These days, many people are talking about a more austere style of Mass as opposed to the style richer in the highly developed traditions of the Roman Church. While I have my opinion on this distinction, I am highly unqualified to speak about the topic. There is a related distinction which I am equally unqualified to discuss, but in which I have personal experience to share. This distinction is "Mass for the poor" as the not-poor express it vs. how the poor express it.
First of all, I do believe that if the poor really had their way, Roman Catholic Masses would be very beautiful. However, that is a different subject. What I can say about my experience in Mexico is that, in that country, when middle-class attempt to have a "Mass for the common people" it looks and feels very different from a "Mass for the common people" which is actually attended by the poorest people.
A Middle-Class Mass
While in Mexico, it is impossible to say one parish is solely middle and upper class, since people of most classes will be mixed in most parishes, there are definite tendencies and there are definitely parishes which the poor, by their own account, say are parishes for the "rich" (which to them, includes the middle class) and are not for them. Therefore, they avoid going to those parishes. (The poor in Mexico are usually quite accepting of the placement of their class and feel little desire to break class boundaries. In my experience it is more the middle class which has taken up this battle.)
Ironically, it seems to me, that it is mostly these very parishes - the ones which the poor see as "beyond their class" - that make the greatest effort to have Masses for the people, include "indigenous" elements and decorate their churches in a way that is more distinctly "Mexican" (meaning not traditional) and "personal, warm and friendly" often featuring expressive art in current contemporary styles, as well as a distinctive stylized theme of lettering and symbols. Sacred images tend to be rare. The music tends to have a contemporary folky style. While I can not claim to be doing anything but speculating, it seems to be these parishes that are striving for a more "indigenous Mexican expression of the Faith."
What's most striking to me is that you can see that a good deal of money, time and effort are invested into making this happen.
The Poor Mass
Just so you know, I'm not going to be heaping
praise on the virtues of the poor here; their music tends to be very bad, and on the whole, their parish churches visually reflect the poverty of people. However, what I will be praising is their authenticity. Let me describe one parish I attended daily for almost a month.
It's name, perhaps somewhat significantly, is San Francisco de Asis. It is a typical structure of the poorer neighbourhoods of Mexico City, built of concrete blocks, which are finished inside and out with fairly unappealing colours of paint and imitation stones. The roof is fiberglass. Inside the church, simple shelves screwed onto the walls hold statues of saints, which would have been unusually nice, had the paint not been flaking off of them. (I remember St. Francis and St. Charbel, whose shelf was piled high with the ribbons which people use to make requests of him.) The altar, cloths, tabernacle and other items of high importance all looked like mismatched combinations of rejected items from other parishes.
I remember waking up at my in-laws apartment (around the corner,) getting my 2 young sons dressed, and hurrying out the door as the 8 am bells rang from the church. There are enough parishes in the surrounding communities, all of which ring their bells every time they have Mass, that it would have been a beautiful moment of sound, had the traffic on the main road, which was backed up and almost at stand-still since about an hour earlier, with it's noisy engines, loud buses and blaring horns, not drowned out any church bell that wasn't within two blocks.
The people arrived on foot. Since it was a weekday morning, most were elderly ladies clearly belonging to the impoverished neighbourhood surrounding the church. It was about a third full. The priest offered a very simple but "clean" mass. There was no choir. No organ, no piano, no guitar. All singing - including the prayers such as the gloria and hymns - was lead by the elderly ladies, especially by a group about five pews back from the front.
I remember their singing. It was neither traditional nor was it "folky" or "indigenous." In artistic aesthetic terms, it would be hard to call it "beautiful" or "creative" or "expressive." Their old voices crackled in off key notes. Were they the same songs that are sung in the nicer parishes? Perhaps. They sounded so different I couldn't tell. Yet their voices had something in them that I don't remember hearing in the more carefully crafted "popular" Masses - a sort of passion and adoration.
One day of the week, after Mass, the priest would present a relic of St. Francis. Almost all present lined up in front of his shrine to kiss the relic.
Something about Mass at this parish touched me. While there is no doubt that the Mass was greatly lacking in beauty and talent, the people were not striving to "express themselves" or their culture. They were, quite on the contrary, striving for something more beautiful than what they could attain.
That in itself was very beautiful.
Beauty like this cannot be planned through a liturgy team, finances, art, creativity, self-expression or any sort of intellectual idea of "appeal to the masses." It is also something that could not be imitated.
I would love it if every day of my life, I were near a Mass in a traditionally decorated church with gold and beautiful
paintings, with bells, incense, and awe-inspiring chant rising to its high ceilings. However, that option lacking, a Mass like the one I just described is probably where I have found the greatest beauty.
I could (and I intend to) write more about this parish, but for today's point, this will be enough.
