T J Guile

What a tremendous blessing it was to assist at a Missa cantata for All Saints in the splendid chapel of St. Birinus in Dorchester on Thames, UK, built in 1849. It represented, to my mind, the ideal Sunday Mass. The church is gorgeously adorned with images, in almost Byzantine profusion, with a prominent rood screen (EVERY church should have one!), and the faithful eagerly light candles in honor of their town's saint, who came to England in the 7th century. The congregation robustly sang the chants of the Asperges, the Credo, the Salve Regina, and all the responses in between. A choir with crystal-clear intonation sang the proper chants, a polyphonic Mass, and exquisite motets chosen for the feastday. The homily was doctrinally rich and yet succinct. The priest wore a glistening golden chasuble. As Mass proceeded to its mystical summit, the air grew opaque with billowing clouds of incense, and a profound silence descended on all. The intensity of prayer was palpable. The faithful approached for Holy Communion and knelt along the rood screen, through which one could see more clearly the ornate altar, the golden chalice, and the candles spread across the altar like sentries; the effect, to me at least, was like peering into the world beyond, whence Christ in the person of the priest approached to place the heavenly food into one's mouth. It is difficult to explain just why this chapel and this Mass seemed so perfect to me, but of this I am certain: nothing whatsoever in that building or that liturgy needed to be "reformed." The participation was as full, conscious, and actual as can be, for a rite that consists of divine mysteries; the potent symbols uttered their more-than-rational meanings (including to a little boy who, at a certain point, simply prostrated himself face down on the floor!); the ministers and the faithful knew exactly what to do, what and how to sing, and in this way worshiped almighty God with hearts and minds. If only more Catholics could experience such a Mass, they would see why we traditionalists maintain that the liturgical reform was absolutely unnecessary. After Mass, a jolly crowd that skewed youthful gathered round outside and greeted me warmly. I enjoyed meeting the dedicated pastor Fr. John Osman, who has been stationed at St. Birinus for 28 years, and the well-known chorister Dominic Bevan, son of the Joseph Bevan whose memoirs I've published with Os Justi Press. And as a last touch of Divine Providence, I learned from Fr. Osman that the Gregorian chant expert, defender, and promoter Dr. Mary Berry (1917-2008)—to whom every lover of sacred music owes an immense debt—is buried in the St. Birinus churchyard, so naturally I paid her grave a visit, very appropriately for the eve of All Souls. In short: if you're ever in the vicinity of Dorchester on Thames, it's a Sunday Mass not to be missed!