History scares some. Reading books about history after you’ve left school scares them even more. It shouldn’t.

If you’re a person who’s trying to understand the Church today in all its rather breathtaking variety, in the midst of changes that never seem to stop and in the face of what is apparently a never-ending missteps by the Church Militant…read your history. A thousand times I said during the height of the clergy sexual abuse scandal…read your history. Not that it makes any abuse of power any less sinful, not that we should take comfort in the sins of the past, but it shatters our rose-colored glasses as we’re forced to see the consistency with which religious leadership, every place and every era teeters on the brink of the pit of self-interest.

(As do we all…)

Same with liturgy. It’s simply not real to imagine that everything in liturgical Christianity was great up until 1965. Again and again the liturgy has been reformed, and not just because people thought it would be nice to add new prayers. Something was being lost. Something had to be recovered.

(A moment to bring up something my friend David Scott once said: "The worst liturgical abuse at every Mass I attend is me.")

So in the century before the Second Vatican Council, the sensibility deepened that something was being lost. Pius X saw it – speaking of motu proprios, his on Sacred Music from 1903 is worth a read. See if you can discern the problems he sees, from these excerpts:

Still, since modern music has risen mainly to serve profane uses, greater care must be taken with regard to it, in order that the musical compositions of modern style which are admitted in the Church may contain nothing profane, be free from reminiscences of motifs adopted in the theaters, and be not fashioned even in their external forms after the manner of profane pieces.

6. Among the different kinds of modern music, that which appears less suitable for accompanying the functions of public worship is the theatrical style, which was in the greatest vogue, especially in Italy, during the last century. This of its very nature is diametrically opposed to Gregorian Chant and classic polyphony, and therefore to the most important law of all good sacred music. Besides the intrinsic structure, the rhythm and what is known as the conventionalism of this style adapt themselves but badly to the requirements of true liturgical music.

17. It is not permitted to have the chant preceded by long preludes or to interrupt it with intermezzo pieces.

22. It is not lawful to keep the priest at the altar waiting on account of the chant or the music for a length of time not allowed by the liturgy. According to the ecclesiastical prescriptions the Sanctus of the Mass should be over before the elevation, and therefore the priest must here have regard for the singers. The Gloria and the Credo ought, according to the Gregorian tradition, to be relatively short.

23. In general it must be considered a very grave abuse when the liturgy in ecclesiastical functions is made to appear secondary to and in a manner at the service of the music, for the music is merely a part of the liturgy and its humble handmaid.

So…theatricality, subversion of the ritual to the needs of the music…etc.

But also note Pius’ concern – that the music not hide the prayerful content for those participating in the worship. Involved, conscious participation – it was a concern even then, and continued to be so throughout the century. I will get more into this in a post tomorrow or the next day, a brief review of another recent read, but the truth is that the concern that the Mass was general seen as the more or less private prayer of the priest to which the rest of us attached ourselves was real.

But as usual, I digressed.

The book of history I’m recommending is Throught Their Own Eyes: Liturgy as the Byzantines Saw It by Jesuit scholar of Eastern Christianity Robert F. Taft. It’s not very long at all, thoroughly accessible, ample notes for anyone interested in further exploration, and quite engaging transcriptions of Q & A sessions – these chapters were originally lectures.

What Taft is going for here is not a theology of Eastern liturgy (although that emerges), and not a thorough examination of the rites themselves (he’s done that elsewhere). No – the title gives you the gist. What was the experience of those participating in liturgies in Byzantium? What was the level and nature of the laity’s participation? What role did processions and icons play? In the capitol, what of the emperor? How did they receive Communion?

His sources are whatever he could find – disgruntled and even angry sermons of the likes of John Chrysostom provide quite a bit. Histories give clues. Even hagiography which, he points out, might not be so reliable in terms of the biographies they purport to tell, but can be gleaned for hints of common liturgical practices and so on.

Particularly interesting to me was Taft’s discussion of music and psalmody, emphasizing, naturally, the participatory nature of Byzantine worship.

Oh – and the answer to the questions? Nothing much has changed. Clerics get caught up in appearances, some barely seem to pray at all in the midst of the rites. Congregations (i.e. us) are aggravating creatures in which men and women tempt each other, people are tempted to superstition, are intrigued by the celebrities in their midst, are attracted by spectacle and, judging from their behavior in the Circus and the taverns directly after…might not quite get what it was all about.

John Chrysostom:

I discovered the book via Mike Aquilina, who has his own summary:

Taft walks us through the liturgy, from introit to dismissal, in a kind of reverse mystagogy. Traditional mystagogy begins with the outward signs and proceeds to their hidden meaning. Taft, however, begins with the assumption that the liturgy is heavenly, and then shows us the very incarnational, very earthly (and earthy) details of the scene where heaven touches down. At each stage of the rites, he quotes from contemporary accounts of what was going on in the assembly. We learn about the vigorous singing, the popularity of the Psalms, and the entertainment value of a sonorous homily, even if it’s in an archaic language that no one understands.

Liturgy was central to life in the big city. Entire populations turned out for icon processions and for the translation of relics. Sometimes, these mass liturgical rallies turned into mob scenes as the herd stampeded toward the center of grace. He brings up the fourth-century pilgrim Egeria’s story about the man who bit off a piece of the true cross to take home as a souvenir.

And yet, for all that, “the Church’s earthly song of praise is but an icon, the reflection — in the Pauline sense of mysterion, a visible appearance that is bearer of the reality it represents — of the heavenly liturgy of the Risen Lord before the throne of God. As such, it is an ever-present, vibrant participation in the heavenly worship of God’s Son.”

“Byzantine art and ritual,” he says as he brings his final lecture to its conclusion, “far from being all ethereal and spiritual and transcendent and symbolic, was in fact a very concrete attempt at portrayal, at opening a window onto the sacred, of bridging the gap.”

And that’s what we must never forget. Even the best dressed and best behaved folks among us are oafs and waifs pressing our dirty noses against the window. If we spend our hour of worship worrying about the comportment of the Joneses in the next pew, we’re probably missing the point of liturgical worship.

[8.] Then the very houses were churches: but now the church itself is a house, or rather worse than any house. For in a house one may see much good order: since both the mistress of the house is seated on her chair with all seemliness, and the maidens weave in silence, and each of the domestics has his appointed task in hand. But here great is the tumult, great the confusion, and our assemblies differ in nothing from a vintner’s shop, so loud is the laughter, so great the disturbance; as in baths, as in markets, the cry and tumult is universal. And these things are here only: since elsewhere it is not permitted even to address one’s neighbor in the church, not even if one have received back a long absent friend, but these things are done without, and very properly. For the church is no barber’s or perfumer’s shop, nor any other merchant’s warehouse in the market-place, but a place of angels, a place of archangels, a palace of God, heaven itself. As therefore if one had parted the heaven and had brought you in thither, though you should see your father or your brother, you would not venture to speak; so neither here ought one to utter any other sound but these which are spiritual. For, in truth, the things in this place are also a heaven.

snip

9.] That which Paul said of them that despised the poor and feasted alone, "What, have ye not houses to eat and to drink in? or despise ye the Church of God, and shame them that have not?" (1 Cor. xi. 22.)—the same allow me also to say of those who make a disturbance and hold conversations in this place. "What? have ye not houses to trifle in? or despise ye the Church of God, and corrupt those even who would be modest and quiet?" "But it is sweet and pleasant for you to converse with your friends." I do not forbid this, but let it be done in the house, in the market, in the baths. For the church is not a place of conversation, but of teaching. But now it differs not from the market; nay, if it be not too bold a word, haply, not even from the stage; in such sort do the women who assemble here adorn themselves more wantonly than the unchaste who are to be found there. Accordingly we see that even hither many profligates are enticed by them; and if any one is trying or intending to corrupt a woman, there is no place, I suppose, that seems to him more suitable than the church. And if anything be to be sold or bought, the church appears more convenient than the market. For on such subjects also there is more talk here than in the shops themselves. Or if any wish to say or to hear any scandal, you will find that this too is to be had here more than in the forum without. And if you wish to hear any thing of political matters, or the affairs of private families, or the camp, go not to the judgment-hall, nor sit in the apothecary’s shop; for here, here I say are those who report all these things more accurately; and our assemblies are any thing rather than a church.

Can it be that I have touched you to the quick? I for my part think not. For while you continue in the same practices, how am I to know that you are touched by what has been said? Therefore I must needs handle the same topics again.

Are these things then to be endured? Are these things to be borne? We weary and distract ourselves every day that you may not depart without having learned something useful:  and none of you go away at all the better, but rather injured the more. Yea, and "ye come together unto judgment," having no longer any cloak for your sin, and you thrust out the more modest, disturbing them with your fooleries on every side.

But what do the multitude say? "I do not hear what is read," says one, "nor do I know what the words are which are spoken." Because you make a tumult and confusion, because you come not with a reverent soul. What do you say?  "I know not what things are said." Well then, for this very reason oughtest thou to give heed. But if not even the obscurity stir up your soul, much more if things were clear would you hurry them by. Yea, this is the reason why neither all things are clear, lest you should indulge indolence; nor obscure, lest you should be in despair.