Késsinnimek - Roots - Racines

OLD TIME RELIGION

by   Louise Dubrule

I confess to being inspired by Norm’s proposed changes to the Catholic Church, as well as the responses from his readers. We’ve already established that I’m ‘way over the hill and speeding down the slippery back side, and from this point in life I’ve already seen a number of changes over the years.

While I was growing up, we were still in the pre-Vatican Council era, and that meant that business was conducted in Latin. Through the old Baltimore catechisms with the purple covers, we learned that the reason for this was that Latin was a “dead” language so the liturgy of the Mass wouldn’t be changed. It also meant that no matter where in the world you attended Mass, you’d feel at home, for the very word Catholic means ‘universal.’

How well I remember that the whole atmosphere was one of mystery, for the priest had his back to the congregation and we couldn’t see what he was doing. Our missal books had the Latin on the left page, and the English translation was on the right side. Still, we were left to guess on what was really going on. When I was really little and couldn’t read or see over the people in front of us, Mama gave a little whispered running commentary: “He’s washing his hands,” “He’s blessing the hosts,” and finally “He’s washing his dishes” which meant that Mass was almost over. The chant responses in Latin fascinated me and I wanted to know what they meant. My usually devout Mama made up a translation that made sense to me at the time, and now they bring a smile to my heart. ‘Dominius Vobiscum’ was “Apportez-nous des pommes” (bring us some apples), followed by ‘Et cum spiritu tuo’ which meant “Apportez-en pas trop” (don’t bring too many), and ‘Amen’ “Assez pour la semaine” (enough for the week). To be fair, she also taught me the tune and Latin words for the Pater Noster just as the priest intoned them.

We were familiar with the ‘Low Mass’ at 8 AM with only two candles on the altar, when the priest read everything in a low voice, and the choir sang maybe one or two hymns. This was when most people went to Communion because the rules of fast prohibited anything to eat or drink after midnight. We were so careful brushing our teeth in the morning, lest we swallow a stray drop of water. On the other hand, the ‘High Mass’ at 10 AM was a drawn-out ceremony with six candles on the altar, full chants, much organ music, many selections by the choir, and a long sermon. On more than one occasion someone fainted from the imposed fast, or at least they became so light-headed that they had to sit down. Count me in that group a couple of times.

Communion time was very solemn as we knelt in front of the railing, eyes ahead, hands folded, waiting for our turn to open our mouths and stick out our tongues in order to receive the host. A dropped host was the cause for a serious ritual while it was protected and then picked up.

Given that our parish was on the Canadian border, the sermons at High Mass were delivered in both French and English. We were blessed with priests who were equally comfortable in either language, and their names rolled off the tongue: Dorian, Lavigne, Chapeu, Marcoux, St. Onge, Daignault, Gelineau, LaRoche, Dupuis, and Davingon. It is no longer the custom, but several of these priests wore their cassocks on the street, the long skirts flapping as they walked. It was also proper for them to wear the biretta with the tuft on the top, or a white straw boater in the summer, just like Bing Crosby in “Going My Way.” The priest was expected to visit every family in his parish once every year. I remember my mother’s frenzy as she cleaned in preparation for his visit, and how she agonized over the meal she might serve if he came close to supper time.

The sacraments were further cause for wonder and mystery. Confession was under the cloak of darkness, behind dusty curtains, speaking to a shadowy figure behind a slatted grille. How scared I was the first few times! Our parish had a little chapel in the back of the rectory, and it was there that a Catholic could be married to a non-Catholic instead of in the actual church. Baptism was a private family affair with only a handful of witnesses. Sacrament of the sick was called Extreme Unction and it was reserved for those in their last hours. Mama had a crucifix with the “sick call” set inside a compartment, and she showed me how to set it up in case of an emergency and I was the only one conscious enough to do this.

The various liturgical seasons were strictly followed. Lent meant that all the statues were draped in purple until Easter. There was a hard rule about no meat or meat products like gravy or broth on Ash Wednesday, and then every Wednesday and Friday until Lent was over. As a matter of fact, every Friday of the year meant no meat. May was Mary’s month and we had a procession to crown the statue at the left side altar, and it was a high honor to be chosen to carry the crown. October was the month of the rosary, and as a family we knelt after supper and recited the familiar prayers in French.

When there was a mission, we went every night that it was in session, and it was during one of those missions that I first heard that Mary was “with child” before she married Joseph. As a youngster I scratched my head over that fact for a long time! The devotion known as 40 hours came around often, and we signed up for our stint before the Blessed Sacrament. Benediction was held on Sunday night at 6:30 PM, and it meant that you arrived at the theater a little late for the first feature that evening, or you missed the beginning of “The Ed Sullivan Show” on TV. The First Friday Mass was well attended because it carried special blessings. The banns were read for engaged couples for three Sundays before the wedding and they were also printed in the parish bulletin.

If there was a dress code, I never saw one written anywhere. There was such a thing as “Sunday best”, even if you wore the same thing every Sunday. The ladies all wore hats or scarves to cover ‘their crowning glory’. If they were on vacation and didn’t have a hat with them, they bobby-pinned a Kleenex on their hair and that was acceptable. On Sundays they often completed their ensemble with white gloves. The men were dressed in a jacket, white shirt and tie. Most men wore a fedora and those were held by a little clip button on the back of the pew during Mass.

The winds of change began to blow and they brought about many new things. First came the priest saying Mass facing the people, and the language of the region was used. Then the congregation was encouraged to sing with the choir, and everyone was hesitant at first. To make the music more appealing, folk groups appeared to lead the singing and the younger people responded to that. The altar railing was removed and we began to come to communion in single file and we remained standing to receive. We were allowed to receive in the hand if we wished, and the wine was offered in addition to the host. Lay readers and Eucharist ministers, women as well as men, appeared in the Sanctuary and I was delighted to see young girls in albs serving Mass. Confession began to be offered face to face, and after a period of transition, more people opted for this form. Baptisms are now a community affair, held before or during Mass with the whole congregation as witnesses as they reaffirm their own baptismal vows.

Mama used to say that it was easier to be a Catholic in the United States in the 1980’s than it had been in the early part of the century in Canada. She remembered how the priests had ruled their parishes with an iron hand, even to telling abused wives that they had to make the best of things regardless of how badly they were treated. People believed that every word uttered by the priest came from God. My Lac St. Jean cousins told of the time in 1935 when my family visited. Mama was well dressed in a nice navy blue linen dress with white piping, but she was refused Communion by the priest because her dress had short sleeves.

It is true that the Catholic religion is a more relaxed fit these days. Nevertheless, I’m old enough to be peeved with people who come to church in skimpy attire in the summer or with a T shirt that has an objectionable message. I feel that chewing gum and cell phones have no place in a church service, and I cringe when parents let a young boy wear a hat during Mass.

We belong to a church on a military post and a great feeling of unity pervades the community of faith, partly because of a shared background. We hold hands clear across the aisles during the Lord’s Prayer and we exchange warm handshakes at the sign of peace. We have watched children grow up, become altar servers until they graduate from high school, and then come back as college students and step right into their former roles. In spite of the few gripes I have about the small number of folks who flout the reasonable rules of conduct, we leave Mass with the feeling that we have shared something special and spiritual with friends.

Change has mostly been good, and we will adapt as other windows and doors are opened. As Ben Franklin once noted, the only certain things are death and taxes. In fact, as I write this, the Conference of Catholic Bishops has changed the wording of some of the responses we’ve become familiar with. These minor changes bring the responses closer to the Latin from which it is translated. Regardless of what my Mama said “Et Cum Spiritu tuo” really means “And with your spirit”, and not ‘Apportez-en pas trop.’

 

Késsinnimek - Roots - Racines
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Created 1 Feb 2003