rumors regarding his affiliation as a Freemason, but because his marvelous reform had proven to be a failure.

Leo XIV’s catechesis of August 26 is, in fact, highly defensive. He insists that the reform was "traditional", because reforming the liturgy is a traditional act and this reform allowed for the rediscovery of the treasure of tradition. In short, it is as if nothing could be more traditional than the greatest upheaval and disruption divine worship had ever known.

In essence, Leo XIV continues, the reform sought to recover its "didactic role" (citing Cardinal Montini, Archbishop of Milan). Therefore, it had to ensure immediate intelligibility and stimulate the receptivity and participation of those present. What the Pope does not say is that this pedagogical role, according to the reformers, was be aligned with the principle of adaptation to the times (specifically, their own time—the 1960s and 70s). Hence the abandonment of sacred language in favor of the vernacular in its most common form; hence the adoption of contemporary gestures (the handshake replacing the liturgical kiss); the drive for maximum proximity to the sacred things (celebration facing the people, Communion in the hand); the rejection of ritualism (with each priest constructing his own celebration—style, words, gestures—like a host welcoming his guests); and hence, above all, the elimination—in the actions, texts, and symbols—of doctrines that offend contemporary sensibilities (transubstantiation, ecclesiastical hierarchy, the male nature of the ministry, the redemptive sacrifice).

This has even led to unforeseen contrary consequences. To cite one example: paradoxically, in the reformed liturgy, the distinction between priest and laity—while theoretically diminished—is actually greater in terms of visual prominence. Traditional forms of worship integrated all participants into an ordered whole. In contrast, the significant role played by the celebrant’s spontaneous interventions leaves ample room for a sheer personal expression. His presence during the liturgy—akin to an actor interpreting a script—is far more pronounced than in the traditional form. The officiant may be less hierarchical in manner, yet he is far more conspicuous in his role as a “host”.

However, rather than criticizing the new, I wish here to highlight the qualities of the old—specifically regarding the very aspects the reform sought to address: the deeply didactic nature of the traditional liturgy and the way it intensely fostered participation.

The traditional *lex orandi* serves as a perpetual theological catechesis. When the Council of Trent sought to show what is the Real Presence and the Eucharistic Sacrifice, it naturally turned to the Roman Mass. There, the mystery draws tangibly near, and yet remains transcendentally distant, through the symbolism of adoration, the mysterious manifestation, and the sacred silence of the Offertory and the Canon—akin to the closing of the doors and the veil of the iconostasis in the Byzantine rite.

Regarding active participation—*actuosa participatio*—Saint Pius X and Pius XII, among other popes prior to the Second Vatican Council, dedicated themselves extensively to promoting it (Saint Pius X for sung Masses, and Pius XII for parochial or conventual Low Masses), both emphasizing that what is most important is the participation of the heart, from which external and ritual participation must flow.

For, as Joseph Ratzinger reminded us in *The Spirit of the Liturgy*, during the reform of Paul VI, "the term *participatio actuosa* was quickly interpreted in the external and superficial sense of a necessary and widespread activity, as if it were required that the greatest number of people be visibly active, and as frequently as possible." Yet, he continued, "the true liturgical action, the liturgical act *par excellence* is *oratio*." The silence of the Canon, conducive to contemplation, is the highest form of participation.

Do traditional sung celebrations not recreate those "singing naves"—once characteristic of so many regions across Christendom—where the entire parish congregation sang Du Mont’s *Missa Regalis* or Sunday Vespers at the top of their voices? Are not Low Masses in traditional places of worship models of *actuosa participatio*—where even children participate in the Eucharistic sacrifice, not passively, negligently, or distractedly, but with an attentiveness and fervor that unites them intimately with the Sovereign Priest (Pius XII, *Mediator Dei*)?

It is this liturgy of true participation that we uphold in our Parisian vigils—reciting the Rosary at 10 Rue du Cloître-Notre-Dame (Monday through Friday, 1:00 to 1:30 PM), at Saint-Georges de La Villette (114 Avenue Simon Bolivar, Wednesdays and Fridays at 5:00 PM), and in front of Notre-Dame du Travail (Sundays at 6:15 PM)—a commitment that carries more weight now than ever before.