The renowned theologian Karl Rahner made a seemingly paradoxical statement: the best activities are the most “useless.” By this, he meant that the most meaningful actions are those not done for any further purpose, but simply for their inherent goodness. Think of a friendly game of baseball – its value isn’t in achieving some external goal, but in the joy and camaraderie it brings. Similarly, cultivating a friendship is precious in itself, not just a means to an end.
The Liturgy, in this light, is the most “useless” act of all – and thus the most important. We gather for Mass not to achieve something practical, but purely to praise and worship God, simply because it is good and beautiful. The great liturgical theologian Romano Guardini likened the Liturgy to a kind of play – a deeply serious play, for through it, we are rightly ordered and brought into harmony with God. As theologian Dietrich Von Hildebrand explained in his book “Liturgy and Personality,” the very act of giving right praise to God brings about an inner harmony within us.
The Mass is like Noah’s Ark, preserving a microcosm of God’s perfect order amidst a chaotic world. It is also a foretaste of the Heavenly Liturgy, where saints and angels eternally praise God. Recognizing this, the Second Vatican Council declared the Liturgy to be both the “source and summit” of Christian life. Let us now explore the various parts of this earthly and heavenly “play.”
The Mass begins even before the first prayer is uttered. It begins with the very act of gathering. Look around you – people from all walks of life, diverse backgrounds, and varying levels of moral excellence. In the world, we are often divided and stratified, obsessed with who is “in” and who is “out.” But as St. Paul reminds us, in Christ, such distinctions dissolve: “There is no Jew or Greek, no slave or free, no male or female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28).
Dorothy Day, a convert to Catholicism, was struck by this unity in diversity during her journey of faith. She observed people from all social strata kneeling side by side in prayer. Similarly, the mother of Catholic historian Christopher Dawson, upon learning of his conversion, remarked that it wasn’t the doctrines that concerned her, but that he would now be “worshiping with the help.” Both recognized the revolutionary nature of Catholic worship, where all are equal before God.
Once gathered, we sing. This is not mere decoration; it is an embodied expression of our unity as God’s children. Our harmonized voices symbolize how we ought to live together in love and concord.
The Liturgy proper begins with the Sign of the Cross and the priest’s words: “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” This simple gesture and phrase declare that we belong, not to ourselves, but to the Triune God. Modern secularism claims we are self-made, independent individuals. But St. Paul reminds us, “None of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself. If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s” (Romans 14:7-8). The Sign of the Cross proclaims: your life is not about you; it’s about God.
Moreover, the cross signifies the great act of redemption, where the Father sent the Son to draw us, through the Holy Spirit, into the divine life. By invoking the cross, we are acknowledging that we pray in God, not just to God.
Following the Sign of the Cross, the priest greets us with “The Lord be with you.” Clad in vestments that symbolize his role, the priest acts “in persona Christi,” in the person of Christ. His words and actions are not his own, but Christ’s. When we respond, “And with your spirit,” we address not the individual man, but the Christ who acts through him.
The priest then invites us to call to mind our sins. This is not meant to be a morbid exercise but a vital step towards liberation. G.K. Chesterton observed that the true distinction is not between sinners and non-sinners, but between those sinners who know they are, and those who don’t. The saints, precisely because they are oriented towards God, are acutely aware of their shortcomings.
St. John of the Cross compared the soul to a pane of glass. When turned away from the light, its imperfections are hidden. But when turned towards the light, all the smudges become visible. This explains why the saints often consider themselves “the worst of sinners” – they are most exposed to God’s illuminating light. As we begin the Liturgy and are bathed in this light, we follow the saints' example, acknowledging our need for God’s mercy.
This leads to the Kyrie prayer: “Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.” We recognize that we cannot save ourselves and are utterly dependent on God’s grace. This realization opens us to receive God’s forgiveness, offered through the priest’s words of absolution. God desires not our self-reproach but our healing.
The Kyrie is followed by the Gloria, a magnificent hymn that encapsulates much of Catholic theology. Its opening line, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to people of goodwill,” offers a formula for true happiness. When God is our supreme value, our lives are harmoniously ordered, and peace reigns.
The word “worship” comes from “worth-ship,” signifying what we hold most dear. In the Liturgy, we enact our worship, demonstrating through word and gesture what is of greatest worth to us. This is essential for peace.
Aristotle noted that a friendship endures only when both friends fall in love, not just with each other, but with a transcendent third. In singing the Gloria, we express our shared love for God’s glory, strengthening our bonds with one another.
Next, we encounter the Word of God through readings from the Old Testament, St. Paul’s epistles, and the Gospels. These readings are not just historical texts; they draw us into the unique world of the Bible, just as J.R.R. Tolkien’s detailed descriptions in “The Lord of the Rings” immerse us in Middle-earth. We need to be drawn into this “strange” world of Scripture to understand its message for our lives.
After the readings, the priest proclaims the Gospel and delivers the homily. Here, the priest’s role as acting “in persona Christi” is particularly evident. He is not meant to share his personal opinions but to speak the mind of Christ, drawing on the Church’s rich theological and spiritual tradition to apply the Scriptures to our present context. In surrendering to the divine voice, the priest finds his own authentic voice and conforms himself to Christ’s attitude.
Following the homily, we stand to recite the Creed, often the Nicene Creed, which emerged from the Council of Nicaea in 325 AD. This beautiful statement of faith, with lines like “God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God,” celebrates the Church’s victory over Arius, who denied the full divinity of Jesus. The Nicene fathers recognized that the full divinity of Christ was a make-or-break point for Christianity. It is incredibly moving that we still declare this ancient faith, passed down through generations.
The Creed’s opening declaration, “I believe in one God,” is also subversive, for it precludes any other ultimate allegiance – to country, culture, or political party. It is a stand against all forms of idolatry.
Finally, we offer prayers for the living and the dead. These “prayers of the faithful” express the profound interconnectedness of the members of Christ’s mystical body. We are not a club, but an organism, bound together in Christ. We pray for one another because we are implicated in one another’s lives. As we act out our faith in the Creed, so too do we act out our mystical identity in these prayers.
We start Mass by making the Sign of the Cross, showing we belong to God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit (Matthew 28:19; CCC 232-260). How does this make you feel about who you are and how you pray?
In the Mass, we ask God for mercy (Isaiah 6:5; CCC 1846-1848, 385). Why is it important to say we are sorry, and how does knowing God is merciful make you feel during Mass?
The Gloria in the Mass talks about peace on earth (Galatians 3:28; CCC 1939-1942). How can praying together in Mass help us to live more peacefully with others every day?
The readings and homily at Mass teach us about God (CCC 101-104). What is one thing you have learned about God from the Bible readings at Mass? How will you remember it?
We are all different, but we come together in the Mass (CCC 781). What is one way you can show love and kindness to others, especially those who are different from you, inspired by our unity in the Mass?