The Altar and the Direction of Liturgical Prayer From The Spirit of the Liturgy

for the form of the liturgy. The Eucharist—so it was said—had to be celebrated versus populum (toward the people). The altar—as can be seen in the normative model of Saint Peter’s—had to be positioned in such a way that priest and people looked at each other and formed together the circle of the celebrating community. This alone—so it was said—was compatible with the meaning of the Christian liturgy, with the requirement of active participation. This alone conformed to the primordial model of the Last Supper. These arguments seemed in the end so persuasive that after the council (which says nothing about “turning toward the people”) new altars were set up everywhere, and today celebration versus populum really does look like the characteristic fruit of Vatican II’s liturgical renewal. In fact, it is the most conspicuous consequence of a reordering that

By Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger

The reshaping…of the Jewish synagogue for the purpose of Christian worship clearly shows—as we have already said—how, even in architecture, there is both continuity and newness in the relationship of the Old Testament to the New. As a consequence, expression in space had to be given to the properly Christian act of worship, the celebration of the Eucharist, together with the ministry of the Word, which is ordered toward that celebration. Plainly, further developments became not only possible but necessary. A place set aside for Baptism had to be found. The Sacrament of Penance went through a long process of development, which resulted in changes to the form of the church building. Popular piety in its many different forms inevitably found expression in the place dedicated to divine worship. The question of sacred images had to be resolved. Church music had to be fitted into the spatial structure. We saw that the architectural canon for the liturgy of Word and sacrament is not a rigid one, though with every new development and reordering the question has to be posed: What is in harmony with the essence of the liturgy, and what detracts from it? In the very form of its places of divine worship, which we have just been considering, Christianity, speaking and thinking in a Semitic way, has laid down principles by which this question can be answered. Despite all the variations in practice that have taken place far into the second millennium, one thing has remained clear for the whole of Christendom: praying toward the east is a tradition that goes back to the beginning. Moreover, it is a fundamental expression of the Christian synthesis of cosmos and history, of being rooted in the once-forall events of salvation history while going out to meet the Lord who is to come again. Here both the fidelity to the gift already bestowed and the dynamism of going forward are given equal expression.

Modern man has little understanding of this “orientation.” Judaism and Islam, now as in the past, take it for granted that we should pray toward the central place of revelation, to the God who has revealed himself to us, in the manner and in the place in which he revealed himself. By contrast, in the Western world, an abstract way of thinking, which in a certain way is the fruit of Christian influence, has become dominant. God is spiritual, and God is everywhere: Does that not mean that prayer is not tied to a particular place or direction? Now, we can indeed pray everywhere, and God is accessible to us everywhere. This idea of the universality of God is a consequence of Christian universality, of the Christian’s looking up to God above all gods, the God who embraces the cosmos and is more intimate to us than we are to ourselves. But our knowledge of this universality is the fruit of revelation: God has shown himself to us. Only for this reason do we know him; only for this reason can we confidently pray to him everywhere. And precisely for this reason is it appropriate, now as in the past, that we should express in Christian prayer our turning to the God who has revealed himself to us. Just as God assumed a body and entered the time and space of this world, so it is appropriate to prayer—at least to communal liturgical prayer—that our speaking to God should be “incarnational,” that it should be christological, turned through the incarnate Word to the triune God. The cosmic symbol of the rising sun expresses the universality of God above all particular places and yet maintains the concreteness of divine revelation. Our praying is thus inserted into the procession of the nations to God.

But what about the altar? In what direction should we pray during the Eucharistic liturgy? In Byzantine church buildings, the structure just described was by and large retained, but in Rome a somewhat different arrangement developed. The bishop’s chair was shifted to the center of the apse, and so the altar was moved into the nave. This seems to have been the case in the Lateran basilica and in Saint Mary Major’s well into the ninth century. However, in Saint Peter’s, during

“ With every new development and reordering the question has to be posed: What is in harmony with the essence of the liturgy, and what detracts from it?” the pontificate of Saint Gregory the Great (590–604), the altar was moved nearer to the bishop’s chair, probably for the simple reason that he was supposed to stand as much as possible above the tomb of Saint Peter. This was an outward and visible expression of the truth that we celebrate the Sacrifice of the Lord in the communion of saints, a communion spanning all times and ages. The custom of erecting an altar above the tombs of the martyrs probably goes back a long way and is an outcome of the same motivation. Throughout history the martyrs continue Christ’s selfoblation; they are like the Church’s living altar, made not of stones but of men, who have become members of the Body of Christ and thus express a new kind of cultus: sacrifice is humanity becoming love with Christ.

The ordering of Saint Peter’s was then copied, so it would seem, in many other stational churches in Rome. For the purposes of this discussion, we do not need to go into the disputed details of this process. The controversy in our own century was triggered by another innovation. Because of topographical circumstances, it turned out that Saint Peter’s faced west. Thus, if the celebrating priest wanted—as the Christian tradition of prayer demands—to face east, he had to stand behind the people and look—this is the logical conclusion—toward the people. For whatever reason it was done, one can also see this arrangement in a whole series of church buildings within Saint Peter’s direct sphere of influence. The liturgical renewal in our own century took up this alleged model and developed from it a new idea not only signifies a new external arrangement of the places dedicated to the liturgy, but also brings with it a new idea of the essence of the liturgy—the liturgy as a communal meal.

This is, of course, a misunderstanding of the significance of the Roman basilica and of the positioning of its altar, and the representation of the Last Supper is also, to say the least, inaccurate. Consider, for example, what Louis Bouyer has to say on the subject:

The idea that a celebration facing the people must have been the primitive one, and that especially of the last supper, has no other foundation than a mistaken view of what a meal could be in antiquity, Christian or not. In no meal of the early Christian era, did the president of the banqueting assembly ever face the other participants. They were all sitting, or reclining, on the convex side of a sigma-shaped table, or of a table having approximately the shape of a horse shoe. The other side was always left empty for the service. Nowhere in Christian antiquity, could have arisen the idea of having to “face the people” to preside at a meal. The communal character of a meal was emphasized just by the opposite disposition: the fact that all the participants were on the same side of the table.

(Louis Bouyer, Liturgy and Architecture, 53-54)

In any case, there is a further point that we must add to this discussion of the “shape” of meals: the Eucharist that Christians celebrate really cannot adequately be described by the term “meal.” True, the Lord established the new reality of Christian worship within the framework of a Jewish (Passover) meal, but it was precisely this new reality, not the meal as such, that he commanded us to repeat. Very soon the new reality was separated from its ancient context and found its proper and suitable form, a form already predetermined by the fact that the Eucharist refers back to the Cross and thus to the transformation of Temple sacrifice into worship of God that is in harmony with logos. Thus it came to pass that the synagogue liturgy of the Word, renewed and deepened in a Christian way, merged with the remembrance of Christ’s death and Resurrection to become the “Eucharist,” and precisely thus was fidelity to the command “Do this” fulfilled. This new and allencompassing form of worship could not be derived simply from the meal but had to be defined through the interconnection of Temple and synagogue, Word and sacrament, cosmos and history. It expresses itself in the very form that we discovered in the liturgical structure of the early Churches in the world of Semitic Christianity. It also, of course, for Rome. Once

Never, and nowhere, before that [that is, before the sixteenth century] have we any indication that any importance, or even attention, was given to whether the priest celebrated with the people before him or behind him. As Professor Cyrille Vogel has recently demonstrated it, the only thing ever insisted upon, or even mentioned, was that he should say the eucharistic prayer, as all the other prayers, facing East…. Even when the orientation of the church enabled the celebrant to pray turned toward the people, when at the altar, we must not forget that it was not the priest alone who, then, turned East: it was the whole congregation, together with him. (Bouyer, 55-56)

Admittedly, these connections were obscured or fell into total oblivion in the church buildings and liturgical practice of the modern age. This is the only explanation for the fact that the common direction of prayer of priest and people was labeled as “celebrating toward the wall” or “turning your back on the people” and came to seem absurd and totally unacceptable. And this alone explains why the meal—even in proclaimer and hearer does make sense. In the psalm, the hearer internalizes what he has heard, takes it into himself, and transforms it into prayer, so that it becomes a response. On the other hand, a common turning to the east during the Eucharistic Prayer remains essential. This is a case, not of something accidental, but of what is essential. Looking at the priest has no importance. What matters is looking together at the Lord. It is now a question, not of dialogue, but of common worship, of setting off toward the One who is to come. What corresponds with the reality of what is happening is not the closed circle but the common movement forward, expressed in a common direction for prayer.

[Benedictine scholar Angelus] Häussling has leveled several objections at these ideas of mine, which I have presented before. The first I have just touched on. These ideas are alleged to be a romanticism for the old ways, a misguided longing for the past. It is said to be odd that I should speak only of Christian antiquity and pass over the succeeding centuries. Coming as it does from a liturgical scholar, this objection is quite remarkable. As I see it, the problem with a large part of modern liturgiology is that it tends to recognize only antiquity as a source, toward the east, toward the crucifix—that, when priest and faithful look at one another, they are looking at the image of God in man, and so facing one another is the right direction for prayer. I find it hard to believe that the famous critic thought this was a serious argument. For we do not see the image of God in man in such a simplistic way. The “image of God” in man is not, of course, something that we can photograph or see with a merely photographic kind of perception. We can indeed see it, but only with the new seeing of faith. We can see it, just as we can see the goodness in a man, his honesty, interior truth, humility, love— everything, in fact, that gives him a certain likeness to God. But if we are to do this, we must learn a new kind of seeing, and that is what the Eucharist is for. modern pictures—became the normative idea of liturgical celebration for Christians. In reality, what happened was that an unprecedented clericalization came on the scene. Now the priest—the “presider,” as they now prefer to call him—becomes the real point of reference for the whole liturgy. Everything depends on him. We have to see him, to respond to him, to be involved in what he is doing. His creativity sustains the whole thing. Not surprisingly, people try to reduce this newly created role by assigning all kinds of liturgical functions to different individuals and entrusting the “creative” planning of the liturgy to groups of people who like to, and are supposed to, “make their own contribution.” Less and less is God in the picture. More and more important is what is done by the human beings who meet here and do not like to subject themselves to a “pre-determined pattern.” The turning of the priest toward the people has turned the community into a self-enclosed circle. In its outward form, it no longer opens out on what lies ahead and above, but is closed in on itself. The common turning toward the east was not a “celebration toward the wall”; it did not mean that the priest “had his back to the people”: the priest himself was not regarded as so important. For just as the congregation in the synagogue looked together toward Jerusalem, so in the Christian liturgy the congregation looked together “toward the Lord.” As one of the fathers of Vatican II’s Constitution on the Liturgy, J.A. Jungmann, put it, it was much more a question of priest and people facing in the same direction, knowing that together they were in a procession toward the Lord. They did not close themselves into a circle; they did not gaze at one another; but as the pilgrim People of God they set off for the Oriens, for the Christ who comes to meet us. But is this not all romanticism and nostalgia for the past? Can the original form of Christian prayer still say something to us today, or should we try to find our own form, a form for our own times? Of course, we cannot simply replicate the past. Every age must discover and express the essence of the liturgy anew. The point is to discover this essence amid all the changing appearances. It would surely be a mistake to reject all the reforms of our century wholesale. When the altar was very remote from the faithful, it was right to move it back to the people. In cathedrals, this made it possible to recover the tradition of having the altar at the crossing, the meeting point of the nave and the presbyterium. It was also important clearly to distinguish the place for the Liturgy of the Word from the place for the properly Eucharistic liturgy. For the Liturgy of the Word is about speaking and responding, and so a face-to-face exchange between

According to Louis Bouyer, “The idea that a celebration facing the people must have been the primitive one, and that especially of the last supper, has no other foundation than a mistaken view of what a meal could be in antiquity, Christian or not. In no meal of the early Christian era, did the president of the banqueting assembly ever face the other participants. They were all sitting, or reclining, on the convex side of a sigma-shaped table, or of a table having approximately the shape of a horse shoe. The other side was always left empty for the service. Nowhere in Christian antiquity, could have arisen the idea of having to ‘face the people’ to preside at a meal. The communal character of a meal was emphasized just by the opposite disposition: the fact that all the participants were on the same side of the table.” and therefore normative, and to regard everything developed later, in the Middle Ages and through the Council of Trent, as decadent. And so one ends up with dubious reconstructions of the most ancient practice, fluctuating criteria, and never-ending suggestions for reform, which lead ultimately to the disintegration of the liturgy that has evolved in a living way. On the other hand, it is important and necessary to see that we cannot take as our norm the ancient in itself and as such, nor must we automatically write off later developments as alien to the original form of the liturgy. There can be a thoroughly living kind of development in which a seed at the origin of something ripens and bears fruit. We shall have to come back to this idea in a moment. But in our case, as we have said, what is at issue is not a romantic escape into antiquity, but a rediscovery of something essential, in which Christian liturgy expresses its permanent orientation. Of course, Häussling thinks that turning to the east, toward the rising sun, is something that nowadays we just cannot bring into the liturgy. Is that really the case? Are we not interested in the cosmos anymore? Are we today really hopelessly huddled in our own little circle? Is it not important, precisely today, to pray with the whole of creation? Is it not important, precisely today, to find room for the dimension of the future, for hope in the Lord who is to come again, to recognize again, indeed to live, the dynamism of the new creation as an essential form of the liturgy?

Another objection is that we do not need to look

A more important objection is of the practical order. Ought we really to be rearranging everything all over again? Nothing is more harmful to the liturgy than a constant activism, even if it seems to be for the sake of genuine renewal. I see a solution in a suggestion that comes from the insights of Erik Peterson. Facing east, as we heard, was linked with the “sign of the Son of Man,” with the Cross, which announces the Lord’s Second Coming. That is why very early on the east was linked with the sign of the Cross. Where a direct common turning toward the east is not possible, the cross can serve as the interior “east” of faith. It should stand in the middle of the altar and be the common point of focus for both priest and praying community. In this way we obey the ancient call to prayer: “Conversi ad Dominum,” Turn toward the Lord! In this way we look together at the One whose death tore the veil of the Temple—the One who stands before the Father for us and encloses us in his arms in order to make us the new and living Temple. Moving the altar cross to the side to give an uninterrupted view of the priest is something I regard as one of the truly absurd phenomena of recent decades. Is the cross disruptive during Mass? Is the priest more important than the Lord? This mistake should be corrected as quickly as possible; it can be done without further rebuilding. The Lord is the point of reference. He is the rising sun of history. That is why there could be a cross of the Passion, which represents the suffering Lord who for us let his side be pierced, from which flowed blood and water (Eucharist and Baptism), as well as a cross of triumph, which expresses the idea of the Second Coming and guides our eyes toward it. For it is always the one Lord: Christ yesterday, today, and forever (Heb 13:8).

Pope Benedict XVI (1927-2022) served as Pope from 2005 until his resignation in 2013.

Eden and the Plan in Christ

Originally, God wanted all of Israel, and not just the Levites, to be a kingdom of priests (cf. Exodus 19:6) and abide in the covenantal sonship which gave entrance to the Holy of Holies: “My covenant which they broke, though I was their husband, says the Lord” (Jeremiah 31:32b). Thus, the Tabernacle abided as a sign and promise: “Behold, the days are coming, says the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah, not like the covenant which I made with their fathers when I took them by the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt [and gave the Tent]” (cf. Jeremiah 31:31-32a). God clarified his intentions [εννοιών]: “I will put my law within them, and I will write it upon their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people” (Jeremiah 31:33). What was exterior to man (transcendence) must become interior and somehow consolidated within man’s freedom, as Gregory of Nazianzen says, “in order that good might belong to him as the result of his choice.” The very life and partaking in the divine nature was promised to be interiorized from the very beginning and as exercised through sacramental participation in the Tabernacle.

The Levitical High Priest was clothed by God’s representative (cf. Leviticus 8) in garments which were instituted by God’s design for service in the earthly Temple. Man does not give or achieve divine likeness by his own power, but by God’s prior and empowering love. In this prefigurement, man received a divine likeness that was only exterior because the Messiah had not yet come. The priest prefigured the Messiah to come and as promised by Moses (see Deuteronomy 18:18; John 6:14). However, the likeness to God was always destined to be interiorized by a new creation inside of man (grace); adoption had to be made into actual sharing in likeness of nature (cf. 2 Peter 1:4-5).

For this reason, God’s true and natural Son clothed himself in earthly flesh to assume the Priesthood that was lost by man at Adam’s sin (and Mount Sinai). The incarnation made possible restoration of humans into the true Temple for access to the Tree of Life (Revelation 22:14): the temple not made with earthly hands. In Jesus, divinity became clothed by visible humanity, the great Sacrament of Christ’s humanity. Man no longer contemplates objects in an earthly Tabernacle to attain divine knowledge; now he contemplates Christ’s visible humanity to be elevated into the heavenly. “And we all, with unveiled face (like Moses in the Tent), beholding the glory of the Lord (through faith in Christ), are being changed into his likeness from one degree of glory to another” (2 Corinthians 3:18).

For this reason, the Book of Revelation is best understood not only as a true vision, but a contemplation of the True Temple which comes down from heaven at every Eucharistic celebration (cf. Revelation 3:12;

Continued from CHANT, page 6

The days of creation—which are also reflected and explained by the construction and set-up of the Tent of Meeting—not only reflect what was visually seen and shown on Mount Sinai, but they also symbolize the promised future in which all descendants of Man and Woman would be granted access to the Holy of Holies—the Heavenly Jerusalem that was to come.

21:14, 23): a contemplation of the mystery of the risen and ascended Jesus Christ. Herein is realized what is witnessed within the fragments of writings attributed to the early bishop Papias who was also close to Polycarp, the bishop of Smyrna and an Apostolic Father. The early Church understood that Genesis and the Garden of Eden ultimately pointed to the Heavenly Jerusalem that was to come: “Taking occasion from Papias of Hierapolis, the clearly have the wrong connotations or register. Fourth, the 2008 Missale Romanum uses the Latin word “recedit” (not, e.g., “exit”) to describe the action of the priest and ministers as they leave the sanctuary.24 Therefore, “Recessional Chant” seems an appropriate option.

Words Matter

Saying “Entrance Chant” instead of “gathering song” may seem like a small matter. Doesn’t the Church have bigger problems? Indeed, she does. But the smallness of the matter is an advantage. Adopting the official terms for these parts of the Mass is one of the easiest changes regarding liturgical music that most parishes can make. But once that change is made and becomes familiar, a parish is one step closer to the ideal of singing the Mass, not just singing at Mass. Names make a difference. And a small but intentional effort to use the official terminology from the Missal now can help guide parishes to more fruitful reforms in the future.

Father Dylan Schrader is a priest of the Diocese of Jefferson City, MO. He holds a Ph.D. in systematic theology from the Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C.

1. There were slight textual differences between the pre-Vatican II Missale Romanum and the 1908 Graduale Romanum, but nothing like the discrepancies between the post-Vatican II versions of these books.

2. Rev. Carlo Rossini, ‘Proper’ of the Mass for the Entire Ecclesiastical Year (1933).

3. Sacred Congregation of Rites, De musica sacra (September 3, 1958), no. 33, in Acta Apostolicae Sedis [AAS] 50 (1958): 643.

4. Sacrosanctum Concilium, no. 117.

5. Notitiae 5 (1969): 406.

6. Roman Missal (New York: Catholic Book Publishing Company, 1964), Ritus servandus in celebrratione Missae sections IV, VII, and XI.

7. Sacred Congregation of Rites, Inter Oecumenici (September 26, 1964), no. 57b, in AAS 56 (1964): 891; and Tres abhinc annos (May 4, 1967), no. 18c, in AAS 59 (1967): 446.

8. Musicam sacram (March 5, 1967), nos. 31, 32, and 36, in AAS 59 (1967): 309–310.

9. Musicam sacram, no. 32, in AAS 59 (1967): 309.

10. See St. Paul VI, Apostolic Constitution Missale Romanum (April 3, 1969), in AAS 61 (1969): 221.

11. 1969 IGMR, nos. 25, 50, and 56i.

12. 2008 IGMR, nos. 37, 47, 74, and 86. The Ordo cantus Missae (first published in 1970, with a second edition in 1988) speaks of the antiphons and not of broader cantus (1988 Ordo cantus Missae, nos. 1, 13, and 17), but that is because the focus of this book is precisely to establish how the antiphons from the old Graduale Romanum should be organized for the post-Vatican II Missal.

13. International Committee on English in the Liturgy, The General Instruction and the New Order of Mass (Hales Corner, Wisc.: Priests of the Sacred Heart, 1969), GIRM, nos. 25, 50, and 56i. The 1969 IGMR, no. 56i: “Dum Sacramentum a sacerdote et fidelibus sumitur, fit cantus ad Communionem, cuius est spiritualem unionem communicantium per unitatem vocum exprimere […].” The 1969 GIRM, no. 56i: “The song during the illustrious… and Clemens, and Pantaenus the priest of [the Church] of the Alexandrians, and the wise Ammonius, the ancient and first expositors, who agreed with each other, who understood the work of the six days as referring to Christ and the whole Church.”12

Just as looking at the experiences of Moses at Mount Sinai and at the Tabernacle gives us context to unpack the highly symbolic narratives of Eden, so also accepting the liturgy that Jesus established in the Upper Room helps unpack the highly symbolic narratives in the Book of Revelation and being gathered with the Lamb at Mount Zion. Active participation in the liturgy includes remembering how to translate the symbols in the Book of Revelation to understand and receive the unseen realities in which we participate sacramentally. Like Moses, Christians now commune in the true presence of God with every Holy Communion that brings us into the Holy of Holies. Jesus has become the true Mercy Seat upon which the Father’s presence is communicated to us and makes us sons in the Son.

The east supersedes the Jerusalem Temple as symbol. Christ, represented by the sun, is the place of the Shekinah, the true throne of the living God. In the Incarnation, human nature truly becomes the throne and seat of God, who is thus forever bound to the earth and accessible to our prayers.13

Matthew A. Tsakanikas is an associate professor of theology at Christendom College, Front Royal, VA, and editor of catholic460.com; the website where he makes available free manuscripts, videos, and articles. He also publishes on catholic460.substack.com.

1. Gregory Nazianzen, “The Second Oration on Easter,” in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, 2nd series, Vol. 7, eds. Philip Shaff and Henry Wace (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 1994), Chapter VIII, 425.

2. Nazianzen, “The Second Oration on Easter.”

3. Nazianzen, “The Second Oration on Easter.” Greek and Latin in brackets from PG 36:850c.

4. As in Hebrews 4:12, Strong’s translates εννοιών as “intentions” G1771: “moral understanding:-intent, mind.” communion of the priest and people expresses the union of the communicants who join their voices in a single song […].”

5. See. Nazianzen’s “Second Theological Oration” and discussion of Israel at Sinai.

6. See Margaret Barker, Temple Theology: An Introduction (London: SPCK, 2004), 21-22.

7. According to St. Ephrem in his Hymns of Paradise, the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil served as a veil to the Tree of Life;. cf. Tsakanikas, “Pharaoh in the Garden of Eden…,” 203.

8. See Barker, Temple Theology, 22-23.

9. See Barker, Temple Theology, 58-60.

10. See Brant Pitre, “Jesus, the New Temple, and the New Priesthood,” in Letter & Spirit 4 (2008): 47-83, at 61.

11. Louis Ginzburg, The Legends of the Jews, translated from the German manuscript of Henrietta Jacob (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Association of America, 1909), 51-52 on Google Books.

12. Ante-Nicene Fathers, Vol. 1. Edited by Alexander Roberts, James Donaldson, and A. Cleveland Coxe. (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1885.) Revised and edited for New Advent by Kevin Knight. <http://www.newadvent.org/fathers/0125.htm>.

13. Ratzinger, Spirit of the Liturgy, 68.

One reason to use the Church’s official musical terms is that they are not used in other contexts. You might hear an “opening song” at a Metallica concert, but an “Entrance Chant” signals that you’re in church.

14. Sacramentary (Huntington, Ind.: Our Sunday Visitor, 1974), GIRM, nos. 25, 50, and 56i.

15. The Sacramentary (New York: Catholic Book Publishing Company, 1985), GIRM, nos. 25, 50, and 56i.

16. The Sacramentary, vol. 1.1 (Washington D.C.: International Commission on English in the Liturgy, 1998), GIRM, nos. 25, 50, and 56i.

17. General Instruction of the Roman Missal (Washington, D.C.: United States Catholic Conference, 2003), nos. 47, 74, and 86.

18. Sing to the Lord (Washington, D.C., United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, 2007), nos. 30, 139, 140, 142, 144, and note 110.

19. 2011 GIRM, nos. 47, 74, and 86.

20. 2011 GIRM, no. 37.

21. 2011 GIRM, no. 41.

22. 2011 GIRM, no. 169.

23. Sing to the Lord speaks variously of a “closing song,” “recessional,” “recessional hymn,” and “a hymn or song after the dismissal” (nos. 30, 44, 115, and 199). However, I believe “Recessional Chant” offers greater consistency with the 2011 GIRM.

24. See 2008 Ordo Missae, no. 145; 2008 IGMR, nos. 169 and 186. Cf. 2008 Caeremoniale Episcoporum, no. 185.

Q: Why does the priest choose different Eucharistic Prayers at Mass? Are there any norms regarding the choice of which Eucharistic Prayer to use?

A: This is a common question posed by the laity to priests: why do priests use different Eucharistic Prayers at Mass? What determines which one is used? The question is important since the Eucharistic Prayer is the center and high point of the entire Mass.

There are four principal Eucharistic Prayers, numbered in Roman numerals, I through IV. Eucharistic Prayer I is also known as the Roman Canon. It is an ancient text, having existed since the the mid-fourth century, and since the beginning of the seventh century it has remained practically unaltered. It was the only Eucharistic Prayer used at Mass in the West between 1570 and 1970. This Eucharistic Prayer may always be used at any Mass. It is especially suited to certain feast days that have special formulae assigned within it (Holy Thursday, Christmas, Easter, etc.). In fact, in a 1968 letter to presidents of conferences of bishops and of national liturgical commissions, Cardinal Benno Gut, President of the Consilium, noted that Eucharistic Prayer I “must take precedence” on those feast days; the current General Instruction of the Roman Missal (GIRM) only notes that it is “especially suited for use” on such days. It is also especially suited (“should also be used” according to Cardinal Gut) for the feast days of the apostles and saints mentioned in the prayer itself. Along with Eucharistic Prayer III, it is particularly suited for use on Sundays.

Eucharistic Prayer II is inspired from an ancient Eucharistic Prayer called the Anaphora of Hippolytus from the third or fourth centuries. Because of its conciseness and comparative simplicity, it is suited for use on weekdays or in special circumstances. These special circumstances were elaborated by Cardinal Gut as Masses with children, young people, and small groups. It is also suited for use at Masses for the Dead as it has a special formulary for such Masses. Cardinal Gut also noted that because of its simplicity, it makes a good starting point for catechesis on the different elements of the Eucharistic Prayer.

Eucharist Prayer III is new, having been composed after the Second Vatican Council. The GIRM states that its use should be preferred on Sundays and festive days. It may also be used in Masses for the Dead as it also has a special formulary for such Masses. The letter from Cardinal Gut suggests alternating Eucharistic Prayer I and III on Sundays.

Eucharistic Prayer IV was also composed after Vatican II and includes a rather detailed summary of the history of salvation. It is based on Eastern Eucharistic Prayers (Anaphorae), especially that of St. Basil the Great. The current GIRM states that since it has an invariable preface, it may be used when a Mass has no preface of its own and on Sundays in Ordinary Time. Cardinal Gut’s letter observes that it presupposes a somewhat superior knowledge of scripture and so recommends its use with groups having a better foundation in Scripture. This “somewhat condescending note about a more educated congregation” (as Benedictine Father Cassian Folsom notes) is not present in the GIRM.

There are nine other Eucharistic Prayers that are not as commonly used. These include three Eucharistic Prayers for Masses with Children (approved experimentally and later indefinitely), two Eucharistic Prayers for Masses of Reconciliation (originally approved for the 1975 Holy Year and then extended indefinitely), and finally four Eucharistic Prayers for Various Needs and Occasions. As Father Cassian notes, these latter prayers are really “one Eucharistic Prayer with four thematic variations (as a result it actually seems like four different prayers),” and they come from Switzerland and its synod in 1974. The Eucharistic Prayers for Various Needs and those for Reconciliation may be used when a Mass is said from the section “Masses and Prayers for Various Needs and Occasions” of the Roman Missal. Each variation of the Eucharistic Prayer offers suggestions as to which Mass formulary and Eucharistic Prayer are appropriately used together.

The three Eucharistic Prayers for Masses with Children use a simpler style of language and are strictly limited to Masses celebrated with children under age eight or Masses at which the majority of the participants are children. Three prayers are proposed in view of the cultural differences and the character of various peoples. The Introduction to these prayers encourage the priest to choose based on the needs of the children: “either the first for its greater simplicity, the second for its greater participation, or the third for the variation it affords” (n. 15).

The Roman Missal explains that the Eucharistic Prayers for Masses of Reconciliation may be used in Masses in which the mystery of reconciliation is conveyed to the faithful in a special way (such as at ‘Masses for Reconciliation’ or ‘For the Forgiveness of Sins,’ among others) as well as in Masses during Lent. These Eucharistic Prayers have a proper preface but may also be used with other prefaces that refer to penance and conversion. The 1974 decree Postquam de Precibus approving these Eucharistic Prayers noted that these prayers are also suitable “when there are special celebrations on the themes of reconciliation and penance, especially during Lent, and on the occasion of a pilgrimage or spiritual meeting.”

—Answered by Father Alan Guanella Diocese of La Crosse, WI

Q:

A: In short, probably While the current liturgical law does not precisely speak to this question, the overarching idea with blessings is that things that are blessed retain their blessing so long as they are remain whole, unbroken, integral, and are recognizable as what they were when they were blessed. For example, as is traditionally understood, an altar loses its blessing when its mensa is cracked.

The Rite of Baptism in force immediately prior to the liturgical reforms of the 1970s indicates that if “the baptismal water has so diminished that it is foreseen it will not suffice, unblessed water may be added even repeatedly, but in lesser quantity [minore tamen copia] than the blessed each time this is done.”1 So, with whatever quantity of water that is added to the holy water, the majority of the water that remains must be that which received the blessing. St. Thomas affirms the general principle: “just as water added to holy-water becomes holy” (STh., III q.77 a.8 obj. 3; cf. q.66 a4 resp.). In his 1909 book, Holy Water and Its Significance for Catholics, Father Henry Theiler follows this line of reasoning. In answer to the question, “If the holy water at hand might not be sufficient for the occasion, may water that is not blessed be added?” He answers in the affirmative. Father Theiler notes in his reply that “care must be taken not to add as great a quantity as there is of holy water.”2

This tracks with the same logic that St. Thomas articulates with regard to a liquid being added to the Precious Blood: “if the liquid of any kind whatsoever added be so much in quantity as to permeate the whole of the consecrated wine, and be mixed with it throughout, the result would be something numerically distinct, and the blood of Christ will remain there no longer.” Conversely, “if the quantity of the liquid added be so slight as not to permeate throughout,” the Precious Blood remains (STh., III q.77 a.8 resp). So it is with holy water, that if a small amount of holy water is added to a large container of unblessed water, the contents of the container do not thereby become holy water.

In practice, the adding of unblessed water to holy water seems to have been a practice related especially to baptismal water. In terms of how this is written in the law (which appears only to be in the case of baptismal water), it seems to be for an instance—and that for giving the gift of salvation in the conferral of Holy Baptism—but not for general application. Moreover, it is important to note that blessing baptismal water (outside of Easter and Pentecost), a more extensive process when compared to the current practice, included the praying of the Seven Penitential Psalms and the Litany of the Saints, the Lord’s Prayer, the Apostles Creed, an exorcism over the water, breathing upon the water, and the pouring of the Oil of Catechumens and the Sacred Chrism in the water in the form of a Cross, both individually and then simultaneously. Baptismal water blessed in this way was the only licit matter for solemn baptism. So, with all these requirements for the baptismal water, according to the rubric cited above, if “the baptismal water has so diminished that it is foreseen it will not suffice, unblessed water may be added even repeatedly, but in lesser quantity than the blessed each time this is done.”

Can the process of adding water to the font be repeated continually if the water has not entirely evaporated (cf. 1917 CIC 757§3)? In theory, yes, but this seems an unlikely scenario with regard to what the law envisioned because of the practicalities of keeping the font clean—there are innumerable stories about a film building up on the top of the water. With the new blessing of baptismal water in place, one canonist noted that the omission of “the practice of mixing the baptismal oil with the water” solved the “perennial problem of preserving the cleanliness of baptismal fonts.”3

Though most of us do not experience a lack of water in our daily life, sufficient water is and has been a problem in some parts of the world. For our North American reality, having a priest or deacon available to bless water is likely a greater problem than a lack of water. Regardless of the circumstance, while it is possible to foresee that some unblessed water might be added to holy water and it maintain its reality as holy water, it seems more apt to simply return to the parish church to obtain more water that is newly blessed.

—Answered by the Editors

1. “De Sacramento Baptismi Rite Administrando,” in The Roman Ritual, Volume One: The Sacraments and Processions, trans. by Rev. Philip T. Weller (Milwaukee: Bruce, 1950), 20–21, no. 6. Cf. Edward N. Peters, The 1917 or Pio-Benedictine Code of Canon Law: In English Translation with Extensive Scholarly Apparatus (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2001), 280: Canon 757§2. Cf.

2. Rev. Henry Theiler, Holy Water and Its Significance for Catholics (Manchester, NH: Sophia Institute Press, 2016), 89.

3. R. Kevin Seasoltz, New Liturgy, New Laws (Collegeville: The Liturgical Press, 1980), 41.

MEMORIAL FOR

Joyce Bialkowski from husband Walter

Rev. Richard J. Feller from Mr. John Simon

Helen Hull Hitchcock from Anonymous

John Tuttle from Fr. Joseph Klee