Now and again, I go hear a Latin Mass. Not too long ago, I heard one in the basement chapel of St. John Cantius in Chicago. There, a great sea of young people, clutching their breviaries, women in veils, knelt about me on the hard tile, contemplating the back of the priest as he offered the holy sacrifice of the Mass in almost perfect silence. Those around seemed at home here, by which I mean only that this – what a generation older than me would refer to with intolerant and vitriolic disdain as an antique, museum, and oppressive Church – has somehow become the one and only true Church of their worship.
I grew up with the Latin Mass, and I don't think of the Church in those days as oppressive, though I am sure many of my generation do. But my generation produced as many horses' asses as any other. I also have nothing in particular against the Mass being said in the vernacular, though I wish they had just started using the English translation of the old Latin Mass. As I have noted before, "It is truly meet and just, right and availing unto salvation" is so much more elevating than "It is right and just." I attended the Latin Mass for several years when it was easy for me to get to. It is no longer, and I have grown very fond of attending Mass at my neighborhood parish. The pastor is very good at connecting the faith to the life we actually live. That said, I am increasingly inclined to think that Vatican II was an unmitigated disaster.