In continuing to study Pope Benedict XVI's introductory letter to Summorum Pontificum, he calls us to reflect on the words of St. Paul to the early Church in Corinth:

“Our mouth is open to you, Corinthians; our heart is wide. You are not restricted by us, but you are restricted in your own affections. In return … widen your hearts also!” (2 Cor 6:11-13). ...[St. Paul's] exhortation can and must touch us too, precisely on this subject. Let us generously open our hearts and make room for everything that the faith itself allows. [i]

The Pope is here addressing the Bishops of the world, asking them to make room in their hearts for those who desire to celebrate the Liturgy in its traditional Tridentine form. But just as we saw in my last blog regarding reverence, we can read between the lines to perceive an exhortation to a fundamental quality that is required of all of us – whether we be clergy or laity, whether we adhere to the “old form” or the “new form” of the Mass. This is the virtue of magnanimity, which can be defined as “having a great and noble soul.” While Benedict XVI does not use this precise term, he points to it in speaking of a “widening of hearts”. And it is appropriate for us to focus specifically here on magnanimity, because: 1.) it is a key virtue which has permeated all of Pope Benedict's life and teachings, in harmony with the Gospel of Christ, the lives of the saints, and the constant teaching of the Church, and 2.) this personal quality, which just like reverence is rarely portrayed well in our contemporary culture, is also one of the most vital elements in any authentic renewal of Faith, Liturgy, and sacred music.

As much as we might wish to think that nobility or greatness of soul is beyond our reach, the Gospels are clear that Jesus calls each of us to such greatness:

You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. [ii]

Christ is calling us to expand our hearts, so as to share in God's tender paternal love for all people. Normally when our own child does something wrong, we unabatedly continue to love him or her; while throughout their childhood this love requires us to correct and discipline them, it also calls us to persevere, for however long, in praying and hoping for their eventual human and spiritual flourishing. Do we manifest this same kind of love in relation to our “enemies” today?

Who are these enemies? If we look to see who are those who oppose the ways of truth, goodness, and beauty in our society, we can find many people who fit this description. But in the midst of recent scandals whose scope seems to beggar belief, we might first look closer to home. We might think of Bishops, Priests, and others who have flagrantly used their position of authority to abuse those under their care, or to protect those who have committed such abuse.

Such actions must elicit our righteous indignation, and every sustained effort to eliminate such horrific behavior and its evil roots. In fact, the dwelling place of magnanimity can only be built upon the foundation of uncompromising commitment to truth and justice. Without such a commitment, directed first toward ourselves, then toward our loved ones, and then toward the society in which we live, we will invariably be drawn into a web of indulgence and corruption. Our kindness will be reduced to weakness, and our nobility reduced to an impotent and ludicrous imitation of the real thing.

But building upon this solid foundation of truth and justice, do we hear and heed the words of the Gospel which call us to the fullness of these virtues, and thus to the full maturity of love? Which elicits another radical question: Do we allow ourselves to be touched by the deep pain we would feel if these transgressors, abusers or facilitators were our own children? And out of that pain do we continue to pray and hope against all odds for their conversion? Such was the case of Msgr. Hugh O'Flaherty, a wartime Vatican official whose true story was dramatized in the 1983 television film, The Scarlet and the Black.

In the final years of World War II, O'Flaherty was able to save thousands of Jews and Allied soldiers from being captured by the Nazis, through his daring efforts to hide them throughout Italy and in the Vatican itself. His archenemy in these endeavors was the head of the German police and security services in Rome, Herbert Kappler. Kappler was responsible for massive deportations of Jews (earlier from Austria and then later from Rome) to Auschwitz, where most of them met their death. He gave orders that Msgr. O'Flaherty be shot to death the moment he stepped outside the boundary of Vatican property; nevertheless, this priest continued his personal visits to those in need of his help in the city, under the cover of many ingenious disguises which earned him the epithet of “the Scarlet Pimpernel of the Vatican.”

Lieutenant General John C.H. Lee presenting the US Medal of Freedom to Monsignor Hugh O’Flaherty. (Courtesy/Memorial Society)

But Msgr. O'Flaherty was magnanimous not only in his courageous assistance to those who were being hunted down by the Nazis. After the war was over, Kappler was sentenced to life imprisonment in the Gaeta military prison in central Italy. Who would ever want to take the time and effort to visit this despicable war criminal there? Yes, indeed, it was Hugh O'Flaherty. Month after month, year after year, they continued their discussions of literature and religion. And in 1959, some fourteen years after the end of the war, Herbert Kappler entered the narrow gate. Repentant of his sins, he received Christian baptism from O'Flaherty, and was welcomed into the Catholic Church.

Let's return to our situation in the Church today, in which we have seen not only the horror of sexual abuse, but also the profoundly disturbing reality of liturgical abuse. The latter reality might seem less obvious, as people have become desensitized to the banalization of the Mass; how what was historically the reverent and grace-filled adoration of God – intended to be the transcendent “source and summit” of our lives - has now too often become a casual, horizontally-oriented community celebration (notwithstanding the notable radiant exceptions to this generalization.) But both of these deep wounds, exposed ever more clearly to the light of day, have rightfully elicited the anger of the faithful. In such a situation, all “able bodies” must fight undauntingly for truth, justice, and reform.

But as we engage in this battle, it often becomes very difficult to maintain that magnanimity - that greatness and nobility of soul - to which we are all called as followers of Christ. Especially when we ourselves have been the victims of abuse or neglect, by those who have been entrusted with the leadership of our families, our parishes, and our Church. Not only is it very difficult to have a loving heart toward those who seem to be our obvious enemies; this difficulty becomes easily extended to all those who disagree with our insights and opinions, including those of good will and those who share our Faith. How can we possibly fulfill the exhortation of St. Paul, who says to the entire Church:

Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassion, kindness, lowliness, meekness, and patience, forbearing one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. [iii]

The only way that we can integrate these seemingly conflicting virtues – the fiery pursuit of justice, and the prodigal paternal love which seeks the salvation of the sinner – is through acknowledging this to be our high calling, confessing our own radical need for divine mercy and assistance, and then deepening our relationship with God in Christ, by the power of the indwelling Holy Spirit. This very deepening is meant to be facilitated by our reverent participation in the Sacred Liturgy; but when we have difficulty in finding Liturgies that promote such reverence, we are not left as orphans. Through prayer in its many forms, through our study of the Scriptures and the treasury of great spiritual writers, and through edifying friendships, God is always faithful to meet our needs: “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice... Have no anxiety about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.” [iv]

But now we need to return to reflect on how all of this relates to the two forms of the Roman Rite, and to our pursuit of integrity in the Liturgy and its sacred music. In regard to the Ordinary and Extraordinary forms of the Mass, and the music which clothes these forms, there has been a great deal of controversy in recent years. On the one hand, many who participate exclusively in the Mass of Paul VI have perceived the TLM as an unhealthy and divisive return to outdated traditions. On the other hand, some who adhere to the Tridentine Liturgy, in discovering its depth and beauty, have strongly criticized the new form as being inherently flawed and thus as the source of many of our present woes. Similarly, church musicians often fall into one of two camps: those who wish to preserve and cultivate our patrimony of chant and polyphony, vs. those who embrace the post-Vatican II musical developments as a fitting way to facilitate the participation of the lay faithful.

And for both “sides”, the way forward often seems to be an issue of achieving conquest over the other, rather than of following Pope Benedict's exhortation to pursue a (holy) interior reconciliation in the heart of the Church. Given our human nature and our need to work together with others of like mind, is there any way to transcend this polarization and for us to be magnanimous artisans of a unity that is based upon truth and goodness? There is indeed. As I've mentioned repeatedly, we should never compromise our fervent pursuit of truth and justice. But this pursuit must be permeated by humility, gentleness, and charity, if it is to be fully Christian and Catholic. Jesus says: “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart,” [v] and later: “By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” [vi] Here are seven questions to help us incarnate these words of Christ in our lives today:

Do we meditate frequently on the words of Scripture, of great spiritual writers, and of the lives of the saints, which can clearly portray before our eyes the virtue of magnanimity, and the integration of justice and charity? There is a wealth of such reading material that is easily accessible to all of us. One of the most succinct examples from the Bible is a passage from the Epistle of St. James, in which he writes: “...the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, without uncertainty or insincerity, And the harvest of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace.” [vii] Do we allow the light of such words to shine on all of our dealings with other people?
Do we immerse our lives, all of our relationships, all that we say, and all that we do in prayer? Prayer for God's mercy on us and others; prayer that we may be filled with the Holy Spirit anew each day, and fully open to his guidance and power; prayer for our loved ones, families, and friends; prayers for all those with whom and about whom we speak and write; prayer for our “enemies” and those who we perceive to have gone astray? Whether or not we feel that such prayer has an effect on others, it certainly has the power to affect ourselves; to deepen our relationship to God and to realize that it is only in union with him that we can bear lasting fruit in that which we do and say.
Do we steer far clear of any ad hominem attacks, focusing instead on issues and behaviors, always in the hope that those who disagree with us, or who have clearly done wrong, can be brought to the light of truth?
While clinging to those truths of which we are certain, do we remain graciously open to disagreement, critique, and correction in regard to our opinions? In this regard, doesn't St. Thomas Aquinas hit the nail on the head when he says: “Of all the signs of a person's knowledge and wisdom, none is proof of greater wisdom that that he does not cling to his own opinion... For those who cling to their own judgment so as to mistrust others and trust in themselves alone, invariably prove themselves fools and are judged as such...” [viii]
As much as is possible and prudent, do we positively show human warmth, kindness, empathy, and understanding to those whom we might be called to confront or correct? As St. John Bosco portrayed so powerfully in his work with wayward youth, such an approach is exponentially more potent in effecting change, than one in which we assume a strident and harsh attitude. Words, body language, and tone of voice are all part of the way in which communicate love; they are also a way in which we can communicate our lack of love, and thus block the other person from hearing us.
Do we seek to exercise the gift of prudence in all our dealings with others, realizing that there is an appropriate time and place for what we are called to do and say? And that when our emotions would take the upper hand over wisdom, it is a good general rule to wait for a period of time to reflect and pray before acting or speaking?
In the midst of all these important considerations, do we nevertheless maintain and cultivate our fervent commitment to truth and justice? And do we give thanks to God as we gradually grow in this integration of justice, truth, and love, knowing that it is only through his gracious assistance that we can do so?

As we realize that we have failed in fulfilling any of these rigorous requirements of the Gospel – and who among us has not failed – we cannot let ourselves be discouraged! Instead, let's admit our weakness and error, embrace ever more fully our radical need for God's grace, and resolve to go forward in this nobility of soul to which we are called. Doing so will not weaken our pursuit of integrity in the Liturgy and its sacred music, but rather empower it in a divine way that is beyond imagining.

[i] Benedict XVI, Summorum Pontificum

[ii] Matthew 5:43-45 (All biblical references are from the RSV.)

[iii] Colossians 3:12-14

[iv] Philippians 4:4, 6-7

[v] Matthew 11:29

[vi] John 13:35

[vii] James 3:17-18

[viii] from St. Thomas Aquinas' Commentary on the Lord’s Prayer

Old Form, New Form - Part IV