On the first Sunday of Lent, the devotees of the Extraordinary Form of the Mass offered by the Fraternity of St. Peter (FSSP) in Edinburgh ambled tranquilly from St. Andrew’s Church to our parish hall for tea, cookies and conversation. Some of the cookies had jam in the middle. I was happy.

But hours later, the devotees of the Extraordinary Form of the Mass offered by the FSSP in Toronto left St. Theresa’s parish in a state of great agitation. Congregants wept. Choristers wept. The choir director managed to keep his composure until he was alone. Then he wept. After a sleepless night, he wrote to tell me all about it: the FSSP was leaving Toronto, its priest called elsewhere. There would no longer be a Missa Cantata, the sung Latin Mass, at St. Theresa’s in Scarborough.

The passion of those who love the traditional Latin Mass can bewilder and even anger those who enjoy the liturgical innovations that have appeared in the church since 1962. Although some Catholics were shocked by the gutting of church interiors and surprised by ad-libbing celebrants, the average Catholic who still goes to Mass agrees that Father must know best. A friend of mine was surprised, but not rebellious, when her parish priest celebrated Ash Wednesday Mass on Shrove Tuesday. (He considered Tuesday more accessible.)  Many Catholics assume that such externals don’t really matter.

But lovers of the Extraordinary Form of the Mass argue that so-called externals matter very much indeed. What sometimes gets lost in the heated discussion is the great love these Catholics have for Christ, the Mass in both forms, and the church.

I wrote to seven St. Theresa’s parishioners asking why they so love the traditional liturgy. They range in age from 21 to 53, and it takes them from 30 minutes to two hours to reach St. Theresa’s on Sunday mornings. Most also go to the Ordinary Form of the Mass, especially during the week.

“Where do I begin?” wrote Elizabeth Seguin, 28. “I first and foremost love the reverence. There is a quiet, a respect and above all a deep knowledge and understanding of what we are about to enter into within the Extraordinary Form. I feel a deeper sense of Christ, a lesser sense of myself or others (there). The attention is on Christ, not each other, so my mind is lifted more to Christ.”

“You may not believe this,” began Ann Martell, 41, “but I love the simplicity and quietness of it.  It is… the same every single time and everywhere around the world. To me it shows more of the universality of the church than the Ordinary Form. As well, since the priest is silent for most of the Mass while I’m following along, it’s like my voice praying to God… That’s my participation.”

“The Extraordinary Form is the fullest form of Catholic worship to God,” wrote David Domet, 53. “It is how the Mass was celebrated in Rome for over 1,500 years: it was only codified… at (the 16th-century Council of) Trent to promote uniformity in the rite. The roots of this (liturgy) are (in) the Temple in Jerusalem… The said or sung propers, the psalms of the Mass, connect us with the roots of our faith… When I sing the Gregorian chant and chant the psalms, it is the closest thing we know to the manner in which our Lord Himself would have heard and sung the psalms.”

Paul Griffiths, 21, wrote that he was immediately drawn to the dignity and solemnity of the rite when he first saw it on the Internet three years ago. He attends the traditional Latin Mass “because it represents the fullness of Catholic tradition, drawing on the church’s magnificent and unrivalled liturgical, musical and artistic patrimony. In it, I have found a profound encounter with the mystery of the Holy Eucharist and a striking atmosphere of prayer and reverence. At the Extraordinary Form of the Mass, there can be no mistake: what is happening on the altar is the work of God and an act of unfathomable holiness — the mystery of our redemption through the passion, death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Clare Meechan, 46, first heard the Extraordinary Form in the late 1980s while visiting family in Ottawa. Since then she has assisted at EF Masses across North America and Europe. “What has struck me about all these Masses,” she wrote, “and so too with the EF Mass at St. Theresa’s is that we as Catholics are part of the universal church... (And) the structure, the words, the actions of the priest, the ‘architectural’ character, as it were, of the EF Mass conveys immediately… a sense of solemnity, reverence and the sacred.”

John Sutka, 32, admires the traditional liturgy because “of its ancient form and language, its richness, the depth of its prayers…especially during the canon. One is praying with the priest, in the same direction, facing Christ. Practically speaking, there’s a lot of time spent kneeling, which I find helps me in contemplating the prayers being said.”

Most mentioned the careful reverence shown the Blessed Sacrament. That is what Eric de Mel, 33, loves best.

“I feel that the EF is more reverent to the Holy Eucharist than the Ordinary Form,” he wrote. “In the OF the extraordinary exception of receiving communion on the hand has become the norm… In the EF, communion is placed on the tongue and the paten follows the (host) from the (ciborium) to the tongue to prevent any particles from falling to the ground.”

Although the Missa Cantata will still be available on Sunday mornings at the Oratorians’ St. Vincent de Paul parish, these EF devotees plan to attend the less ornate “Low Mass” to be celebrated now at St. Theresa’s. But they will miss their FSSP priest all the same.

“I was devastated in losing Fr. (Howard) Venette,” wrote Seguin. “He drew me to Christ in the EF Mass more than anything or anyone else.” 

Dorothy Cummings McLean Dorothy Cummings McLean is a  a Canadian writer living abroad and author of Seraphic Singles from Novalis. She has an MA in English literature from the University of Toronto, an M.Div./STB from Regis College and spent two years in doctoral studies in theology at Boston College.

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