“Because of the strong desire of beginners for spiritual gratification, they usually have many imperfections of anger. When the delight and satisfaction procured in their spiritual exercise passes, these beginners are naturally left without any spiritual savor. And because of the distastefulness, they become peevish in the works they do and easily angered by the least thing, and occasionally they are so unbearable that nobody can put up with them…Among these spiritual persons there are also those who fall into another kind of spiritual anger. Through a certain indiscreet zeal they become angry over the sins of others, reprove these others, and sometimes even feel the impulse to do so angrily, which in fact they occasionally do, setting themselves up as lords of virtue. All such conduct is contrary to spiritual meekness.” ~ St. John of the Cross
Unbeknownst to me, the Lord Jesus Christ always had the most wonderful plans waiting when I finally knelled before Him, although, at the time, I could not comprehend any of them and thought I was on the strangest journey of my entire bizarre life. For instance, only a few months after appearing in my last gay porn film, I was sitting in a Catholic Church, among a bustle of large home-schooling families, Latin Mass devotees, and elderly parishioners who faithfully adhered to the old traditions, listening to a priest speak inexplicable words on the altar. For awhile, I had no idea what I was doing there. I had no knowledge of Latin, the Tridentine Mass, and I didn’t even own a missal. But, like the rest of these people, I had been drawn there.
As a boy and a teenager, during the loose experimentation of post-Vatican II liturgical chaos, I was completely put-off by the forced happy pretensions and lackadaisical attitude of the modern Catholic Church service. Deep inside me, I longed for something transcendent, mysterious, and meaningful. When I became 16, and was less under my parent’s control, I abandoned everything and began to delve into the occult: a world that seemed to fulfill my desires for a religion that maintained a sacred sense of the ritual. Later, it all took me down the road of damnation - towards relativism, sexual promiscuity, and eventual Satanism. When the devil decided to bring me home, the Lord gave me one last chance for redemption - and I frighteningly took it.
Knowing not where to turn, I went back to the only Church (the Catholic Church) I had ever known. Not much had changed, a new pastor had taken over, yet, the Mass appeared even more confused and jumbled. I left chaos, now I needed clarity. I talked to the priest about my life; and he told me to be unashamed and to return to who I was, but to somewhat temper my activity. I felt as if I were being ordered back to hell. Instinctively, I knew I had just barely escaped death, so I ran away and hid for awhile. I almost gave up on Catholicism again. Then, somehow, I learned of a Latin Mass in nearby Sacramento. Desperate, I went. Surprisingly, the old church was in a dumpy part of town that bordered on scary. The inside was unremarkable and dated. But, when the priest started the liturgy, I was instantly blown away: first off, he was young. Since a kid, my image of the priest had always been older, distant, neutered, and Irish. This man was nearer my age, manly, and virile. Only, during the Consecration, an incredible reverence and beauty took him over: and I realized that a man could be both holy and still remain firmly masculine. It was a revelation.
For the most part, I didn’t understand what I was doing in such a place. But, like the rest of the attendees, I had been on a quest: some were conservative Catholics with large families who instilled within their children a simple faith; others were rather highly educated, usually single men, with a great appreciation for the Latin Mass, others were older Catholics that had never lost their love for tradition. In common, we all wanted to be there and made the sacrifices of inconvenience, travel, and time to get to the church. We were all like the joyful old woman who said: “Rejoice with me, because I have found the coin which I had lost.” I was so happy, and wanted to learn. Part of my education was a gift from the totally approachable and friendly pastor. Not knowing me, he still welcomed the stranger, and allowed me to often shadow his daily schedule of Mass, prayers, and priestly visits. I felt safe with him, and the life I once knew seemed far away. Then, I began to question whether I had a religious vocation. In the next few months, I scoured the internet searching for a monastic order with a devotion to the Latin Mass; at the time, I was drawn to monasticism and its promise of security in seclusion. Things moved quickly, and by the end of the year, I was living in the wilderness of the Pennsylvania Pocono Mountains.
Once there, my view of those attending the Latin Mass began to change a bit. Some of those who infrequently showed up at our small community Mass were noticeably gossipy and hyper-critical afterwards. To his credit, one of the priests tried to put a stop to the whole thing. Yet, the incidents left me wondering: after such a beautiful and upliftingly joyful liturgy, how should some be filled with such anger, and downright hate, towards so many others? For, as I overheard, a favorite blood-sport for those with the inclination was a constant barrage of complains about various “novos ordo” priests, bishops, and numerous liberal Catholics. In their defense, it was sometimes difficult not to get caught up in the feeding frenzy. Only, when they turned on me - I could see the nastiness of it all. As, one day, someone asked me a bit about my background, and I simply told them something of where I grew up and the college I attended: UC Berkeley. They immediately looked upon me as a leper that could quickly infect their purity. Soon, the news spread and no one really bothered with me.
Later, because of circumstances out of my control, I left the religious life and returned home. I quickly went back to the Latin Mass parish, and some of the others that had popped up since by absence, where I sensed a noticeable change: there was a second wave of new attendees. These newcomers were drawn there less on account of the liturgy, but because they had simply become fed-up with the goings on at their old novos ordo parishes. Therefore, they already arrived with a conspicuous mind-set: endlessly bashing priests and the hierarchy, even the Holy Father himself, for the problems within the Church and society at large. The opinions were extremist and uncharitable neighboring upon hateful. After Mass, I would try to speak solely with one of the priests, who tried to rise above the fray, or quickly depart. When the community was blessedly awarded with their own chapel, I thought things would change for the better.
Unfortunately, the isolation at the new location, where only the Latin Mass would be offered, fostered a sort of bunker mentality in the parishioners: an us against them dynamic. Sadly, it went out of the priest’s control, as Mass attendees endlessly huddled and socialized after services - chirping about the latest church scandal or the fall from grace of some poor hapless priest. It was prideful and mean-spirited. As a single man, who sometimes arrived with friends who were new to Christianity, and still occasionally exhibiting the effeminate characteristics of the recently abandoned gay lifestyle, they were trying to leave behind, I felt more and more unwelcome; it also had the tragic effect of scaring off those whom I was urgently trying to convert. At some point, I just stopped going. I missed the beauty of the liturgy, but simply couldn’t stand the viciousness any longer. For this reason, and no other, I believe that many good-hearted bishops who have been wary about inviting the Latin Mass into their diocese, not because of the liturgy, but because of the fault-finding cabals that often spring up around them. For, I saw it happen - where solitary Latin Mass communities can sometimes, because of the arrogance of some who attend, swerve into a pettiness that comes close to sedevacantism.
Blessedly, just recently, I received a renewed hope in the power of the Traditional Mass, when I attended a Sunday service at a novos ordo parish that also offered the Tridentine. I immediately recognized the humility of the people, who were just so happy and grateful to have the Mass there; hence, the total absence of after-Mass cliquishness. I was heartily welcomed, by most in attendance; and it felt like it did those first few months after escaping porn; I had once again found the lost coin; the precious pearl. It was exhilarating.
And, here, I think the lesson is clear: the Latin Mass belongs in every diocese, not sequestered and secluded in a Traditional chapel, but in a local and established parish: were there is free interchange between both rites and between all Catholics. For, I believe with the full measure of my heart, that there is great Grace in the Traditional Latin Mass, and within the priests who have a great love for it. Because, I once limped into a church and attended such a Mass, and was embraced by the loving and caring priests who offered it to me. The problem I think lies in the inadvertent anger of those who sometimes get attracted to it. As St. John of the Cross wrote, many who arrive at the Latin Mass sometimes do so with a pharisaical sense of themselves and of others. In the end, they have done great damage to their souls, and inexplicable damage to the reputation and image of the Latin Mass.