Tridentine South (And Southern) Africa: Latin mass is wonderful: soft, and tribal, and elegant and poignant

(Tridentine South (And Southern) Africa)

Article by Marc Aupiais

The horrid, ugly, rude : selfish actions of drivers, who continuously broke the law, not a traffic officer in site, made us arrive 50 minutes late. We took seats in the Cathedral, outside a small: overflowing chapel. Black and white stood, knelt, and sat on time; black and white replied in Latin. All desired to be there, it was like a soft, Irish Gaelic countryside event. It was soft, and God was attending with our help.

I noticed as hooting continued, and an ambulance moves, glided past, and a truck loudly hooted. Outside: twisting, ugly chaos: we were in a foreign sanctuary, a natural, earthy, universal, simple: elaborate lover's theater. We truly saw the sacrifice of Calvary. We sensed it softly: the obedience and love of God: our sacrificed unblemished lamb.

Truly, here, we felt privy to a secret, an uniting bond beyond all bonds!

Suddenly, our angers and frustrations went, they flew forth, our minds naturally clear: all secular worries were no longer there. We were at peace, we were privy to beauty, and secret: a small dusk bound village ritual of such dedicated love; charismatic fellowship and sharing.

I had never before attended a Latin mass: it has been illicit in Johannesburg for over 40 years, even my parents scarcely recall any of it.

Yet, I sat outside: listening in the Cathedral: the small chapel overflown with loving, considerate people, hardly hearing distinct foreign words; I sat and I marveled, and enjoyed, cherished greatness, as faint yellow and gray light filled my soul with healing peace. Here was truth, here was essence, here was mystery: my God was being crucified through time, beyond time: beyond me, as I sensed, or felt like I sensed all things pass. The ritual folded space and time, and retold history in soft spoken words of love. I had came late, and was a spectator, but witness to greatness, like one in cold snow, watching laughter around a fireplace. I loved the peace, and refused to listen to music afterward, when classical sounds turned to talking.

The peace was naught only from the Cathedral, a marvelous entity of God: the Latin mass was the source of the peace. I have never felt so soft a grace: I have never looked forward to anything but the Eucharist in mass, or perhaps the speaking with pretty, and beautiful Catholic girls and ladies afterward, or perhaps obedience or some things else: yet I look forward to Thursday, when again I can be part of a small: secret, hidden, special ritual: Sometimes not understanding: is wondrous: what a mystery, like roasting marshmallows in the bushvelt: like lying down, counting clouds and stars in the grand Drakensburg, on our backs: we experienced mystical miracles: in the sacraments and sacramentals and ritual and word. Let us all begin to attend the Valid Latin Mass, now we have it again: what a ritual: what a powered miracle: softly watching as God is killed for us!

My heart was combined, as it never is in normal mass: no foolish concerns: Christ occupied our minds and hearts, as all other worries, they came for moments, but past, and peace, in darkness: heavenly light remains. What cherished morsels, what delightful radiance of Christ.