We're Going In: A Latin Mass Wedding
No clapping. No kiss. And the bride's not the only one in a veil.
It’s not like the movies — not unless you’re watching one filmed before Eisenhower left office.
I have been going to the Latin Mass for about 15 years now, but an, ahem, Nuptial Mass in the old rite was still something new. Saturday, I was invited to sing at the wedding of my friend Philomena, at St. Anthony of Padua downtown — the old church behind Buffalo City Hall, the one with the bells that still mean business.
Approaching the church, I thought back on the day Howard and I were married — in 2004, at St. Gerard’s Church. This wedding would not be like ours.
For one thing, our Sign of Peace had turned into bedlam. At the Latin Mass, there is no Sign of Peace. So that wouldn’t be happening.
And forget “You may now kiss the bride.” I knew enough about the old rite to know that wouldn’t happen at Philomena’s wedding.
Nothing would be what I was used to. That thought hit me as I walked into the church, slipping a white veil over my head. At this wedding, the bride wouldn’t be the only one wearing a veil. Though veils aren’t mandatory at a Latin mass, most of the girls and women do wear them — or hats, if you’ve got the style.
But no more time to reflect. The church bells are ringing.
We’re going in.
Cue the Renaissance music
Up in the choir loft, the bride’s sister, Elizabeth, was directing the music. “I’m so afraid I’m going to cry,” she said.
She and Philomena are both accomplished singers, and the choir that day included many members of Harmonia, a virtuosic vocal ensemble they have been involved with, and that I had reviewed many times for The Buffalo News. Feeling a bit overwhelmed, I took my place among them.
At most Latin Mass weddings, you might not have Palestrina’s “Pope Marcellus Mass” (yes, that masterpiece was on the menu). However, you will have Gregorian chant, and likely other music that would make any bride feel like Eleanor of Aquitaine.
The ceremony began with Philomena and her groom, Jeb, exchanging vows before three priests in elaborate vestments. The vows were in English. Little else was.
And I was right. No “You may kiss the bride.”
No jokes. No casual asides. No clapping.
After the vows, the newlyweds spent most of the remainder of the Mass on their knees at the foot of the altar. It was like a famous photo of John Kennedy and Jackie Kennedy at their wedding mass.
The Kennedys’ wedding would have been like this one.
I liked it. We have too much informality everywhere, you know?
What happened to great formal occasions? Why do we feel so often that we have to laugh our way through not only weddings but baptisms, ordinations, graduations, any occasion meant to carry deep significance?
Other faiths may have held tighter to their traditions. But in the Catholic Church, something shifted in recent decades, toward the casual and haphazard. Too often, we’re stuck with cringe music … from the religion that gave the world Mozart and Beethoven. Eucharistic ministers in Bills T-shirts. Shorts in the pews. No incense.
What happened to the incense? You’re supposed to have incense.
Is it any wonder that when beauty fades, belief does, too? That St. Gerard’s, the glorious church where Howard and I were married, is now a mosque?
Facing the East
As the wedding Mass went on, it flowed like any other Latin Mass.
“Oremus.” Let us pray.
“Dominus vobiscum” — May the Lord be with you.
“Sursum corda” — Lift up your hearts.
Here’s what always surprises newcomers. The priest celebrates the Mass “ad orientem”— facing East. The uninitiated often complain: “He’s got his back to you!” But really, it’s more like he’s flying the plane. We’re all facing forward.
At Communion, everyone kneels at the altar rail. No Communion in the hand. I was unprepared for that at the first Latin Mass I attended, and I remember kneeling there half-praying, half-wondering if any Amvets price tags were showing on my shoes. Things are more routine now, but I still thrill to the power of the moment. There is nothing like whispering the words of the Roman officer: “Domine, non sum dignus...” Lord, I am not worthy … — in the same language the man himself used.
At the end, the priest turned as he always does and gave the final blessing: “Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus — Pater, et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus.” May Almighty God bless you — the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. My dad loved this line, and I always think of him when I hear it.
Philomena and Jeb walked back down the aisle to a hymn set to “Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity,” from Holst’s “The Planets.” The Mass had lasted about an hour and a half. Outside, we all gathered for pictures on the steps of St. Anthony’s, City Hall looming behind us.
Most of the people around me I knew from church. The reception would be in the church hall. The whole experience left me feeling like I’d time-traveled — to a world I never lived in, but somehow recognized.
It wasn’t just the veils, or the Latin, or the music, or the solemnity. It was the feeling that something eternal had taken place — something bigger than both the bridal couple and us.
It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t funny. It was beautiful.
Even if I did kind of miss the kiss.
I remember Latin Masses and having to wear a veil. I was always jealous of my one older sister's veil because it was white with gold trim. We went to a wedding many years ago at St. Anthony of Padua. Communion: I HATE it when it's only offered to my hands. I won't accept it when it is, not that this heathen has been to Communion recently.
😍💝 tx for noting and sharing the significance