Last Sunday—mirabile dictu—the entire brood made it all the way through Mass without any surly fits, inappropriate vocal explosions, or diaper disasters. It’s exceedingly rare to go 5-for-5 in baseball, and it’s about as rare for Mrs. and me to get to stay through all of Mass with all five children.
But yesterday was back to normal: Toddler didn’t make it through half the homily before his physical and sonic antics made it clear that he needed the kind of attention only a narthex could 
provide. I wasn’t surprised, as he had been rather sour with me ever since the Epistle, when I stopped him from pretending that the kneeler was a racing motorcycle.
So out the doors we went. Even though there is a little Bose speaker on the wall in the tiny lobby, I must admit that I didn’t catch much of Father’s homily, though I remember the point at which he sardonically commented about modern churches apparently designed with all the aesthetic qualities of a bomb shelter, mainly because he raised his voice. The rest of the homily, at 
least from my perspective, was a 20-minute physical and psychological wrestling match with a very cunning and slippery two-year-old. Imagine a young Odysseus—coated in olive oil.
The Offertory came and went, with the ushers doing their best to slip in and out of the sanctuary without keeping the doors open too long—for we were not alone in the narthex, many other families having run into similar troubles. At one point, My Toddler made a break for it—but he hesitated as the door swung slowly shut behind the jacketed gentleman with the basket of cash and checks, glancing back to see if I was going to leap forward to grab him. I called upon the steely nerves that I developed during my years of teaching middle school, and looked back at him with a Mona Lisa smile and nary a twitch. Toddler returned the grin and decided to stay in the narthex with me.
The Mass continued, beyond my field of vision, below the threshold of my auditory powers, and nearly entirely outside of my attention, which remained focused on keeping the two-year-old from running riot. Of course, the low-volume “Low Mass” is my family’s usual way of worshiping on Sundays, so even a tower of Bose speakers couldn’t have helped me to tune in to the silent sacred action on the altar. Yet the whole time, I remained aware of that was happening, and that meant I could occasionally turn my thoughts upward towards the Lord, even as most of my energies were directed down at my son. This brings me to this week’s reason why we—why I need(ed) the Latin Mass, at least this Sunday:
223. It has audio cues for the inattentive or dull-witted.
It was the sharp tones of the bells, sounded by the altar server, that kept me aware of what was happening inside the sanctuary as I grappled with my son, who was entirely too interested in the stairs to the choir loft. Thus I almost involuntarily dropped to my knees when I heard the Morse code of the consecration—l o n g- short-short-short- l o n g. A few minutes later I beat my breast three times on cue and joined in with my mind and heart as the priest, accompanied again by the bell, recited the threefold penitential formula Domine non sum dignus, ut intres sub tectum meum…Lord, I am not worthy that you should come under my roof, but only say the word, and my soul shall be healed. Heaven knows no matter what word I said the boy wouldn’t leave the drinking fountain alone.
And even as I attempted to keep my son from rearranging the thumbtacks of the “Confraternity of Christian Mothers” poster on the bulletin board, the bells sounded again and gave me something 
else to think about: like the proverbial Pavlov dog, I heard the signal and responded, not with salivation, but with words of adoration: Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis. The weary father whose wits have been dulled by the trials of parenting may indeed have more in common with beast than man, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be reminded of his spiritual aspirations.
Toddler apparently gets the cues too—when the organ started playing, signaling the distribution of the Eucharist inside the sanctuary, he heard it and immediately bellowed at the top of his lungs, “COMMUUUUUUUUUNION TIME! COMMUUUUUUNION TIME, DADDY!” Give that little puppy a treat.
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{ 8 comments… read them below or add one }
The Communion bells are used at my parish’s OF masses, too. My almost-3-year-old will shout “It’s Jesus, Mommy! It’s Jesus!” when he hears them.
Reminds me of when Louisa was 2ish. She fell on the kneeler, hit her head on the pew in front and started bellowing. As I dragged her out, she yelled,”No.No. I want God! I want God!”
“Give that little puppy a treat.” This will have me smiling the rest of the day!
Cardinal Ratzinger made a similar point in “Spirit of the Liturgy” — he encouraged priests (even in the OF Mass) to say the Eucharistic Prayer silently…then the bells have much more power in calling the attention of the faithful.
As far as I can tell, there is nothing which says that the priest should say the Canon out loud — even in the current English translation of the Missal, it only says that he “may” say it out loud.
I would add comments that Cardinal Arinze recently made on Catholic Answers Live, that if the Novus Ordo were celebrated without adding or deleting from the rubrics, that it would be as reverent as the TLM. In fact, he recalled a story from France where someone heard the NO celebrated in Latin, with the exception of the homily, and the person thought that they had just witnessed a TLM mass.
Amen.
I certainly agree that Novus Ordo Mass can (and should) be celebrated with the same reverence as the TLM…however, I would note that there are some real problems even in the very rubrics of the Novus Ordo itself. I am not intending to criticize the Mass too much, I only want to point out that there is some real ambiguity in the N.O. rubrics, which then tends to give rise to some very irreverent things — for example: the communion plate (paten used by servers for the people’s communion) is not clearly mandated; the use of bells is not required; it can be argued (though I think incorrectly) that the priest ought not to keep his fingers joined after the consecration… additionally, there are elements of the N.O. Mass which are a real break from the tradition — women being allowed to distribute communion, for example.
I would say that these “little difficulties” are to be expected…the N.O. is very new, and it will take a while for all the fine points to be worked out. That is exactly what people like Pope Benedict and Cardinal Arinze are trying to do! Perhaps in 100 years or so, things will have settled down a bit…
In the meantime, let’s pray for our priests, that they may come to truly love the Eucharist and celebrate the Mass (in every form) with reverence, devotion, and dignity.
Perhaps saying the Ordinary Form in Latin would grasp ones attention when the bells ring.
Or perhaps in the AU when the priest is ad orientum, and the bells ring.
Anyone? Anyone?
Our pastor here in VA says the OF in Latin…and ad orientum. Although I don’t regularly attend the LM, I could relate to Denys’ “Morse Code of Consecration”. We use patens too. Oh, and there are NEVER fewer than 6 boy alter servers; there are often 10 or more. It is just beautiful to see these young men reverently serving, bowing their heads everytime the name of Jesus is said.
The bells, and other such experiences should not exclusive to the LM.