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Published: June 22, 2008

Escape from silliness

The new English translation of the Roman Mass – a sign of hope for the Church

Notes from a Cultural Madhouse

By Christopher Zehnder

“John and Mary Catholic have a right to have prayer texts that are clear and understandable,” Bishop Donald Trautman of Erie, Pennsylvania, said at this month’s meeting of the U.S. bishops. As he has done many times before, His Excellency was speaking out against a proposed English translation from Latin of the prayers of the Roman Mass. The translation would replace the current one in use in English-speaking parishes – a translation its defenders praise as clear, understandable, and “proclaimable.”

Certainly, the current translation of the Mass is all these things, but it is much more besides. The translation is clear, because it is pedestrian; it is understandable, because it is infantile; it is proclaimable because, well, it can be spoken aloud to a large group. The current translation has all the poetry of a how-to manual. This may make it comprehensible to John and Mary Catholic, but just comprehensible. The words and phrasing of the prayers are transparent, devoid of that sense of mystery that stirs the human spirit to ask, “what does this mean?” and so rise to a higher understanding of truth.

Bishop Trautman seems to think John and Mary Catholic (presumably kin to “Joe Six Pack”) are barely conscious cud chewers, slouching to Mass, plopping themselves in a pew, dully mouthing the prayers, popping Communion, and then limping home to watch on TV whatever Those People watch on a Sunday afternoon. Now, John and Mary Catholic might be cud chewers and other things besides, but they shouldn’t be dismissed for all that. Chewing the cud has traditionally been a symbol of contemplation, and as human beings, John and Mary were made for contemplation. If they are barely conscious, it may be because they have never been jogged into wakefulness by the brisk and bracing experience of beauty.

It was, in part, just this experience that the fathers of the Second Vatican Council called for when they spoke of opening up the treasures of the liturgy to the faithful. The Roman liturgy is surely a trove of theological imagery, sentiment, stately language, and lapidary phrasing conveying the divine. But it is a treasure that, at least in English-speaking countries, has been kept mostly hidden from the faithful.

How far the current translation of the Mass falls short of the Latin original can be seen in the collect (or “opening prayer”) for the Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time. I shall give the Latin original, an English translation (not the new proposed one), and the current form the prayer takes in English:

Deus, in te sperantium fortitudo, invocationibus nostris adesto propitius, et, quia sine te nihil potest mortalis infirmitas, gratiae tuae praesta semper auxilium, ut, in exsequendis mandatis tuis, et voluntate tibi et actione placeamus.

Unofficial translation of the above:

“O God, the firmness of those who hope in you, graciously hear our prayers; and, because without you human infirmity can do nothing, grant us always the help of your grace, that, in following your commandments, we may please you in will and act.”

Current translation:

“Almighty God, our hope and our strength, without you we falter. Help us to follow Christ and to live according to your will.”

A comparison of the versions of the prayer shows, I think, the paucity of expression in the current translation. There is a slight, perhaps, but important difference between calling God “our hope and our strength” and identifying Him as the “firmness [or strength] of those who hope” in Him. In the latter version, it is firmness that follows hope, more clearly identifying God as the strength, not just of anyone, but of those who, through baptism, are endowed with grace. The Latin prayer more forcefully expresses our powerlessness apart from God, without whom “human infirmity can do nothing,” whereas the current translation simply says we falter without God – a more vague formulation to accommodate, it would seem, the Semi-Pelagians amongst us. The Latin prayer, moreover, expresses the sense of God’s transcendence and our humility in the phrase, “graciously hear our prayers.” And, the current prayer is just not lovely. It sounds like something one has dashed off. The only thing that can be said for it is that it is not as high-falootin’ as the Latin prayer. A dubious bit of praise, indeed.

This collect is but one example of the two-dimensional character of the current Mass translation. There are others. Addressing the U.S. bishops in June 2006, The Right Rev. Arthur Roche, Bishop of Leeds, England, and chairman of the International Commission on English in the Liturgy, gave other instances of differences between the new translation and the current one.

The Third Eucharistic Prayer in its current English form, for example, renders a solis ortu usque ad occasum oblatio munda offeratur nomini tuo as "so that from east to west a perfect offering be made to the glory of your name." The new translation, however, renders "from east to west" as "from the rising of the sun to its setting," a faithful translation of the Latin. Bishop Roche explained that, in this case, the new translation is not merely more accurate but better all around. Those who would defend the current translation would claim, said Roche, "that from east to west conveys the same information as from the rising of the sun to its setting, which we now propose. And so it does, in the dry language of the cartographer. But the meaning of this phrase is richer: it has a temporal dimension as well as a spatial one." Not only that, but it also echoes Sacred Scripture, as in Malachi 1:11: "See, from the rising of the sun to its setting all the nations revere my Name and everywhere incense is offered to my Name as well as a pure offering." The new translation, said Roche, is "a richer and more evocative version, bringing to the mind of the worshipper the beauties of the sunrise and sunset and the closeness of these texts to Sacred Scripture."

Bishop Roche gave another example, from the Fourth Eucharistic prayer; where it says, "he took the cup filled with wine," while the new translation uses the phrase, the "fruit of the vine." "Some argue," said Bishop Roche, "that the fruit of the vine means the same as the single word wine, and that the simpler expression should be preferred. But we hear the words the fruit of the vine on the lips of the Lord himself in all three synoptic Gospels -- which I would consider as being more than enough reason to respect their form. Moreover, though the two expressions refer to the same substance, they do so in an entirely different way. The difference between the single word and the richer phrase is the difference between reading the label on the bottle and actually enjoying a glass-full of the wine itself.

“Furthermore,” continued Roche, “this phrase has a powerful salvific resonance because of the symbolic value accorded to the vine plant and the vineyard in scripture, as recalled by Jesus' elaboration in John 15 of the image of Himself as the true vine, His Father as the vine dresser, and ourselves as the branches." More than "wine," said Roche, "fruit of the vine," "upon each hearing, encourages us in our imaginations to see the particular Eucharistic event as part of the unfolding of God's universal plan within history to rescue us from the destruction and chaos occasioned by our sinfulness and bring us into communion with Himself and with each other in Christ."

These examples given by Bishop Roche – not to mention the rendering of et cum spiritu tuo as “and with your spirit” instead of the Dick-and-Jane “and also with you” and the return to “I believe” instead of “we believe” and “consubstantial” instead of “one in being” in the Creed – give me hope for the new translation. The Church historically has not been only the ark of salvation but the preserver of the best of human culture. She has throughout the centuries taken the beauties of the human imagination and intellect and enlisted them in the service of the redemption of the human soul. Then came the mid- to late 20th century, when transcendence gave way to banality, high and stern sensibility to sentimentality, and refinement to the need to be relevant. The crooners entered the sanctuary singing “Feelings,” and the Church has all but surfeited and died.

The new English translation of the Mass, together with other moves from Rome – the public reestablishment of the traditional Latin Mass, for example – may signal that the Church is emerging finally from the bout of silliness that has afflicted so many parts of the Catholic world for 40 years now. Rooted more firmly in her traditions, the Church may be able to commence that reform and renewal, promised by the Second Vatican Council, but, thus far, largely unrealized. By rediscovering her heritage, the Church may now become more fully herself – the gathering of those who seek transcendence.

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