Russian Trads: Fasting, Spirituality and the Attitude Towards East

Mr Grigorieff, a convert from Orthodoxy, examines how Latin Rite Trads in Russia approach the discipline of fasting and Eastern spirituality.

From One Peter Five

By Maxim Grigorieff, MA

Editor’s note: join the Fellowship of St. Nicholas (in English or Español) to join traditional Catholics around the world striving to fast according to the traditional norms of our forefathers.

In the first part of this essay on the Russian Trads we learned the basics of their self-identity. Now let’s move on to the more real, practical aspects of Catholicism: fasting and prayer. It is with some regret that one must note a crisis regarding bodily fasting, which is observed even among traditionalists.

27.6 per cent of respondents observe minimal observance / only the obligatory minimum:

‘I follow only the minimum rules.’
‘I don’t fast.’
‘I don’t observe it at all.”
‘Sometimes I forget about Friday abstinence.’
‘I keep small personal restrictions.’
‘On Fridays and fasting days I avoid meat; at other times I try to limit myself in something.’

A quarter of these responses are related to health limitations.

‘Hardly at all – my health is poor.’
‘As much as I can, since my doctor forbids stricter fasting – otherwise I might die.’

But even with such cases removed from the data pool, the number of respondents who hardly fast or fast weakly equals the proportion of those traditionalist respondents who usually follow the ‘neo-Catholic’ norms of the Novus Ordo, sometimes striving for more.

20.7% – ‘According to contemporary Latin Catholic norms and beyond’:

‘I follow the general requirements for Catholics according to the documents of the Episcopal Conference, in line with the directives of Pope Paul VI. During each fast I also impose extra restrictions on food, entertainment, and the like; I keep the St Michael’s Fast, and in Advent I fast properly, in the Franciscan spirit. I’ve never followed pre-reform fasting rules and don’t know them well.’
‘In the standard way for Russian Catholics.’
‘If you mean the Eucharistic fast – then as prescribed by the current Canon Law: one hour before Communion.’
‘I eat nothing for one or three hours before Holy Mass.’
‘I abstain from meat on Fridays, also during Lent and Advent.’
‘On Fridays I abstain from meat; during Lent I choose something specific to give up and at the end of the fast I donate the money I would have spent on it to charity.’

Moreover, it is notable that in the spirit of the prevalent contemporary, somewhat individualistic spirituality, while striving for more, 17.2 per cent of respondents adopt their own idiosyncratic forms of fasting. Such behaviour is generally encouraged by many contemporary Latin pastors in Russia, although as an addition to the minimal norms, which… are too minimal in the opinion of many, including myself.

Here is what these people write:

‘I abstain from easy dopamine; spend more time in extra-liturgical prayer.’
‘I take on additional practices. For example, I may give up alcohol.’
‘During Lent I refrain from meat not only on Fridays but also on Wednesdays. I try to pray more and deny myself small daily comforts.’
‘I don’t eat meat on Fridays during Lent, pray the Rosary, and recite the Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary.’
‘In Advent I truly fast, as the Franciscan spirituality is close to me.’

As we can see, these various elements still have traditional origins, albeit they are not a consistent application of any system. Combined with the previous category, it makes 37.9 per cent total. So basically about two fifths of traditionalists fast according to the bare minimum or a little more according to their individual spiritual commitments.

Only 13.8 per cent of the Trads asked state that they fast according to pre-reform, ‘traditional’ rules. Here is what they write:

‘I try to follow the Traditional Code.’
‘When I can – according to the rules set by the 1917 Code of Canon Law. I often have to ask my Ordinary for permission not to fast because of health issues.’
‘As far as possible, I follow the discipline of the Fraternity of St Pius X.’

There is also a more elaborate testimony:

‘Apart from the minimum, my usual plan is this: a qualitative fast (simply without meat) during Advent, Lent, vigils, and Ember Days; and a quantitative fast (one full meal plus no more than two small ones) during Lent, vigils, and Ember Days. In practice, I managed to keep the quantitative fast only on certain days – more for lack of recollection than exhaustion.’

So the ‘hardcore’ army is very large among the Russian Trads. But one should not despair too much. Help has unexpectedly come from the East with 10.3% of Russian traditionalists, according to my small survey, fasting according to the Eastern tradition:

‘In the Eastern manner – I avoid animal products, reduce meals, pray much more, and read Scripture daily. I also give up some social media or limit my time there.’
‘As I did when I was Orthodox: I observe the Great Fast completely, and Fridays as far as my weak memory allows.’
‘According to local Latin rules (I’m in a mixed marriage), but I’m thinking of adopting the discipline of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church for the whole family, at least partially.’

Altogether, if we combine the percentage of those who observe a ‘serious’ traditional Latin fast with those who keep, or intend to keep, a perhaps stricter Eastern fast, we get 24.1 per cent – almost a quarter![1]

And what about prayer and spirituality?

The most frequent pattern is a daily devotion to the Rosary. Respondents describe both private and coordinated communal practice. The Rosary functions as a form of communal cohesion as well as personal discipline, offering rhythm and stability to prayer life.

Representative quotations:

‘Daily Rosary for the past one and a half years. I try to pray it in Latin. Whenever I find a new prayer, I look for it in Latin as well.’
‘Traditional Rosary – St Louis and St Dominic [as my favourite saints].’
‘Each day I pray the Rosary.’
‘Every evening at 11 p.m. my two friends and I message one another on Telegram with the words, ‘Right then, let’s go,’ and we pray the Rosary, each at home yet together. Sometimes we simply pray; sometimes someone asks for a particular intention. Twice, in a similar way but with a wider circle, we prayed the Litany of All Saints, gathering one another’s intentions. I find it very uplifting.’
‘The Rosary and the Prayer of St Benedict, and my own translation of the Litany to St Pius X in Latin.’
‘Singing, the Rosary, popular devotions (Godzinki, Gorzkie żale,[2] prayer from the prayer book – I have many favourite saints, of course.’
‘I pray the Rosary of the Precious Blood[3] each day and read the Litany of the Precious Blood.’
‘I pray the Rosary in my native language and in Latin.’
‘The Rosary, prayer to St Michael the Archangel, and Anima Christi.’

Both traditional breviaries and the reformed Liturgy of the Hours in significant use

A considerable minority use structured daily prayer through the Liturgy of the Hours or older breviaries. They value the discipline, the continuity with the Church’s prayer, and the sanctification of time.

‘I try to say daily prayers either with the Dominican Breviary of 1909 or the Breviary of the Ordinariate of Our Lady of Walsingham (Divine Worship: Daily Prayer). I also try to say the Rosary regularly. Among my favourite saints are John Henry Cardinal Newman, St Thomas Aquinas, and St Francis de Sales.’
‘Prayer with the Breviary, special time for personal Adoration.’
‘Morning and evening prayers, the reformed Liturgy of the Hours when I have time.’
‘I love mediaeval Western saints and often pray to them. I venerate Padre Pio of Pietrelcina. I tried to follow the Breviary of St Pius X – difficult. I say the Angelus and the Rosary, both in Russian and Latin.’
‘The Liturgy of the Hours (reformed), the Rosary and chaplets, the Angelus Domini in Latin, Litanies, the Prayer to St Michael the Archangel in Latin, the pre-reform Confiteor before sleep, wearing the Scapular, praying Vade retro, Satana, and reciting Marian antiphons in Latin. I have a small prayer corner at home.’
‘I used to pray the Breviary regularly (at least the major hours daily, with rare exceptions); now, sadly, I do so only occasionally.’

The growing practice among Russian traditionalists of praying the Liturgy of the Hours and the breviary — whether according to the older or the more recent books — suggests that they are, in fact, realising the very aim once envisaged by the liturgical reformers: as laymen and women, they sanctify the day through the prayer of the Church, in a form suited to their circumstances.

It is likewise noteworthy that the modern form of the breviary (that of the Novus Ordo – the Liturgy of the Hours) appears to most of them both acceptable and convenient, while not contradicting more ‘traditionalist’ options.

The entire realm of the Russian Trad spirituality appears, thus, to be eclectic in the good sense of the word. It is about taking the best from both worlds in order to thrive spiritually. This gets even more obvious when it comes to the spiritual schools the Russian Trads claim to belong to.

Identifiable spiritual schools

Several respondents clearly identify with historic schools of spirituality – Ignatian, Dominican, or Franciscan – reflecting deliberate engagement with traditional methods of meditation, discernment, and formation.

‘The Rosary, Lectio Divina, devotion to St Ignatius of Loyola, regular discernment of spirits.’
‘Favourite saints: St Ignatius of Loyola, St Augustine, St Alphonsus Liguori, St Thomas Becket.’
‘Adoration, the Rosary, Ignatian meditations. Favourite saints: Josemaría Escrivá, Ignatius of Loyola, Thomas Aquinas, Anthony of Padua, Dominic Guzmán, Josaphat Kuntsevych, Andrew Bobola.’
‘My favourite saints are Ignatius of Loyola, Maximilian Kolbe, and Augustine. I am drawn to the Ignatian spirituality described in the Spiritual Exercises and in Fr Timothy Gallagher’s videos.’

Such a distribution by ‘schools’ and the eclectic variety of saints venerated may be explained by several factors. The Jesuits, Franciscans and Dominicans all exert considerable intellectual and spiritual influence within Catholic Russia: they organise retreats, publish books, and speak at parish missions and conferences. The Ignatian method, in particular, enjoys notable popularity in the larger cities, according to my own observations. The same society is also in charge of the Seminary and the Pre-Seminary in Russia.

Many diocesan priests also offer spiritual exercises, as do communities such as Opus Dei – another ‘top tier’ school popular with the Trads. Yet the former are not easily classified by spiritual peculiarity, while the latter remain somewhat ‘specialised,’ reputationally unknown and they have not yet gained wide recognition among Russian Catholic professionals seeking holiness in the world (which is the core element of this Spanish school of sainthood).

Hence the diocesan clergy and Opus Dei do not exert the same influence compared to the aforementioned religious orders. Here, perhaps, one perceives a trait of the Russian mentality — a greater esteem for the spiritual experience of monks than for that of the secular clergy.

Equally noteworthy is another feature: the presence of Uniate saints alongside their Western counterparts. Josaphat Kuntsevych and Andrew Bobola are martyrs for the unity of the Church — martyrs of the Ruthenian Church. Uniates. Their presence in the devotional life of traditionalists is by no means accidental.

Eastern-blended practices

A number of respondents combine Eastern and Western devotional traditions. They pray the Jesus Prayer, use Orthodox prayer books, or weave both into their daily rhythm, reflecting a distinctive hybrid spirituality among Russian Catholics.

‘In terms of prayer, I am rather Eastern – I say the Jesus Prayer far more often than the Rosary and use an Orthodox prayer book. Still, I can read some prayers in Latin – for instance, before the conclave I read the prayer for the cardinals in Latin, and I’ve prayed the Rosary in Latin as well.’
‘I pray both to Orthodox and Catholic saints; I especially honour St Joseph.’
‘I pray privately at home. As a father of many children, I can’t manage more elaborate routines. But I love Adoration, the Rosary, and the Litanies.’
‘I’m only a catechumen, so my knowledge is still limited. But I already try to pray every day – morning and evening, before and after meals. I like the Litany of the Most Holy Name of Jesus; among my favourites is Pope St Pius X.’

From the standpoint of strict ‘tradi-orthodoxy,’ one might imagine that employing Eastern devotional practices – and still more, venerating Orthodox saints — would be nothing short of scandalous. To venerate a ‘schismatic’ is, after all, seen as tantamount to venerating the heretic Luther or singing Protestant hymns set to Calvin’s melodies. And this, indeed, is precisely the charge Russian traditionalists often level against the so-called ‘Red Hymnal’ – the collection of hymns recommended for use by the Liturgical Commission of the Russian episcopal conference.

Moreover, I have personally had to hold explanatory conversations with Latin traditionalists (and, to be fair, with ‘Novus Ordo’ Catholics as well) who have sought to persuade me that the Eastern understanding of the moment of consecration – the precise instant of transubstantiation – is deeply mistaken, as it does not conform to the Latin view.

Yet, as in the West, there exists in Russia a sort of quasi-union, a tactical alliance between Western traditionalists and the Eastern tradition. At times, this alliance – utilitarian in its origin and marked by unequal degrees of enthusiasm on either side – develops into genuine friendship and even good neighbourliness while literally sharing the same altars for the Liturgies. In Moscow, for example, Byzantine Catholics from two parishes share a chapel with Latin traditionalists. Even many parishioners of the Society of St Pius X, and indeed some sedevacantists, regard it as both possible and even salutary to attend a Byzantine service and to receive the sacraments there when their own Mass is not available. Sometimes it leads to quarrels with the priest when he is given a heads up about the visiting ‘dissident.’ But in many cases, due to the ‘fluid’ and loose association of Russian Trads, it does not reach the point of any sort of interrogation before Holy Communion. In any case, such instances are, of course, exceptional. Yet their very existence is telling. This is even more of a hot topic than ‘Tradi-ecological animalism’ that is also here on the ground![4]

Scrupulosity and spiritual fatigue

It is possible that some Russian traditionalists feel drawn towards the East because they have grown weary of the atmosphere of perpetual conflict – of constant opposition and struggle ‘against the grain,’ and of the neurotic tension that often permeates religious life within the Trad milieu, alternating with the everyday emptiness of a life devoid of spirituality.

A few participants speak candidly of spiritual weariness or over-sensitivity of conscience, often linked to excessive consumption of polemical traditionalist material. These experiences suggest a pastoral need for balance, guidance, and gentle accompaniment.

‘I’m not very active in my spiritual life.’
‘Regular attendance at the Traditional Latin Mass and reading materials from American and Russian traditionalists only fuelled severe scrupulosity, which has greatly burdened my spiritual life. I now love both the Novus Ordo and the Tridentine Mass equally, but I no longer read or listen to traditionalist content such as Taylor Marshall.’
‘I try to pray the Rosary more often, say the Prayer to St Michael the Archangel (Pope Leo XIII), the Anima Christi, and offer small daily inconveniences or physical sufferings to God for the redemption of sins. But I cannot say I’m satisfied with the intensity or depth of my spiritual life.’

Indeed, one of my good friends was among the organisers of Tridentine Masses in St Petersburg in the mid-2010s. Having become completely disillusioned with the whole undertaking, he – being an Eastern Catholic by virtue of having been baptised in the Orthodox Church –  eventually became an active parishioner of the local Eastern Catholic community.
In part, I may have influenced this change when I asked him one day:

‘___, are you certain that this [– the struggle for the old Mass amid the Church’s near-total rejection of it, and all the difficulties that come with it –] is truly what God wants of you, for the greater glory of His Name and the salvation of souls?’

He said nothing at the time. Yet soon afterwards we began praying together regularly at another traditional liturgy — one that was, in a sense, far more Russian, more local, more natural to our surroundings.

But the second person who contributed to my friend’s ‘byzantinisation’ was, paradoxically, a Latin priest – indeed a monk, and a Russian himself – who replied to a request to celebrate the Traditional Latin Mass in his church with these words:

‘– If you want all that exotic tradition, go to the Easterners.’

And yet, it must be said, not everyone acted — or continues to act — in the same way. Why is that?

Why the West?

The question of why some Russian believers embrace the Western, Latin tradition rather than the more widespread and native Eastern, Byzantine one opens a window into a rich spectrum of spiritual sensibilities and cultural feelings of the Russian Trads that we are going to have a closer look at. (It should be noted here that about 50% of Russian Catholics are Russian and the other half are Poles, Germans, Ukrainians, etc. who attend the Novus Ordo Missae celebrated in modern Russian. However, the Trads are almost all native Russians.)

Reason 1. Clarity and Intelligibility

The most frequent theme is the appeal of the Traditional Latin liturgy itself – its aesthetic harmony, disciplined structure, and balance of solemnity and simplicity.
For many respondents, the Western rite offered a vision of worship where the sacred is neither vague, nor chaotic, but clear and intelligible; not verbose but eloquent.

‘The actions and gestures are obvious and intelligible; the sequence of the liturgy is logical; there is harmony between solemnity and brevity.’
‘I love the Latin language, the organ, the Gregorian chant; the Rosary and the devotion to the Sacred Heart move me deeply.’

The Latin Mass becomes, in their eyes, a synthesis of the sensible and the spiritual – a space where beauty leads to truth in the most direct manner.
I personally cannot agree with the proposition that the Byzantine rite may lack clarity and order – I would rather assert the contrary! – but I can see why some people may find it overcomplex (especially combined with lack of clear visual access to what is going on behind the iconostasis, for unintelligibility, i.e. low intellectual visibility).

Reason 2. The case for the West

Closely linked to the liturgical appeal is a broader sense of civilisational affinity.
If the Latin liturgy offers beauty and coherence, Western Christianity as a whole represents a cultural landscape in which many respondents feel instinctively at home. For them, joining the Latin Church is not necessarily an act of rejection of the East, but of returning to a wider, universal horizon of Christianitas which is… Romanitas (of which they do for some reasons prefer the Latin version, for the East seems to have degraded into mere nationalism. And how can I blame them?)

‘I have always felt myself culturally more European than specifically Russian.’
‘The Western tradition always attracted me — aesthetically, but also because Rome itself stands at its centre. One wants to be closer to Rome.’\
‘The Latin rite seems less nationalised; it feels more universal.’

It is no wonder that these people became traditionalists, because the state of the Roman Catholic dioceses and parishes in general has been divided somewhat based on national or ethic identities. In some ‘Novus Ordo’ parishes in Russia, even those with a long history, it is customary to pray the Pater Noster twice – once in Russian and once in Polish – not together, but in and by different groups. To be honest, I could not think of a more scandalous way to mock this exact moment of the Liturgy. Our Russian Father, Our Polish Father… The Latin language truly does solve this problem, as it has been witnessed by the Trads here in Russia (although one may point out their relative ethno-cultural homogeneity against the NO majority).

Reason 3. The case against the East

While most respondents voiced respect or even affection for Byzantine spirituality, a few expressed genuine theological and cultural discontent. Their comments do not indicate hostility (far from that), but rather a sense of spiritual frustration – the feeling that something vital had been left unresolved within the Eastern world.

Some criticisms were explicitly theological in nature, pointing to what respondents saw as a lack of clarity or systematic reflection in the Eastern Church:

‘In the Eastern tradition I see a number of problems — semi-Pelagian accents in the liturgy, ascetic practice, and spirituality, and unresolved ecclesiological issues.’
‘A whole epoch of reform and clarification has passed the East by; the result is liturgical and theological chaos.’

What is meant by Semipelagianism, and is it really a problem? Let us take a closer look. Here is a brief historical overview.

Semipelagianism was a fifth-century theological error that arose among monks in southern Gaul after A.D. 428. While rejecting Pelagianism, its advocates—known as the Massilians—claimed that the beginning of faith (initium fidei) could originate from human free will without the necessity of prevenient grace. They accepted grace as essential for the growth of faith but not for its initial impulse, asserting that divine assistance could be resisted and that final perseverance depended on human strength. Figures such as John Cassian taught that God often responds to the will’s natural movement rather than initiating it. Opposed by St Augustine and his followers, Semipelagianism was condemned at the Second Synod of Orange (529) and ratified by Pope Boniface II, affirming that prevenient grace is absolutely necessary for faith and good works. The error resurfaced in the Jansenist debates of the seventeenth century and was again condemned by Pope Innocent X in Ad Sanctam Beati Petri Sedem (1656).

What is missing from this account? The East.

Semipelagianism is an exclusively Western problem. It was only in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, within Catholic and Protestant theology, that the previously unknown terms semipelagiani (‘semi-Pelagians’) and semipelagianismus (‘Semipelagianism’) appeared.

The extreme Augustinianism of Calvin and the Jansenist piety of some Catholics –   all this found its way into the pages of The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas – but in the East, people hardly thought about such things.

The theory of synergy, the cooperation between human free will and divine grace, while it allows for the position of St John Cassian the Roman, was never dogmatically enforced in the Orthodox world, less so in the Eastern Catholic that, for its part, accepts the Catholic clarification, complementing and correcting Cassian’s imprecisions by affirming their belief in prevenient grace, even though the language of the Second Council of Orange is infinitely distant from their own.

It was only in the twentieth century that Orthodox and Russian discourse began timidly to associate Orthodoxy and the East with Semipelagianism – and even then, such attempts were very rare. The East is far more interested in St John Cassian as the founder of Western monasticism, who brought the ascetic rules of the Eastern monasteries to Gaul.

Therefore, I cannot regard this criticism as anything other than an ideological prejudice, perhaps coloured by a certain bias against the East and a fear of heresy in anything not directly emanating from Rome.

Theological Chaos or a Beacon of Hope for the West?

As for the alleged ‘theological chaos,’ sometimes the argument about the greater precision of Western theology is fair – especially in matters of dogma and conceptual clarity, where the West indeed excels. That is why it is not surprising that for a part of my respondents, the attraction to the West often deepened into intellectual conviction. The Latin Church’s theological rationality is an aspect akin to the liturgical clarity we have discussed in my respondents’ perception.

‘Having been deeply impressed by Maimonides, my interest in Jewish scholasticism led me to the Latin scholastics, especially Thomas Aquinas.’

‘The Latin theological system seemed more consistent and spiritually fruitful.’

In these reflections, the Western tradition appears as a disciplined intellect – faith capable of thought. I do sincerely believe there are things the East ought to learn from the Western part of the Church, and we have been doing our homework for centuries, particularly we Eastern Catholics.

Yet sometimes this argument fails.

What seems like chaos or murky water may in fact be a diamond from a different mine, cut in another way. The formulations, emphases, and intuitions are distinctively Eastern – and it is the West that would do well to pay attention to them. The mystery revealed through the apophatic theology rather than positive dogma, the interpersonal perspective on Godhead and mankind, the salvific role of the Theotokos, not to forget that of the Holy Spirit, ascetics and the nature of the relations between our history and eternity, the emphasis on the process and continuity that are all especially seen in the Liturgy. And here we move to another kind of critique.

Some other respondents focused their criticism on liturgical form, contrasting the ordered elegance of the Latin Mass with the perceived excess or confusion of the Byzantine Divine Liturgy:

‘There is an unresolved problem of the epiclesis, and the Eastern liturgy has never undergone the necessary reforms to restore order.’

It is true that, for the West, the question of the precise moment at which the bread and wine are transformed into the Body and Blood of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ is, for all practical purposes, resolved. It is understood to occur at the utterance of the words of institution. Prior to the Offertory, the host is but a piece of bread that is not venerated in any specific manner.

In the Eastern liturgy, however, the process of this ‘symbolic incarnation’ that will reach beyond merely symbolic, this gradual and sacred unfolding of the gifts, begins already in the preparation before the service itself. During the Proskomedia (a special Liturgy of the Preparation), upon the paten (called the diskos that symbolises the universe), the entire history of salvation is set forth – from the creation of the world to the Nativity of Christ and His offering for us. The priest pierces the portion of bread with a small lance, recalling the words of the prophet concerning the death of Jesus upon the Cross. The sacrifice thus begins already – and yet the Divine Liturgy has not even commenced!

Intercessions are offered even at this stage, as bread particles are taken from ‘the Lamb’ in remembrance of all for whom His Blood was shed — from Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob down to the last humble soul who, in Western phrase, has ‘offered an intention for this Mass.’ Time and again, in the cyclical rhythm of the Liturgy, as we ascend the spiral of salvation history towards the threshold of eternity, fresh offerings and petitions are made. Those both fresh and old – eternal.

During the Cherubic Hymn, the as-yet unconsecrated bread is a symbol of the Lord of Hosts, enthroned upon the Cherubim; and then comes the solemn moment when an angel bears us to the Upper Room, to the foot of the Cross. The sacred words of institution are spoken, and history becomes living reality. Yet even this is not the end. For as a final seal, bridging matter and form — to speak again in Western terms — the Holy Spirit is invoked:

We offer You also this reasonable and bloodless service,

and we pray and beseech and entreat You, send down Your Holy Spirit on us and on these gifts set forth;

and make [ποίησον] this bread the precious Body of Your Christ itself, converting (μεταβαλών) it by Your Holy Spirit, Amen, and that which is in this cup the precious Blood of Your Christ itself, [Amen,] converting (μεταβαλών) it by Your Holy Spirit, [Amen, amen, amen,]

There are two Amens on the Lord’s words, then we see two more and three additional sealing ‘Amens’ in the consecration, if we do not count those from the liturgy of the Hours and the Preparation Liturgy we have discussed.

Only after all these amens from the first to the last three is the process complete. It is this very process – which Western theological logic so longs to dissect – that the East seeks to protect as mystery. Rome, for her part, has ever approved and embraced the Eastern rite, though attempts to express its mystery in scholastic or Byzantine categories, notably at the Council of Florence, were not always felicitous. Yet Rome received and blessed it, perceiving, I believe, in this emphasis upon symbolic process and continuity, a safeguard against the reductionism inherent in the quest for maximal precision and delimitation of the moment of consecration – the very reductionism that, in part, gave rise to those liturgical reforms of the Roman Rite which traditionalists now lament, and which successive popes, even to our own day, have acknowledged: the loss of mystery, the impoverishment of symbol, the rise of utilitarianism and what my respondents called ‘fashionable minimalism.’ Thus, the West might learn something from the East as well.

Reason 4. Wrong choice or a ‘native bias?’

I hope that our experience of the Catholic Faith may help both Latin camps come together, and the Tradition prevail. This is my mission. That is why I was not particularly pleased to learn that several respondents voiced cultural and institutional concerns, especially regarding the contemporary expression of the Byzantine tradition in Russia:

‘The Byzantine rite has been discredited in Russia by the actions of the Orthodox Church and the government’s use of it for nationalist purposes.’
‘When you have not been deeply formed in Orthodoxy, it’s hard to see the value of the Byzantine tradition – it can appear merely archaic or inert.’

For these believers, the Western Church represented not only theological precision but also moral and cultural openness – a space untainted by nationalism and clerical rigidity.

It is striking how Russian traditionalists here find themselves caught in a kind of dramatic dilemma. On the one hand, at least the second of these arguments might well have been applied to the traditional Roman rite by the supporters and contemporaries of the post-conciliar reforms. Indeed, it is often only in what is foreign that one recognises what one has already possessed, for, as the saying goes, a prophet is without honour in his own country.

On the other hand, Russia has its own tradition of such reflection. In the latter half of the nineteenth century, Russian thinkers were divided into two camps – the Slavophiles and the Westernisers. Both groups were influenced by German Romanticism and were united in their search for a national idea; yet the former were, broadly speaking, the ‘patriots’ and ‘traditionalists,’ while the latter were advocates of a historical re-evaluation in favour of Western Europe, and also mostly Liberal. The division was as vivid and irreconcilable as it was, in truth, somewhat artificial – but such is the nature of modernity. Even Fyodor Dostoevsky succeeded in reconciling the opposing sides only for a few days, after one of his brilliant public addresses.

Thus, the notion that Russia’s ills derive from Byzantium and from its particular expression of the Christian Faith has become an inseparable part of both the old and the modern ‘liberal’ discourse in our country. Like every literary figure of the modern age, Russian traditionalists who are expected to be skeptical about all things Liberal experience precisely this kind of inner fracture…

Reason vs. Accessibility: The Russian Reality

Not all answers, however, were so dramatic. Some pointed simply to the accidental nature of their becoming “Latins” — the result of circumstance and of the limited accessibility of the Byzantine liturgy within Russia.

‘In Russia, when one wishes to return to communion with Rome, it is not at all obvious that this can be done while remaining Byzantine.’
‘Among Catholics here there are no Byzantine parishes at all. If there had been one nearby, I might have considered joining it.’

Epilogue: other reasons that are just ‘normal’ and shared with other Catholics

Yet alongside reasoning and arguing pro et contra, runs the current of emotion and intuition. A considerable part of the respondents in their choice of the West over East mirror the data on their choice of the TLM. Or it may well be the case that the reason is one and there is just no opposition… because it has bever been a binary choice for them:

‘It may sound silly, but my choice was made not by reason, but by the heart. I simply realised: this is my place.’
‘Since childhood I was drawn to the Western rite – I cannot explain why.’
‘The faith of my forebears was Lutheran, part of the Western heritage – that inner strength still feels closer to me.’
‘I came to the Western tradition through modern pop culture – music, anime, and the Gothic aesthetic.’
‘At first it was a youthful fascination with medieval Europe rather than a genuine search for faith, but in time it deepened.’

It is with these simple, luminous, and ‘non-narrative’ answers that I would wish to bring our journey to a close –answers that might just as well have been given by ordinary Novus Ordo parishioners when speaking of their own path. These responses bear witness to the truth that in our mission, as in our personal story of salvation, things often begin in the most unassuming, unnoticed, inexplicable way –or even from an outward, human motivation –and yet, in time, God leads us into the deep and reveals His treasures, working in secret. I wish peace and flourishing to the Latin Church and to her tradition –to all Catholics and to all Christians. And I thank you for having read this little story.

Photo by Ivan Shilov on Unsplash

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[1] Although about 10 per cent of responses were too brief or vague for any classification, I did not remove them from the sample when calculating percentages.

[2]These are the traditional Polish devotions to the Sorrowful Mother.

[3] Meaning the Chaplet of the Precious Blood. ‘The chaplet was composed in 1809 by Francesco Albertini who founded the Archconfraternity of the Precious Blood and was the mentor and spiritual director of Saint Gaspar del Bufalo, founder of the Missionaries of the Precious Blood.’ URL: https://sanguischristi.com/entry/default/view/99

[4] Beyond formal spiritual systems, some respondents demonstrate intimate and often endearing devotions to particular, somewhat random saints for the specific acts of intercession. These are very cute.

‘My favourite saint is St Gertrude of Nivelles – because of cats.’
‘When friends’ pets are unwell, they message me: ‘Ask St Francis,’ and I gladly pray to him for the healing of animals – whether mine or theirs.’