Secrets of the Tridentine Mass 4

Now that you are safe back in your pew thanking God for the great gift of the Eucharist and, probably, asking for divine favours, e.g. Inspire Canongate Press to take my manuscript, you are less conscious of what the priest is up to at the altar. I certainly am, so this part is a bit sketchy.

According to the tattered missal on my knee, the priest gives the subdeacon the sacred vessels and the subdeacon puts them on the credence table. And then the priest goes to the right side of the altar and prays the Postcommunion prayer while the undefatigable men's schola makes a big song out of it.

When the men's schola sounds about done, the priest kisses the altar and has another look at the congregation. Has anyone snuck out right after Communion? He will know. And, incidentally, you kneel down again. Then the organist sounds another note-- BLEEE--and the priest sings "Ite, missa est." This takes him three massive breaths. Then the congregation takes a deep breath and sings back, "Deo gratias." You are unclear when to stop singing the "O" and get to the "GRAT". But that is okay, for the entire congregation seems to have the same problem.

BUT DO NOT PICK UP YOUR JACKET! Mass is not quite over. The priest bends over the altar and says a prayer, saying he hopes that the Mass was pleasing to God, e.g. the men's schola didn't overdo it, the people weren't overly distracted, his grammar wasn't faulty, and his colourful personality was safely hidden under his priestly role. Then he turns and blesses THE PEOPLE, of whom you are one, so cross yourself.

BUT DO NOT PICK UP YOUR JACKET! The priest goes to the left hand side of the altar and the congregation stands. "Dominius vobiscum," sings the priest.

"You too," sing you.

"Initium sancti Evangelii secundum Johannes," says the priest, only you can't hear him. But if you could, a GREAT THOUGHT would occur to you, which is that if you missed the first Gospel through lateness, at least you could hear the second one, just by showing up near the end. Of course, that is still too late to receive Communion, Communion being over. Can you hear the Gospel retroactively? Hmm... Hmm... Well, try not to miss the first Gospel.

The Last Gospel, the beginning of the Gospel of John, is staggeringly beautiful, so it is too bad that you can't hear the priest read it. However, you can read along and should because, lo, near the end you have to GENUFLECT. You read along so you don't miss your cue (and also because the Last Gospel is Balm to the Soul), but then the men's schola tears into SALVE REGINA, and you panic, flipping through your booklet to find the words. They aren't there. Alas! You ought to have picked up the little blue book called "Plainsong and Chants" when you first went into the church. And then, CRUNCH, here all genuflect.

The priest finishes saying the Last Gospel, the server thanks God, and then the solemn acolytes lead server and priest out of the sanctuary, and all survivors kneel.

Eventually all get up. Some of the ladies have already gotten up because they have gone to the parish hall to make tea and coffee.

Why is this? Well, there is a time for socialising, and it is both BEFORE and AFTER Mass, not DURING. And there is a place for socialising, and it is OUTSIDE the quiet House of Prayer, not INSIDE. Instead of the Kiss of Peace, Trids have the Cup of Tea of Peace, and by the end of Mass, you need it. All that ACTIVE PARTICIPATION, that paying attention to booklet, sheet, men's schola, priest and your own interior disposition is EXHAUSTING. So off you go in the tea ladies' wake, digging once again in your wallet or bag to find a heavy coin with which to buy a copy of your favourite Catholic newspaper on the way. Strangely, after Tridentine Masses The Tablet goes untouched.

You leave the church with some trepidation, for, lo, Triddies have a reputation for being mean people. Will they beat you to death when you emerge? But no, there is gentle JOHN gulping down cigarette smoke as fast as he can, while talking to me.

"Well, poor Maurice," says John. "I said to him, Look here, old boy, isn't it time to put your raincoat out to pasture? It's coming apart at the seams. And he said to me, Now, look here, old chap, this raincoat saw me through forty-five Foreign Office postings, I'm not abandoning it now."

And there is such other bandinage while the heavy smokers get as much nicotine as they can back into their systems before the rain drives them into the parish hall for tea.

In the parish hall, the Trids cluster around the tea table for tea or instant coffee and a biscuit and then reluctantly drift away to sit at tables in the room. This being BRITAIN, there is no forced jollity or joining of groups of strangers with a whoop and a "Hai, Ah'm Sally Sue, and Ah'm new heah!" Instead there is a lot of standing around and looking shyly at the various groupings until one has judged which grouping one might safely and politely join without embarrassment to all.

But how to do that without a prior introduction to anyone or being spoken to first by a unusually gregarious Briton is still a secret even to me, for I am a foreigner. In my experience, the best thing to do is to marry in. If this is impossible, then I suggest coming to a few Sunday Trid Masses in a row and then lingering about the church doorway with a wistful look on your face. At this POINT IN HISTORY (hem hem) Trids are so few that the longer term Trids will start taking an interest, wonder who you are, and then take bold and dramatic steps (like saying "Good morning") to find out.


Update for crowds: more frivolous Catholic positive goodness begins here.