YEAR AGO, I was hired as Director of Music at a new parish, which celebrates Mass in both the Ordinary Form (Novus Ordo) and the Extraordinary Form (Traditional Latin Mass). This was a new experience for our family as well as being the first parish in which I was tasked with regularly leading music for the Latin Mass. As I conclude my first full year, I find myself deeply grateful and newly inspired. My role as Director of Music has given me a privileged vantage point to observe, participate in, and grow through this beautiful form of the liturgy. At the outset, let me say: I do not come to this discussion with an agenda. I’ve never had a “dog in the fight,” so to speak, when it comes to liturgical forms. I believe both the Novus Ordo and MISSALE VETUSTUM can both be reverent, dignified, and heavenly. And in our parish, we strive to make this a reality. Our English and Spanish Novus Ordo Masses are beautifully celebrated and well attended. This is certainly also true of our Latin Masses. Moreover, I have been able to recruit some fantastic singers, as you can hear by this live audio recording from one of our Masses:
* Mp3 Download • Live Rec. (Schola Cantorum)
—“Meditábor in mandátis tuis” • Schola Cantorum founded by Mark Haas.
To conclude such a unique year, I thought that I would offer a few observations:
The Schola:
When I began directing the music for the Latin Mass a year ago, our Schola Cantorum consisted of about a dozen young men and women. Now, we have nearly doubled in size, with 20 to 22 singers—primarily high school and college-aged voices; all with minimal recruiting on my part. New voices would simply show up each week. This growth has been organic and driven by the singers themselves. They are deeply committed to learning the chants of the Church and take personal responsibility for the liturgical beauty they help convey. Their dedication is evident not only in their sound but also in their appearance: the young women wear ornate veils and modest, elegant dresses, while the men arrive in coats and ties. There is a sense of reverence and formality that is striking, even countercultural—and yet it is embraced wholeheartedly.
The Congregation:
What has surprised me most, however, is not what happens in the choir loft, but what happens in the pews. Our Sunday Latin Mass regularly draws 400-600 people. They are overwhelmingly young. Babies ‘coo’ and squirm, toddlers rustle in their pews, and the sound of little voices punctuates the sacred silence; constant reminders that the Church is alive and growing. It’s a welcome noise—proof that the faith is being handed down. I had often heard: the people at the Latin Mass are often disengaged and not participating. Contrary to this stereotype, nearly everyone has a missal open, their eyes carefully following each Latin prayer, each sacred gesture, each response. They are deeply invested—both intellectually and spiritually—in what is unfolding before them. This sense of engagement is perhaps the most moving thing I have witnessed. There is no sense of passivity. Instead, there is attentiveness, hunger, and awe. They are participating. Actively, dare I say.
Holy Communion:
Another aspect that has shaped my experience is the reception of Holy Communion. In the Traditional Latin Mass, Holy Communion is only received kneeling at the altar rail, on the tongue. Also, the communicant does not say “Amen.” This is not a liturgical political statement. Rather, it is the only way to receive at the Latin Mass, as it is written in the Rite this way. Regardless of one’s personal preference on the matter, this mode of reception has a profound effect. For me, there is a heightened sense of reverence and vulnerability. I feel acutely aware of the state of my soul as I kneel and prepare to receive the Lord up at the front of the church in front of God and all His angels and saints. It is a moment that is truly “set apart,” and it invites an encounter that is both humbling and transformative. The piety of the community is not confined to that single moment. Many arrive early to pray in silence before Mass. After the final blessing and postlude, a large number remain to continue their prayer—long after the choir has finished singing. This culture of prayerfulness is not enforced by rules or signs; it is simply the organic fruit of a liturgy that draws the soul upward.
Gregorian Chant:
Singing Gregorian Chant is one of the most profoundly spiritual experiences I’ve known. There is a stillness and depth to it that seems to quiet the soul. Often, I feel my heart rate slow as I sing, as if my body itself is being drawn into prayer. The chant doesn’t seek to dazzle or impress—it simply invites. It pulls me into a space of silence and reverence where I feel fully present and fully attentive. There’s a tactile connection to the liturgy in these moments. It’s as if I start singing in the middle of a story that is constantly being sung in heaven. What moves me the most, though, is the deep sense of connection—both with my fellow singers and with the Church across time. Chant unites us in a way that’s hard to explain. Breathing together, moving as one voice, we become part of something far greater than ourselves. And beyond our small Schola Cantorum, I feel linked to the saints and faithful Catholics who have sung these same melodies for centuries. There’s a quiet awe in realizing that these tones, these prayers, have carried the worship of generations. These same chants have edified the great saints like St. Teresa of Ávila and St. Padre Pio. They have bolstered the minds of St. Ignatius of Loyola and St. John of the Cross. To sing Gregorian Chant is to take up their song and add your own voices to the living memory of the Church.
Unity:
Our parish is blessed with a community that treasures the liturgy in all of its expressions. Many parishioners attend the English or Spanish Masses as well as the Latin Mass. The consistency is reverence, music, and adherence to liturgical documents across all forms. Each Mass, regardless of language or rite, belongs to the same parish family, united in love for the Lord.
Final Thoughts:
Assisting at the Traditional Latin Mass has changed me. It has sharpened my awareness of the sacred, deepened my love for the Church’s musical heritage, and inspired me to strive for greater holiness. I am grateful for this past year—and I look forward with hope and excitement to what lies ahead.
