Trads in Russia

The author, a Russian Rite Catholic studying for the Priesthood, takes a look at Latin Rite Traditionalists in Russia. Surprisingly, they do exist

From One Peter Five

By Maxim Grigorieff, MA

The Case of the Russian Traditionalists

My acquaintance with the Traditional Latin Mass – that is, the old, pre-reform rite – began, like that of many of my compatriots, through popular culture. Let us not deny it: cinema and television have always offered the most vivid and striking imagery. The Catholic brand in film history consists of high altars, baroque vestments, Roman cassocks, candles, and the Latin tongue. The Godfather, The Thorn Birds, The Boondock Saints, The Devil’s Advocate, and even the Dan Brown nonsense – all these have shaped such a powerful image of Roman Catholic aesthetics that it captivates everyone: even the devout Orthodox, even those most inclined against Catholicism among them. I too once ‘fell victim to the propaganda,’ being at that moment an anti-Catholic zealot. I even once confessed to an Orthodox priest, as a teenager, that I ‘loved the outward beauty of Catholicism.’ Of course, this confession was as much an act of repentance as of naïve foolishness – yet there was truth in it. I loved that beauty and feared that love, for it was ‘foreign’ and inevitably ‘heretical.’ Thus, in my adolescence, I began to ponder the true number of universals, leaning toward the conviction that beauty must be counted among them – and that, as I would later learn in seminary, St Bonaventure was indeed right.

It is interesting that the Novus Ordo online catechists and those Catholics who defend the new rite nevertheless turn to the same imagery in their own presentations – Gregorian chant and footage of Gothic cathedrals with ancient altars appear in their promotional videos as naturally as ever. Sometimes this innocent and well-intended ‘dishonesty’ may play a harsh joke, albeit being at the same time very effective.

I am, to the depths of my soul, an Eastern man. Yet my path to Catholicism, though largely intellectual, might never have begun without the Traditional Latin Mass and its imagery, which stirred my heart and warmed my imagination toward the Latin Church amidst the times I struggled with her deeds and teachings, both modern and of old. In 2013, having nearly reached the ‘good ending’ of the Orthodox quest – reunion with Rome – I attended an actual Catholic service for the first time. Bishop Joseph Werth celebrated the Mass in concelebration with the Apostolic Nuncio of the time. It took place at the threshold of a historic Catholic church in my hometown – then converted into a pharmacy – on one of the central streets of Barnaul, Russia. During that service I realised that I recognised almost nothing of what I had imagined I knew about the Latin Church. It was like another Church.

Nevertheless, a year later, I would become Catholic myself, entering into full communion with the Bishop of Rome. Yet it was precisely from that pontifical Mass – one which at first glance resembled a Protestant prayer meeting more than anything else – that my long journey among Catholic traditionalists began: a journey of agreement and dispute, of friendship and tragic division from some of the more radical brethren; from a membership in Una Voce Russia to my eventual departure from that venerable organisation.

In the Latin traditionalists I saw brothers and sisters – men and women who struggled with the same tension I once faced as a high-church Orthodox Christian: the desire to be obedient to Rome, for that is the path of the righteous and the choice of the Fathers; and at the same time, the fear that such obedience might lead to ruin, to heresy, to the loss of oneself and all that one holds dear. It is no coincidence, by the way, that it was the Orthodox who first translated into Russian Archbishop Lefebvre’s key work They Have Uncrowned Him.

Children beloved and unloved

As an Eastern Catholic, I felt myself to be a beloved child of Rome – whose rites and traditions are safeguarded by canon law and by the Magisterium itself; by the very Second Vatican Council that opened Catholicism to me, and which I have always cherished tenderly. I therefore took any criticism of that Council personally and painfully when such would come from a Trad friend of mine. Yet I did sympathise deeply with my brethren, the unfavoured children of Rome – the Latin traditionalists – to whom I wished the same protection of their heritage that assured my own sense of security, integrity, and inviolable identity as an Easterner, despite the practical instability of the Byzantine Rite within the Catholic Church in Russia at the time.

That injustice pained me, tore at my heart – for it was all too familiar to me as a Russian. We often raise our own children with strictness and coldness, while praising the neighbours’ and setting them up as examples for our own. I would come to know, in a much deeper and more personal way, what it means to be deprived of the possibility to participate in one’s native rite when I myself entered the system – that is, when I began formation at the ‘new-rite’ seminary in St Petersburg.

Indeed, in a broader sense, the theme of division based on rite, of setting fidelity to ecclesiastical authority against fidelity to Tradition, resonates deeply with the Russian heart through the drama of the 17th-century Old Believer schism – a tragedy which led many of the most brilliant of my compatriots eventually to the Catholic Church.

Over this twelve-year journey, I came to recognise my own place within this family drama: a mission to reconcile Latin Catholics among themselves – to help some avoid schism, and others to value the immense effort and sacrifice the Trads make to remain in unity. These sacrifices resemble those of the Irish monks who went forth to evangelise the Germans: a voluntary renunciation of the joy of speaking one’s own tongue. For much of my Catholic life – though not always successfully – I have sought to do precisely this: for the sake of Tradition, and for that same Second Vatican Council which cannot, and must not, be divided against itself in its own heritage.

The bias disclaimer

The main quest of mine in the Latin world (and let this be my last disclaimer for this piece) has been to affirm Tradition and diversity without undermining discipline and unity, and for unity never to stifle Tradition in its plurality – so that ‘Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other.’ For the truth to spring out of the earth, to see righteousness look down from heaven. That is what happens when an Eastern Uniate spends many years immersed in the Latin world – the Uniate attitude is applied where it is seen to be handy.

There are many texts one can find online written in pursuit of that same aim. Yet in this article I wish to speak specifically about the Russian – or rather, Russian-speaking – traditional Catholics. About my compatriots, most of whom entered the Catholic Church as adults, and whose paths have often intersected with my own, though never coincided perfectly. About people whose reliable, non-ideological, and reasonably complete portrayal is exceedingly rare.

To that end, I conducted a survey among several dozen Russian traditionalists, and I shall endeavour to present their position not impartially, but with a bit in good faith, supplementing the data with my own observations and experience. For they, too, deserve to be heard – just as their Novus Ordo brethren deserve to know about them. After all, one cannot love what one does not know–and to love is our first and greatest commandment.

Who is the Russian ‘Trad’?

Let us begin with a few broad strokes.

Roughly seventy per cent of my respondents – both men and women – possess higher education (most often a master’s degree, less frequently a bachelor’s or postgraduate qualification). The majority live in Moscow or St Petersburg, the two largest cities in the country. Their ages range from fifteen to fifty-two, with a median of twenty-two to twenty-four. Naturally, there are prominent and distinguished figures fifty years and beyond who did not take part in the survey and who deserve individual interviews. Yet I believe this omission does not alter the overall picture.

Most attend the New Mass regularly (65.5 per cent). Two equal groups of 6.9 per cent attend the Novus Ordo ‘episodically’ or ‘rarely.’ 13.8 per cent do not attend it because they have alternative options available, while only about 7 per cent never attend it at all, meaning in principle. Clearly, the Russian trad-world is in many ways integrated into the mainstream liturgical life of the Catholic Church in Russia. Perhaps this is one of the advantages of our situation: being a small minority, one is, willingly or not, compelled to stick together. Or perhaps it is a disadvantage, and Vladimir Lenin was right: ‘Before we can unite, and in order that we may unite, we must first of all draw firm and definite lines of demarcation.’

For me, a Russian Catholic of the Byzantine rite, that vexed question remains unresolved. I tend towards the latter view, though for the Latin Church and its internal unity, the former may well be the more natural inclination. Still, it cannot be denied that the Novus Ordo is not an ‘ideal choice’ without cost – even for those who regard it as wholly lawful and salvific (and rightly so).

Friendship with the ‘New-Riters’

Many respondents confirmed what I have often observed myself: they report warm, supportive, or simply normal relations with those Catholics who do not identify as traditionalists – especially parish priests and fellow parishioners.

Typical comments included:

‘Very good [relations], always nice to talk or share one’s troubles.’
‘Good, understanding, friendly.’
‘Excellent.’

‘Friendly [relations]; I really like the sociability and support of other Catholics in Moscow.’

‘Relations with other Catholics are good, and with the parish priest as well.’

‘Relations with the ecclesiastical authorities, however, prove far more complicated.’

Limited Contact with Bishops

One recurring theme is the near absence of meaningful interaction with bishops–particularly striking when contrasted with the generally positive relations between traditionalists and parish clergy. Several respondents put it bluntly:

‘With bishops – none at all; with the parish priest – difficult.’
‘With the bishop – none; with the priest – excellent.’

Such is the antinomy. The parish priest is usually the key figure on whom the success of any Trad initiative most often depends. With the bishop there is, in most cases, simply no contact.

‘Not acquainted with the bishop. Seemingly good relations with the parish priest,’ one remarked.
‘Good with other Catholics, good with the priest, and splendid with the bishop: I know he exists, and he has no idea I exist!’ another concluded wryly.

Regrettably, this situation only underlines the distance between the laity and the hierarchy in Russia. Who bears responsibility for this gap when it comes to traditionalists?

On the one hand, one cannot deny the mistrust and suspicion towards devotees of the Tridentine Mass among a number of seminary lecturers, certain bishops, and members of the curia. Nor can one ignore that this attitude is not always rooted in personal experience; it often forms under the influence of the global agenda–the wider Catholic debate–perceived by our brethren, regardless of rank or viewpoint, as closer to home than it truly is.

On the other hand, it would be unfair to overlook the fact that certain radical traditionalists have themselves added fuel to the fire through endless internet quarrels, local conflicts, and parish schisms – often under the same imported influences which shape our self-perception irrespective of local realities.

What excesses do I mean? In Kazan, for example, some Lefebvrians drew away part of the faithful into their own quasi-parish group meeting in a hotel. In Moscow, a circle of old-Mass activists from the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary drifted into sedevacantism. They are now led by one of the former organisers of that group, who received episcopal consecration through one of the sedevacantist lines tracing back to Archbishop Pierre Martin Ngô Đình Thục, excommunicated from the Catholic Church. His name is Thomas Huber; his brother Gregor now also belongs to the same sect.

Naturally, such developments hardly encourage the hierarchy – clergy men formed largely in the days and spirit of St John Paul II – to place any special trust in the Trads. Nor, for that matter, do they inspire my own confidence; for sedevacantism is schism, and participation in it calls the salvation of the souls involved into a serious question.

Yet two points deserve notice.

A) There is a subjective side to the reaction against schism. Such sins and divisions on the part of traditionalists (or rather, former traditionalists, schismatics now) are felt far more keenly than the far more frequent departures from the Church by ordinary men – Novus Ordo laity, or even priests who marry or abandon the ministry for any reason imaginable – something for which, alas, Russia too provides numerous examples.

B) The official response of the Church authorities, as it usually does, went somewhat further than was necessary:

The Society of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus declared as its goal the promotion and organisation, including within the parishes of our Archdiocese, of liturgical celebrations according to the 1962 Missal and in accordance with Benedict XVI’s Motu Proprio Summorum Pontificum. Although this activity in itself could only be welcomed, unfortunately it was accompanied by unfounded assertions of the superiority and exclusivity of the ‘traditional’ liturgy, as well as the dissemination of information deliberately and grossly insulting to the good name of the Pontiff and of the Church hierarchy. This led to conflicts within parish communities and caused justifiable bewilderment and indignation among clergy and many of the faithful.

Thus the Archdiocese, on the one hand, described the spread of the TLM as an endeavour ‘worthy of approval,’ while on the other it effectively restricted discussion of prudential questions – such as the comparative merits of the old and new rites. Naturally, part of the blame for the escalation lies with the traditionalists of that group themselves, who by all accounts engaged in a series of imprudent actions and statements, culminating in their eventual schism.

Even so, despite everything, the old-rite Mass continues to be celebrated, with episcopal permission, once or twice a month in Moscow and St Petersburg. A supporter of the traditional liturgy – who openly identifies as a traditionalist – studies theology in one of the official institutions; and the indult parishioners of the Summorum Pontificum camp, of whom there are many among Russian traditionalists, are generally active members of their canonical parishes, serving as cantors, organists, psalmists, or co-founders of Catholic media projects, and so on.

On the one hand, this is precisely what the hierarchy desires: to emphasise that there are no ‘parishes’ of the traditional Mass as such, but rather parish communities with their own life and pastoral work, and–albeit regularly–an optional ‘faculty,’ an electoral subject in the form of pre-reform Masses celebrated according to the latest instructions from Rome, issued under the late Pope Francis. On the other hand, this arrangement does not entirely satisfy those faithful who, scattered among various parishes, are deprived of the possibility to live their spiritual life regularly and together, as members of other movements do, such as the Neocatechumenal Way.

Evidently, the attitude towards the TLM–both from the hierarchy and from traditionalists themselves – goes far beyond ordinary spiritual pluralism that has been around in the Latin church for decades. There is more to it. But we shall return to that later.

Meanwhile, the Lefebvrians continue to celebrate Mass fairly regularly in Moscow and, until recently, in St Petersburg, as well as, as mentioned, in Kazan – though these communities now face the same difficulty afflicting other Latin Catholics in Russia: it is becoming increasingly hard for foreign priests to enter the country and there are few of our own. The sedevacantists–who undoubtedly fall under the heading of Trads, yet entirely outside that of Catholic – also maintain their own representation, in two separate varieties:

1. The Local Religious Organisation ‘Traditional Catholic Society of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus’ – the very organisation of the Huber brothers, who led part of the traditionalist community away from the Summorum Pontificum association into schism.
2. The Congregation of Mary Immaculate Queen (CMRI) – an international sedevacantist association of monks and priests-traditionalists, founded in 1967 in the United States by Francis Schuckardt and Denis Chicoine.

The latter group has a richer history compared to that of ‘bishop’ Thomas Huber’s group. In the early 2000s a large group of parishioners calling themselves the Oratory of St Pius V left the Moscow Lefebvrian community under the leadership of the ‘parish’ elder Alexander Kryssov, who later entered the seminary of Our Lady in Omaha. While the community lacked a permanent priest, it was largely served by a German cleric, Father Eugene Riesling, associated with the CMRI and responsible for pastoral care of several of its European parishes.

In 2008, Alexander Kryssov was ordained to the priesthood by Bishop Mark Pivarunas, the Superior General of the CMRI. From that year onwards, the Oratory of St Pius V has had its own priest, and Masses have periodically been celebrated in St Petersburg.

In 2019, certain parishioners from the state-recognised and Vatican-approved Roman Catholic Church in Crimea and southern Russia left to establish in Sevastopol the so-called Parish of St Clement, which rejects the local Catholic bishop (bishop Clemens Picke) and remains under the same association. There, too, Masses are celebrated periodically.

Thus one may indeed observe a trend towards radicalisation: from lawful, supported or at least tolerated communities, and even from Lefebvrian circles, some have gone ‘further’ into sedevacantism. Or, at least it is how the situation is being framed by the discourse, marking all things traditional as potentially dangerous. It is a small number of people, yet their Sad-e choice is, in a sense, characteristically Russian – for ours is a country whose predominant confession could, technically speaking, be described as sedevacantism of the Byzantine rite.

Challenges and Choices

These difficulties open up a broad field for discussion and pose a real challenge to the hierarchy. What should be done? Should the Church continue to ‘distribute’ supporters of the TLM among ordinary Latin parishes, denying them the right of forming stable communities, not providing them with separate and perpetual structures of pastoral care? That, it seems, was the policy favoured by Pope Francis.

Or, conversely, should the faithful be allowed to unite and receive suitable regular pastoral provision as it used to be in the United Stated before Traditiones Custodes? That path would be closer to the one taken by Benedict XVI. A path less travelled that may make all the difference.

It is a question to be answered, first and foremost, by the present Pope Leo XIV, for Francis’s response is the more logical – ‘the Roman Rite is one form’ – whereas Benedict’s was more prophetic: less precise, perhaps, but more attuned to cultural reality ‘on the ground.’ For in truth, there are two forms of the Roman Rite: the traditional commonly known as the TLM and the reformed – the one of St. Paul VI. Sooner or later, this collision will demand a definitive answer within the Latin Church. But before we come to that point… Do ordinary Catholic traditionalists in fact wish to have their own separate communities? I chose not to ask that question directly. Instead, I offered respondents a multiple-choice test, inviting them to select the formulation that best expressed their sense of identity.

58.6 per cent of my Trad respondents described themselves as ‘adherents of one of the holy and lawful spiritualities within the diversity of the Catholic Church’s spiritual experience.’ This accords well with the ethos of the Second Vatican Council and corresponds to the self-understanding of the Eastern Churches or of various spiritual movements and congregations.

Although the entire Latin canonical consciousness instinctively resists any attempt to categorise Latin traditionalists within such a framework, I suspect this mode of self-definition – through adaptation to contemporary Catholic ‘diversity’ discourse – is quite distinctively Russian, in contrast to the two remaining options that might be more recognisable as ‘Trad’:

31 per cent saw themselves as ‘guardians of the city’s treasures in times of street unrest.’
10.3 per cent as ‘loyalists in the midst of a quiet revolution and a palace coup.’

I would interpret this as follows: two-thirds are willing to accept diversity within the Church and to seek their place among the NO parishes, either by distinguishing their identity from the general Latin thing or by finding a space within it akin to various congregations, movements, and associations.

A third are more inclined to see the present state as a crisis, without attributing blame to any particular authority; while around ten per cent are convinced that bishops and other leaders have in some sense betrayed the Church, and that it is therefore they – the traditionalists – who stand as guardians of her fidelity to herself.

Taken together, these data portray a rather peaceable traditionalist, far removed from fanaticism, wishing little more than to live as a Catholic in accordance with conscience and spiritual calling – even though the ‘radicals,’ namely the exclusive Lefebvrians and sedevacantists, largely abstained from participating in my survey.

Catholic Inclusivity, Openness, and ‘Internal Ecumenism’

The question of corporate affiliation among Russian traditionalists is no less intriguing. How might the average Catholic conceive of a traditionalist and articulate their position? Among my respondents’ replies was one ‘typical strawman’ quotation:

‘I completely reject the magisterial authority of the Second Vatican Council and of the post-conciliar papacy. I do not recognise the FSSP, Una Voce, or similar organisations. I have not yet chosen between the modern SSPX and the more radical groups that have left it at various times.’

The FSSP and Una Voceare thoroughly orthodox and Catholic institutions, in full communion with the Apostolic See, whose leaders meet the Popes regularly, whose liturgies are celebrated in St Peter’s Basilica, and whose pilgrimages include bishops among their participants.

The SSPX, by contrast, is a priestly fraternity that continues to experience difficulties with that communion – difficulties I cannot explain here in detail, but which I do not wish to minimise. But even their most radical stance cannot satisfy the speaker in his rejection of the entire Vatican II, if I understand the SSPX views correctly.

Clearly, the author of the above quotation is a genuine Old Believer of the Latin sort – one who does not regard Pope Leo as the pope, and who is prepared to join the most radical of groups. Yet this position is an absolute minority. Among my respondents, no one else denied the authority of the Second Vatican Council. And even if that is merely a question of sampling – of which Trads chose to take part in my survey and which did not – it makes the following observations all the more significant.

When asked, ‘Do you feel yourself part of a wider traditionalist Catholic community?,’ the majority answered:

‘No.’
‘No, though others tend to see me as one.’
‘I prefer not to associate myself with any label… I feel part of the Universal Church.’
‘No, and I dislike such divisions.’
‘No. I don’t like this categorisation at all.’
‘No, because I mostly attend the Novus Ordo.’

These were the majority responses. Yet some expressed a mild affiliation – a sympathy that did not exclude participation in parish life, and which varied in its discernment and reflection:

‘I do, spiritually, as I cannot attend the Traditional Mass regularly.’
‘In outlook I am closer to the SSPX, but structures are secondary for me. Certainly not [sedevacantist]. When there’s a choice, I have my own criteria–but for me, the key is regularity of worship and proper order (once a month is religious tourism, not spiritual life), and the absence of unhealthy tendencies, which sadly do appear in some Trad communities.’

Others expressed it more loosely:

‘I do, though without rigid attachment. I view the FSSP, Una Voce, and especially the SSPX positively.’
‘I consider myself a ‘trad-ecumenist’. I’ve mostly attended SSPX; in the near future I hope to join the ICRSS.’

(The ICRSS–the Institute of Christ the King Sovereign Priest–is another loyalist group, a lawful institute of the Roman Catholic Church.)

It is notable that people’s affiliations may shift with circumstance:

‘At present I belong to a parish attached to a diocesan monastery… I was previously a member of an FSSP parish.’

This is possible not only through love of the Traditional Latin Mass and the old rites, but also through a serious and deeply suffered commitment to ecclesial unity. It would be a blessing if such fidelity were not regarded merely as something taken for granted – even though it is, strictly speaking, both right and obligatory. It is vital that those Catholics whose fidelity to the Church has not involved any personal or spiritual drama should appreciate the sacrifice made by their brothers and sisters who remain in unity – and also those who have failed to do so. No one’s love should be taken as a given; no one’s painful scream should be mistaken for diabolical enmity.

At the same time, “Trad-ecumenism” is constrained by limited resources and opportunities for all Catholics in Russia. The vast distances between parishes, combined with unlimited access to online debate, create a gulf between virtual identity that might be virtually strong and practical opportunism – the spirit of ‘I’ll go to the TLM, so long as it’s valid. I’ll take the chance.’

Thus, indult Masses may be attended regularly by Lefebvrians (despite the dubious efforts of their superiors to prevent such practice), and even my old acquaintance, a sedevacantist, may come to one – crossing his fingers at the mention of Pope Leo, imagining himself a Catholic on the right side of history: an Avignonian, so to speak, dwelling in ‘antipapal’ territory during the Great Western Schism.

The Trad-loyalists themselves – the indult faithful – more often attend the Novus Ordo than the Masses of the SSPX, and certainly than those of the sedevacantists. Their deliberate choice to remain loyal – a choice for which they have paid dearly – implies, at the decisive moment, a certain priority of lawfulness over traditionalism. Though occasionally, the opposite may also occur.

What Image of the Church is Closest to the Trads?

However incomplete and imperfect my research may be (and I am quite aware that my questions could have been phrased more precisely), it nonetheless revealed an interesting pattern.

Three-quarters of respondents perceive the Church primarily as a refuge and a source of stability:

The Ark in the Sea of Life – 27.6%
A Besieged Fortress – 24.1%
A Perfect Society – 13.8%
A Little Flock – 10.3%

Total: 75.8%

These images emphasise protection, defence, inner cohesion, or humble perseverance. The Church, in this view, is above all a place of safety, steadfastness, and continuity rather than a force outwardly directed towards the world and ‘the gentiles.’ One could say that for most respondents, the Church’s chief role is to shelter the faithful, to guard them from enemies, and to preserve their identity amid external instability and pressure of the wilderness of the worldliness. How much of this reflects traditionalist sentiment specifically, and how much simply the general mood of Christians worldwide, is hard to say.

Nearly a quarter, by contrast, view the Church as an army advancing upon the powers of this world:

A Light Shining in the Darkness – 20.7%
An Advancing Army – 3.4%

Total: 24.1%

These images express a more missionary, outward-facing conception of the Church – as a source of inspiration, a moral compass, or even (to a lesser degree) an active power against evil. Interestingly, the most frequently chosen metaphor was the biblical one, ‘a light shining in the darkness,’ pointing to a desire to see the Church as a formative and inspiring force in society, as emphasised by the Second Vatican Council and the post-conciliar popes. This suggests far greater unity between the Catholic identity of Old-Riters and New-Riters than one might imagine. The second image, ‘an advancing army,’ sounds less pacific but points in the same direction.

I also posed several detailed, concrete questions. Let us begin with the first.

‘How Did You Come to the Tridentine Mass, and What Draws You to It Most?’

Answer 1: Reverence

Many of my respondents spoke of profound silence and concentration, of a certain mystical sense of union with God – an experience that revealed itself to them precisely within the old rite.

‘(…) A serious attitude and proper reverence for the Eucharist.’
‘A more intimate and careful attitude towards the Mass than the average Novus Ordo.’
‘I was drawn by the reverent treatment of the sacraments and the prayer practices that have existed in the Catholic Church for centuries.”
‘God-centredness.’
‘Christ-centredness.’

Respondents confessed that they were deeply inspired by the attitude of reverence and by celebration ad orientem. Awe before the Sacrament, the antiquity of the Canon, the precision of the texts – and, as one put it, ‘the absence of liturgical creativity.’

Let us now turn to the discussion of these findings. This section will consist of objections (which are, in my view, the quintessence of anti-traditionalist criticism in Russian-language discourse), followed by responses and reflections.

Objection

Among other arguments, I have often heard it said that the external aspects of religion merely hinder the movement towards genuine spiritual experience. The reverent awe before God cultivated by supporters of the old Mass appears alien to the ‘spirit of early Christianity,’ which resembled more a brotherly meal with the Incarnate Christ than a mystery. The temple veil has been torn, and therefore the numinous fear before the divine should remain in the past.

Response

Reverence cannot be equated with terror in the animal sense of the word. Fear before a beast or tyrant is indeed destructive in religion, but reverent awe – the fear of standing before the Divine – is an inherent part of human nature. As Gregory the Theologian said, ‘What is not assumed is not healed.’ Christ, in becoming truly human, assumed even this feeling, purifying and elevating it. The question, therefore, is not whether reverence and awe are necessary (for they belong equally to angels and to men), but in what forms they are most fully expressed.

For Russian traditionalists, it is evident that the old rite provides a framework for precisely this balance between awe and intimacy. It is striking how often the themes of antiquity and reverence intertwine in responses to the question ‘Why the TLM?’

And here we encounter a paradox…

The Grafted Vine and the Rod Blossoming in the Latin Tradition

Considered closely, Russia is a most unusual soil and culture for the Latin Rite: profoundly Eastern and scarred by seventy years of godless Communism, yet producing extraordinary shoots – new branches of Latin tradition and Latin traditionalism. We must bear in mind that the new rite is, in fact, the old and original one for most Russian Catholics. Yet its ethos is often perceived as new, fresh, modern – qualities that alienate some believers, leading them to traditionalism.

One respondent emphasised the ‘greater sense of history – the awareness that one is participating in a Mass far closer to that in which the faithful worshipped a thousand years ago.’ For many, the rite embodies ‘the long tradition and richness of the Universal Church.’

Criticism

Some may object that there is a fundamental difference between liturgical traditionalism in, for instance, France and in Russia. France has countless ancient churches, living continuity, and cultural memory; Russia, by contrast, is largely starting from scratch – rebuilding churches, forming communities anew. In that sense, the only tradition available here is modernity itself: to build anew, to rely on Polish or German experience of the modern era, to organise things according to contemporary standards. Hence the conclusion: Russian traditionalists cannot truly call themselves traditional.

Response

All have experienced rupture. The very moment we begin to single out tradition as something distinct, the ‘natural continuity’ has already been lost – and to claim otherwise is naïve. There is no unbroken line of descent between Britons and Anglo-Saxons, Cretans and modern Greeks, Turkic Bulgars and the Slavs who absorbed them in terms of the spoken tongue. Nor is there such continuity between the worshippers of the old Cathedral of Christ the Saviour of the Russian Orthodox Church before its destruction under Stalin and those who pray in the rebuilt one today. And yet no one denies that the Orthodox Church in Russia has its own tradition.

Continuity is realised through culture, whose forms possess a timeless quality. The Church continually returns to her own past, choosing precedents and symbols through which to bear witness to the faith in the present. In that sense, Catholic traditionalists in Russia are no different: unless proven otherwise, they are part of the Catholic Church, participating in her conciliar conversation. Something a modern linguist on the continent might call it semiosis – the life of the symbol and the symbolic system that is in constant interpretation. Their traditionalism is not museum-like immobility, but inclusion in the same process that unites them with all other Catholics in Russia – including the New-Riters, who likewise came to the Church from nowhere and are therefore equally open to the same critique.

One seminary lecturer once remarked that among Catholic traditionalists there are some who seem merely to ‘play at it’ – pretending to know and live the Latin tradition. Yet such an impression is not entirely fair. Authenticity is not only a matter of inherited belonging but of effort. Every culture is a second nature, a habitus, the fruit of education – and above all, of self-education.

Indeed, traditionalists were not born into the Latin rite, do not master the language of the Romans perfectly, and are often far removed from it. But they take conscious steps towards it. As do most New-Riters, as do all of us in postmodernity, following the same principle: fake it till you make it. Finge, dum perfeceris. The same applies to the ordinary Novus Ordo parishioner who is taking his first steps in praying the rosary, examining his conscience, or learning to sing Protestant hymns from some modern collection.

Answer 2: Contra Mundum

‘Through a search for meaning in life and for the ancient tradition; I was drawn by its countercultural spirit and aesthetic.’
‘The altar is meant to be arranged in a more harmonious and beautiful way – a natural resistance to the currently fashionable minimalism.’
‘I love the Latin language and the Middle Ages,’ one respondent admitted. Another added: ‘I am drawn by the prayers in Latin at the Tridentine Mass,’ reminding us that ‘Latin remains the Church’s principal language.’

Criticism

I have often heard it said that the Church must not seek to flee from reality, turning faith into a kind of role-playing game for a closed circle of like-minded enthusiasts. Indeed, Catholicism is a living fabric, rooted in the world, and any attempt by a group to wall itself off from the surrounding life is cause for concern.

Response

On the other hand, one must note that while a wall against the real world as such would indeed be harmful, a wall against the spirit of this world is, conversely, deeply grounded in Scripture, Tradition, and the Magisterium. In this light, the use of sacred language, Gregorian chant, solemnity, and restraint – in a world accustomed to jeans and casual ease – is not escapism, but a way of preserving Christ’s presence in one’s own life and that of one’s family. As several respondents observed:

‘The combination of Gregorian chant and contemplative silence…’
‘Traditional chant and prayer facing east allow one to perceive the rite as the mystical presence of Christ.’

The tragedy of rupture with tradition – the true drama of modernity – is revealed in another response:

‘It has always seemed to me that the more traditional the rite, the truer it is. Any modification slightly shifts the focus, as in the children’s game of broken telephone. If there were a Traditional Mass in Aramaic, well, I would learn Aramaic.’

In this answer one hears faith in a golden age – the memory of the Roman Empire, raised to the level of cult by the children and grandchildren of the German barbarians who settled upon its ruins. It is the memory of a serene childhood – never to have been, yet lost forever. This ghostly memory becomes a manifesto for building the future.

A utopia? Undoubtedly. But it is the same utopia that underlies the reformist zeal – the zeal to renew liturgical life by returning it to purer and more ancient norms. An inevitable utopia: holy in intention, yet problematic in execution – equally so after the Council of Trent and after the Second Vatican Council.

Answer 3: Opposition to the Novus Ordo?

It is true that many traditionalists in Russia express dissatisfaction with the new rite and with the contemporary Church in general. Still, criticism of the current state of affairs has now become fashionable even within the mainstream of the Synodal Process, so the Trads’ exclusivity in this respect has long been lost. Yet traditionalists remain far more likely to contrast the old rite sharply with modern practices – whereas convinced New-Riters and the Church hierarchy insist upon their essential continuity.

As one respondent explained:

‘Over time I came to realise that the traditional Roman rite and the Novus Ordo are substantially different, and that the Novus Ordo is not simply a shortened and translated version of the Tridentine Mass.’

Another added:

‘The new Mass, while containing no direct heresies in its texts, conveys to the faithful an ambiguous ‘message’ at the symbolic level and can therefore become a source of scandal for the insufficiently catechised Catholic.’

A considerable number of traditionalists agree that the old Mass ‘leaves no place for the Protestant tendencies that have overtaken today’s modernist Church’ – and not everyone refrains from using such labels, especially since they were not invented in Russia.

Nevertheless, attraction to the Tridentine Mass in Russia cannot be reduced merely to such positions. Much more often, respondents emphasise the positive theological and spiritual qualities of the rite itself, without denigrating the modern form, even if they do not consider it the fullest expression of the sacrificial nature of Catholic worship.

This, indeed, is a wide field for dialogue – for shared prayer and shared action; for closer cooperation between traditionalists and local parish priests, and especially with bishops, in whose authority and under whose responsibility the liturgy ultimately lies. I am convinced that this is both possible and fruitful.

I am, after all, an outsider – a stranger in the Latin world. Yet even I can see that Latin Church leadership, and the majority of parish priests, when approached without ideological preconceptions, aspire to precisely the same thing: to a faithful, solemn, and full participation of the faithful in the Eucharist, which is both the work of God and the work of the People of God – the Sacrifice and the Banquet, the beginning and the end of Christian life.

(To be continued)

Pictured: The Cathedal of the Immaculate Conception, Moscow