Liturgy -Italian Style

In Italy, one might expect to encounter an extraordinary liturgy, after all, Italy’s roots in the Catholic Church are long and deep. Since the very first century, Christians have called Italy home and so have countless trailblazers of the faith including our own patron, St. Thomas Aquinas. Rome, the capital of Italy, encircles the Vatican, the governing authority of the Catholic Church and the residence of the Pope.

Catholicism permeates the culture in Italy. Walk into any classroom, hospital or government office and you are sure to find a crucifix hanging on the wall. The saints, especially the Mother of Jesus, play a noticeable role here. Pictures and statues of the Madonna, usually with the child Jesus, are painted on the exteriors of homes and appear in roadside grottos and mini shrines. Holidays are determined largely by the liturgical calendar. None of this is any indication that the faith here is alive or active. For example, none of the thousands of students I met in the past four months knew that Carnival takes place in February or March because it is the feasting before the fasting of Lent. To them, Carnival is simply another Italian cultural tradition.

More than 25,000 Catholic parishes, the largest number of any country, dot the landscape in Italy. Church buildings here range from quaint country chapels to majestic cathedrals. Pick your favorite style of architecture-- Gothic, Baroque or Romanesque and you will find that here. The interior of the churches in Italy, with opulent sanctuaries, ornate frescoes, statues, paintings and relics, resemble museums more than houses of worship. In any given week, churches in Italy are more filled with tourists than with worshipers. In all of my experiences of Sunday Mass here, the churches weren’t even half full.

Stumbling Blocks to Worship-Finding a Sunday Mass.

In Italy, it is easier to find a church in which to worship by walking than it is to find one via the world wide web. Many churches are located in town centers and open out onto large squares or they are established on top of a hill and are easily visible. Churches in the small towns where I worked often didn’t have websites, making it a challenge to find a Sunday Mass. Thank goodness most churches have a bell tower that rings around the clock, calling the locals to prayer. As long as I heard those bells I was able to find a church and a Mass.

Hospitality

Hospitality ministers are few and far between in Italy. Rarely, if ever, was I greeted or welcomed when I walked into a church. Many churches did, however, have worship aids for the prayers but not for the songs—if there was music at all. In about half of the churches there was no music and so the lector served as both cantor and lector, leading a few of the Mass parts a cappella. Needless to say, this made for an impoverished worship experience but it  gave me a greater appreciation for and affirmed the value of liturgical music and liturgical musicians.

Language

Though I can speak enough Italian to get along, my progress was hampered by the fact that until May 1 everyone in Italy was required by law to wear masks, making it difficult to hear and to understand what they were saying. Since most of the churches have very high ceilings the sound was cavernous, (even with microphones) proving even more of a challenge to grasp words. Luckily, the Scriptures were usually the same as those that were being proclaimed back home, so I could read along in English or look at them before or after Mass. The challenge of praying in Italian shed light on the role of language in worship. When the language of prayer is inaccessible, unfamiliar or distant, then, God, too, can seem inaccessible or distant. The experience also gave me a new sensitivity to immigrants at our doorstep who long to pray in their native tongue—whatever that may be.

A Different Rite and Different Practices

Whenever I participated in a Mass in or near Milan, I experienced the Ambrosian Rite. The Ambrosian Rite is named for St. Ambrose, a fourth century bishop in Milan. It differs from the Latin Rite celebrated in Roman Catholic Churches in the United States in several ways:

1.     It has its own cycle of readings.

2.     Many of the priestly prayers are unique to this rite.

3.     All of the lectors, not only the deacon, are blessed before they proclaim the Word.

4.     The sign of peace takes place before the presentation of the gifts, reflecting more closely Matthew 5, “If you bring your gift to the altar and recall that your brother has anything against you… go first and be reconciled… then come and offer your gift.”

5.     In the Ambrosian Rite, the creed is professed after the presentation of the gifts.

6.     The Kyrie eleison (Lord, have mercy) is said before the final blessing.

7.     At the end of Mass, the priest simply says, “Go in peace,” and the people respond,

“In the name of Christ.” 

In all of the Masses in which I participated, laypersons served as lectors, altar servers, ushers and musicians, but the distribution of Holy Communion was reserved for ordained priests.

A New Perspective

This experience of celebrating Mass in Italy these past four months has been disappointing in many ways but has given me new perspectives on the Church in Italy and the Church in the United States. I am biased but I believe the liturgies and perhaps the Church in general in the U.S. is far more alive. Sometimes it takes a venture outside our comfort zones to realize and appreciate what exists in our own backyard.

Mystagogy

Do you like to travel? I love to travel and do you know what I like best? Looking at the pictures! The pictures of the places and the people help me to remember the trip and point out how the journey amazed me, challenged me and changed me.

Our newly initiated members are spending the Easter season reflecting on their faith journey, in particular, on the celebrations of Holy Week and the experience of the Sacraments of Baptism, Confirmation and Eucharist. They are remembering the images, the words, and the symbols they experienced. This process of reflection, officially called mystagogy, is a way of helping them to deepen their understanding of their experience. In the ancient Church, it was a way of teaching not only the newly initiated, but the whole community about the mysteries of faith.

Mystagogy isn’t only for the newly initiated. It is a powerful tool for everyone that can help one understand one’s faith in new ways. Take some time in the days ahead to remember the liturgies of Holy Week, Easter, or a Sunday Mass and discuss as a family. Here are a few questions to get you started: What did you see? What did you hear? What word or phrase captured your attention? What do you remember most? What touched you? What did it mean to you? What symbol stood out for you? If that symbol could have spoken, what might it have said? How did the liturgy challenge or affirm your perspective? How did it deepen your faith?

Mystagogy shows us how the liturgy teaches, reinforcing a key concept of the Second Vatican Council.

“Although the liturgy is above all things the worship of the divine majesty, it likewise contains rich instruction for the faithful.” Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy 33

For example, I remember when a visitor to our parish engaged in mystagogy without knowing it. He noticed that we prayed (in the General Intercessions) for those on death row. He was a lawyer who was all too familiar with criminal punishment. He was deeply moved by the prayer. It spoke to him about the abundance of God’s love and motivated him to seek a deeper understanding of our beliefs on capital punishment. His perspective about who Catholics are and what we believe was challenged and changed.

The liturgy teaches us a lot about our faith, but it requires that we come to Mass with eyes and ears wide open, with attentiveness and presence, ready to be amazed, challenged and changed.

I would like to invite you to share your experiences of the liturgies of Holy Week, of Easter or of a recent Sunday Mass by emailing me at kkuczka@sta.org. These comments will then be published in next weekend’s blog. I too will share my experiences of the liturgies of northern Italy. Sharing our experiences can help us to learn from one another and can lead us to a deeper faith in the Risen Lord, which is what mystagogy and Easter is all about.

The First Day of the Week

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John disagree on the circumstances surrounding the Resurrection of Jesus, but they all agree that the Resurrection and post-Resurrection appearances took place on the first day of the week.

After the Sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary came to see the tomb. Matthew 28:1

Very early when the sun had risen, on the first day of the week, they came to the tomb. Mark 16:2

When he had risen, early on the first day of the week, he appeared first to Mary Magdalene. Mark 16:9

But at daybreak on the first day of the week they took the spices they had prepared and went to the tomb. Luke 24:1

On the first day of the week, Mary of Magdala came to the tomb early in the morning, while it was still dark, and saw the stone removed from the tomb. John 20:1

On the evening of that first day of the week, when the doors were locked, where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood in their midst and said to them, “Peace be with you.” John 20:19.

On the first day of the week, Jesus encountered the disciples. He broke open the scriptures for them and ate and drank with them. It naturally flowed that the first day of the week, later to be called Sunday, became the day for Christians to worship.

More than 2,000 years later, we too gather on this, the first day of the week. On this day, as he did with the first disciples, the Lord reveals himself to us. On this day, he breaks open the Scriptures. On this day, he eats and drinks with us. This is why every Sunday is called a little Easter. This is why we cry out with the psalmist, “This is the day that the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad.” On this day we are reminded that we are to live in the light of Christ and in the newness of the Resurrection, not only on Sundays, but on every day of the week.

Taizé

Every year on Good Friday at St. Thomas Aquinas, parishioners mark the day by participating in the Seven Last Words of Christ, prayed in the style of Taizé. If you have not participated in this prayer, you may be familiar with songs like, “Jesus, Remember Me,” “Eat this Bread,” or “Ubi Caritas,” all of which were composed at Taizé.

Taizé is an ecumenical community that takes its name from the small village where it is based in Taizé, France, in the country’s Burgundy region, minutes from Cluny, the site of Europe’s largest and most famous monastic abbey before its destruction during the French Revolution. The Taizé Community was founded by Roger Schüz, later known as Brother Roger, at the beginning of the Second World War. Brother Roger, the son of a Reformed Protestant Pastor, was studying theology at a college in Switzerland when he felt called to help war refugees as his grandmother had done during the First World War. In 1940, he bought a small house in central France that sheltered refugees, primarily Jews, which would later become the home of the Taizé Community. After the war, Brother Roger, who had long been drawn to a monastic way of life, founded a community of brothers which was open to men of all Christian faiths. Men from his own Reformed tradition began to join him followed by men from the Anglican and Catholic traditions. Brother Roger was passionate about the unity of Christians and had a deep desire as Jesus did, that all would be one. He often said, “Christ did not come to earth to create a new religion, but to offer to every human being a communion in God.” As an observer at the Second Vatican Ecumenical Council, with its concern for the restoration of Christian unity, he had hoped he would see the unity of Christians in his lifetime. He believed that life lived out in community could be a symbol of that reconciliation and unity called for by Christ and he never tired of working toward that goal. Today, the Taizé Community includes nearly 100 men of both Catholic and Protestant traditions who come from nearly 30 countries. Most of the brothers live at Taizé, but some live among disadvantaged communities around the world. The community at Taizé lives together, works together and prays together in simplicity, in peace and in poverty. They do not accept donations or gifts of any kind, but rather make their living solely from the work they do: Making pottery, writing books and welcoming tens of thousands of pilgrims to Taizé every year.

Young People at Taizé

Young people in particular are attracted to Taizé and tens of thousands come from all parts of the world each year to spend a week living, working, and praying alongside the brothers in the community. On a visit to Taizé over Palm Sunday, I was able to speak to several of them.

For 22-year-old Milena Vontottleben from Freiburg, Germany, Taizé is a familiar place. She has been here nine times and this time, she brought a large group of friends. Milena is a Christian who grew up in the German Baptist Tradition and she said she wanted to share what she calls “An environment that is as welcoming as she has ever experienced.” She said, “Being at Taizé inspires me to make a difference in the small things, to try to find unity in diversity even in my small group of friends.”

A change in plans due to the pandemic sent 20-year-old Carl Voigt from Germany to Taizé to volunteer for a period of seven months before entering college. He says the trip not only

changed his life, it changed his vocation, “I actually found the faith which was always there since my childhood but I didn’t open up for it. I didn’t want to have anything to do with Christianity to be honest and here I learned that I can have a place and that I can call myself a Christian and this changed my life forever.”

Fernanda Ortiz is a 23-year-old Catholic from Mexico who just graduated from college, packed up her life and came to Taizé to help the community welcome refugees from Ukraine. She said she has found unity in diversity here, “I love that we can pray together, even though we are from different denominations.”

Taizé Prayer

Morning, noon, and evening, the bells on the hill of Taizé ring out, calling everyone to communal prayer, which includes Scripture that is proclaimed in many languages, silence and simple short chants sung over and over again. The songs are not sung in the style with which today’s youth would be familiar meaning you won’t find any Christian Contemporary music at Taizé. The music, simple, meditative and repetitive, is meant to help everyone easily participate, to avoid distraction and to draw one inward. Brother Roger believed that the more accessible the prayer, the closer the encounter with God.

It was during an evening prayer on August 16, 2005, when Brother Roger, at the age of 90, was mortally stabbed by a woman later deemed mentally ill. Despite the grave loss, the community embraced the woman’s family with a spirit of forgiveness and mercy. Before he died, Brother Roger appointed his successor, Brother Alois Löser, a Roman Catholic from Germany, who remains the Prior of Taizé.

Roundabouts

To drive in Italy is to place one’s well-being entirely into the hands of God. Italians might appear to live life in the slow lane, savoring every moment of la dolce vita, but they drive as if they have no time to spare. Vehicles whiz by as if they were high speed trains and tailgate anyone who attempts to go the speed limit. If Italy has traffic laws one would never know it as drivers make up rules as they go. Pedestrians, Vespas, bicycles, scooters, and Segways appear out of thin air and dart in and out of traffic as if they own, rather than share, the roadways. All of this magnifies the anxiety of trying to navigate one’s way around a foreign country. I have lost count of my many mistakes, missteps and miscalculations and the natives have not been very forgiving. So many of them have expressed their irritation with me by laying on their horns or cursing that I’m beginning to think it’s the new national pastime!

I lamented my woes, crying out to God, “God, help me please! I am in a foreign country and I do not know the way!” God answered my prayer in the form of roundabouts--circular intersections that allow traffic to flow in one direction. The roundabouts recently built in Roswell and Alpharetta are small and simple compared to the large, multi-laned ones in Italy. Here, there are as many or more roundabouts than in most countries and at first I feared them. I wondered, “When do I enter the roundabout? Which lane do I choose? What if I need to change lanes? Who has the right of way? What if a pedestrian or bicycle enters the roundabout? How do I exit?” Roundabouts were a source of anxiety but now they are a source of comfort because they help me to turn from going the wrong direction and they guide me toward the right path. If I make a mistake, I can be assured that there is another roundabout waiting to turn me around and redirect me.

This act of turning from one way and toward another is at the core of our lives as Christians. While we are on this earth we are living in a foreign land until death brings us to our true home. We do not know the way and we make many mistakes, missteps and miscalculations but God’s mercy knows no end. God is constantly putting roundabouts in our path to lead us away from those things that are not life-giving and to guide us toward the path of new life. These roundabouts may come in many forms: a relationship with another, an experience of pain or heartache, an opportunity to practice generosity or an occasion for reconciliation.

We will have the opportunity for the Sacrament of Reconciliation this Tuesday evening at our Lenten Penance Service. This act of turning or conversion is the heart of Lent. As the Elect experience a conversion in mind and in heart, we who are already baptized are called to a similar conversion, one that guides us toward the promises made at our baptism.