How I Came to Have a Devotion to the Latin Mass

I originally wrote this in 2017. This is not meant to be a deep theological or liturgical study of the Mass, and I admit it’s hardly objective. This is an autobiographical sketch of my personal experiences growing up as an American Catholic with the Novus Ordo Mass, and what I experienced when I found and attended the Latin Mass.

I have always felt very grateful to have been born into a Catholic family. Even if I did not always appreciate, understand, or practice my Catholic faith very well, I still feel it was a great grace to be baptized as an infant into the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church.

I am so glad that I was raised from birth with the Holy Mass, the Holy Eucharist, the Sacrament of Penance, the Rosary, my Guardian Angel, and the Communion of Saints. For me growing up, these were part of my daily reality and shaped who I am.

First Communion with Fr. Day and my brother, Joseph.

I had an average American upbringing, there is nothing special or out of the ordinary to report. I was a fairly worldly child who preferred playing video games over spiritual things. And yet, I do have plenty of vivid memories of praying the Rosary with my family in the evenings, going to Mass, and of my First Holy Communion.

I do feel it is important to point out right away that my parents personally lived through and disliked the liturgical reforms of Vatican II. Growing up, I often heard conversations between them lamenting about the changes, but I had no real context of understanding what they were talking about. Although everyone else in our church received the Eucharist into their hands, I was taught by my mother to receive on the tongue only. Although everyone else in our church stood up and held hands during the Our Father, I was taught to stay on my knees and keep my hands folded. I was discouraged from participating in the sign of peace, but not directly forbidden. I remember at Mass once, at the conclusion of the Our Father, I recited the part that says: “for the kingdom and the power and the glory are yours, now and forever,” along with everyone else, and my brother leaned over to whisper to me, “That’s Protestant!” But I had no real idea what he was talking about.

So I was raised in the New Mass, but my parents maintained many traditional practices from pre-Vatican II and they instilled many of those practices in me. Unfortunately, the “why” of it all escaped me. The result for me as a child was mostly confusion. I didn’t fully understand why my parents did things differently from everyone else. Once, my mother knelt down to receive communion and the priest boldly told her to stand up. Not really fully understanding the liturgical reforms, I didn’t understand why my mom was so “different.”

As I grew up, the allurements of the world became the bigger priority in my life and I favored the natural world as I drifted from the supernatural. A remnant of my faith always remained with me, but I could never claim to have been a pious teenager.

St. John's Cathedral, Boise, ID (where I was Confirmed)

I do remember my Confirmation at the age of 16, but I regret to say that I didn't understand the Sacrament at all. I really didn’t like the youth group that I was forced to participate in, but my church required two years of "Life Teen” in order to receive the Sacrament. My mom tried to get me out of it on the grounds that I was homeschooled and would be taught the faith at home, but the diocese was firm in their rule. The two years was absolutely required and there was no way around it. I was forced to participate, and forced to go on a retreat. Even as a teenager, I knew it was unnecessary theatrics.

I missed out on a lot of what a Catholic should be taught when they are preparing for a Sacrament. I was never taught valuable truths of the faith or made to memorize any catechism. Instead, I sat through agonizing Life Teen Masses and other gimmicks intended to be “hip” and attractive to teenagers. Sitting in the pew, I saw their shtick and it turned me away because I felt like they were trying to manipulate me into thinking Catholicism was "cool." Instead of being well formed in my faith, I felt I was at an entertainment event with drums and guitars. The lyrics of low-quality Protestant songs ("Christian Rock") were conveniently displayed on a large screen for everyone to sing along while they waved their hands in the air. I can’t stress enough how this experience failed to form me in my faith or prepare me for the Sacrament of Confirmation, and how it actually hindered me from progressing in my spiritual life. I found nothing about it attractive and was, in fact, naturally repulsed by it. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the Catholic faith, it was that I didn’t like the whole “Life Teen” program, experience, Mass, small group discussions, arts and crafts, etc.

At the age of 18, I eloped with a non-Catholic. He was in the Army, but I didn't even hesitate to move across the country to be with him. Despite the fact that I wasn't practicing my faith very well and I was lacking understanding on many things, I was still going to Mass on Sundays, making an effort to go to Confession, and receiving the Eucharist.

At home, I had a beautiful Cathedral to attend Mass in. Built in the Gothic style, it was massive and the stained glass windows were impressive. On the Army base where I moved, the tiny chapel was quite different. Because it was shared with Protestants, the Catholicism had to be toned down to a bare minimum. There was a plain crucifix on the wall behind the altar, but it was encased between two big curtains that could be pulled shut when the Protestants used the building. There were no statues or Catholic images, and no beauty. It was a stark and bare environment.

Since my husband was not Catholic, he did not often attend Mass with me. I ended up sitting in the last pew near the exit by myself. Although I had always maintained a belief in and a devotion to the Eucharist, I struggled with the rest of the Mass. At the time, I didn't have the words to explain what it was: I just felt deeply that I did not like going to Mass. It was something I had to “get through” every Sunday, at least until the consecration. That was the only part that mattered to me. I somehow possessed an in-born sense that everything at Mass was leading up to the consecration, that transubstantiation was the culminating point of the Mass. Everything else was perceived as “useless” to me.

At the Our Father, I stayed on my knees with my head down and hoped no one would try to hold my hand. At the Sign of Peace, I did the same. I had a particular dislike for these two parts of the Mass where we were expected to stand up, greet our neighbor, and shake or hold their hand. This had some to do with my upbringing in a traditionally-minded household, but I was also a natural introvert who didn’t like the “social” emphasis of the Mass. I wasn’t there to socialize and I considered my spiritual life to be a deeply private thing. I was there for Jesus in the Eucharist.

The music was also hard for me to listen to, the lyrics seemed so corny and the cantors could never sing very well. The responsorial psalm was the worst, I routinely found it the most unbearable part of the Mass. I tried so hard to suppress these feelings, but I couldn’t deny that they were there. I understood that these emotions and behaviors were not normal, and I truly wondered at myself: why had I developed such a strong dislike for Mass? It was purely a natural emotion, I couldn’t even have offered any theological criticism of the Mass. I simply felt deep in my core that I didn't “like” it. Despite my negative feelings, I continued going out of pure obedience. I truly believed that I had an obligation to be at Mass every Sunday. As much as I didn’t care for the Mass, I still loved God and desired to obey Him, and Mass attendance I understood I owed to Him, regardless of how I felt.

When I became a mother my interest in my faith piqued, because now I had a little soul that I was in charge of. I desired to do things the right way and had a sense that I needed to take my faith more seriously. Thankfully, my husband had no issues with our children being raised in the Catholic faith, so we quickly had our newborn baptized before my husband left for a 15-month deployment. Over night, I was a new mom alone with my newborn.

Right before he deployed, I gave my husband a rosary to take with him and he learned to pray on it during his deployment. I also gave him a holy card of St. Joseph which he put in his humvee. On the back of the card was a novena prayer to St. Joseph. I prayed it frequently during the deployment for his safe return.

The summer after he returned, we soon found out I was expecting again and we received orders to relocate to Okinawa, Japan.

Even in this foreign place on a tiny island, I found the military chapel and went to Mass with my toddler every Sunday. My husband was still not attending Mass with me, although he had begun to express a mild interest in the faith. Being at Mass alone in a foreign country with an active toddler gave me practically no opportunity to even pay attention to the Mass. I spent the hour in church mostly redirecting and hushing my toddler, yet I knew I had an obligation to be there, even if I wasn't "getting anything out of it."

When our second child was born, she was very sick. This was the first real trauma that I ever faced in my life, and I naturally turned to God in my fear and despair.

At first, I turned to Him in anger. I dropped to my knees in complete desperation and demanded to know why He would give me a baby only to take her away a few days later. What was the point of birthing a sick baby? What was the point of glimpsing her life so briefly before she died? I was an emotional mess, yelling at God in frustration. In that moment, something happened that I cannot explain. I remember it distinctly. I was in the tatami room of our Japanese house, standing near the dining room table. I literally fell to my knees and was crying, but suddenly my tears stopped and my anger ceased as a profound sense of peace washed over me. Immediately, I did not feel afraid or any anger at all, but somehow I embraced complete acceptance for apparently no reason. I realized in an instant what the purpose of life really was: to get to our Heavenly Home. I realized that she, being Baptized and being too innocent to ever have sinned, would enter immediately into the joys of eternal life with God, her Creator. It didn't matter how long a person lived: one minute, or one hour, or one day. The purpose for which they were created does not change: union with God. She was simply going to the Beatific Vision much sooner than most people. And in a flash, I saw clearly what a gift that is!

I didn't feel any fear over her dying. In a single moment, I surrendered and accepted God's will completely. However, it wasn't God's will for her to die. She survived and continues to thrive to this day. The experience taught me an important lesson, though. As I watched her struggle to breath, struggle to eat, struggle to do anything that a "normal" person can do, I learned the true value of life and especially of the soul. I learned that it isn't our abilities that give us value at all; it isn't what we do or how much we accomplish that matters. My daughter couldn't even breath or eat without the assistance of medical machines, and yet she was completely beloved by God just the same. This was a time of maturation in my spiritual life, it is when I can say that my spiritual life really began to take root and flourish.

But lessons are hard-learned. I still had a lot of mistakes to make.

The stress of having a special needs daughter negatively impacted our marriage. In hindsight, I know the lack of the Sacrament of Matrimony did us a lot of harm. I did not even realize what I was missing by not getting married in the Church. We had nothing to hold onto as we drifted apart. My husband decided we should divorce, and it killed me. I didn't want that. I fought very hard for our marriage, but he was resolute. It really looked like a completely hopeless situation.

In my pain, I turned to Sts. Mary and Joseph. I prayed the St. Joseph Novena again, the same one I had prayed every day for his safety on the deployment. But I didn't pray it just once a day for nine days, I prayed it dozens of times per day for weeks. I prayed rosary after rosary after rosary. As soon as I finished one rosary, I would start another one. I begged God to restore our marriage, and I begged Mary and Joseph to pray with me.

God sent us an interesting gift to save our marriage: a third degree burn.

When my husband’s hand and arm were significantly burned, the accident and his injury were my fault. I had made a careless mistake in the kitchen while cooking, and he suffered third degree burns because of it.

In this emergency situation, I could not drive my husband to the hospital because I had to stay home with our daughter who was unable to leave the house due to her fragile medical condition. Thankfully, our neighbor was able to drive him to the emergency room. I cried as they left, thinking that surely this was the final end of our marriage. How could he ever reconcile with me now, after I made such a stupid mistake?

And yet, this injury was a turning point for our marriage to be restored and healed. As I dutifully visited his bedside at the hospital, delivered his medications, helped change his bandages, bathed him, dressed him, fed him, etc., he said told me that it made him realize how much he loves me. He said when he was in the hospital, alone and suffering, he realized how he didn't want anyone else at his bedside except for me. He was fully ready to take the necessary steps in healing our marriage and moving forward.

I cannot stress enough how much this experience in my life strengthened my faith and trust in God: having this completely hopeless situation have such a dramatic and unexpected resolution. This and other events in our marriage served to fortify and renew my complete trust and confidence in God. When I deserved the harshest of judgments, I found waiting for me the sweetest of mercies. There was nothing I could do but praise and thank the Lord for having such compassion and showing such forgiveness to me when I was nothing but a miserable sinner.

My faith grew as I drew closer to God. I believed He was really there, that He cared about me, that He forgives me, and that He desires me to be close to Him. I desired to be closer to Him, too.

At this point, we were living in San Antonio, Texas, and I was going to Confession a lot during this time. I was realizing the true gravity of my many sins and I had a renewed desire to be a better Catholic and live my life for God.

One day when my daughter was hospitalized in the Airforce hospital, I went in search of the Catholic chaplain to hear my Confession. I found him sitting at a table, eating lunch. I asked him if he had time to hear a confession, but he told me no because he was eating and suggested that I look for a church off-base. I remembering feeling a little surprised that this priest found his lunch to be more important than offering me the Sacrament of Penance, but I did what he said and sought the Sacrament at a church off-base. The confessional in this particular church that I went to happened to be connected to an Adoration chapel, so while I was waiting in line for confession, I was in Adoration before the Blessed Sacrament.

To be honest, it was really the first time that I had ever seen people venerating Jesus in the Eucharist outside the context of Mass. I thought it was really beautiful and powerful.

At the time of the birth of my third child, there was a small chapel within walking distance of our house on the Army base. My husband was coming to Mass with us every Sunday now, and my daughter was well enough that she could come, too. For the first time ever, our entire family of five was going to Mass together.

My faith was deepening, but I was still struggling with the Mass. I was determined to take Mass more seriously now. I thought "being devout" meant following all the actions, speaking all the prayers loudly and clearly, singing the songs, and basically being a robot perfectly conformed to all the same movements and speech as everyone else. I thought that if I didn't do this, then I wasn't really "attending Mass." I was very careful and intentional about sitting, standing, and kneeling at all the right times, and saying the responses correctly and loudly. I thought that was how I “participated.”

Obviously, I still didn't have an understanding of the meaning or theology of the Mass, but I was trying to understand. I had a sincere desire to participate in the Mass the way I was “supposed to,” and I thought that meant being very active and responsive.

Soon it was time for another move, and this time we were sent to Tacoma, Washington. Right away, I found the nearest chapel on the base and we continued going to Mass as a family. Unfortunately, this particular community really irritated me. As someone who doesn't care one whit about football, I couldn't believe people were coming to Mass dressed in football jerseys. The priest, knowing his congregation, frequently talked about football during his homilies. I was actively trying to deepen my spiritual life, but I found the environment and atmosphere at church to be very distracting. It was not conducive to prayer, nor did I feel edified or encouraged in moral and spiritual development.

I was reading a lot of prayer and meditation books and researching the lives of the saints. I was learning about that the Mass was both a Holy Sacrifice and a prayer — it was, in fact, “the greatest prayer of the Church.” I was confused by both of these novel ideas.

Mass is a sacrifice? Mass is a prayer? I mean, we do say prayers at Mass, but the Mass itself is one big prayer? Like I said, I had zero understanding of the meaning and purpose of the Mass. It was only through the writings of the saints that I began to learn that the Mass is the highest honor and glory we can offer to God, the highest form of prayer, literally the holiest thing a person can witness on earth. I was learning that I should be desiring to assist at it daily.

St. John Vianney declared,

“If we really understood the Mass, we would die of joy.”

And St. Pio claimed,

“It would be easier for the earth to exist without the sun than to exist without the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.”

I was surprised by these bold assertions. I had never been taught this meaning of the Mass before. In my head, I quickly tried to align what I was reading with what I personally saw and heard at the Mass every Sunday, and the two just did not align.

At this time, if you were to ask me why I go to Mass, I would have told you out of obedience because it’s a law of the Church. I probably would have given you a shallow reasoning about how it’s important to give time to God, and that’s what Sunday Mass is. It’s me giving one hour of my week to God.

So there was in me an immature sense of needing to give something to God, but I couldn’t have given you a deeper reasoning than that. And at the time, I just didn’t possess the intellectual or critical thinking skills to dive any deeper into it. It never even occurred me to seek out or pick up a book about the Mass to try to come to an understanding of it. To be honest, I was stuck in a very Protestant understanding of the Mass: it was a weekly “church service,” a gathering of people who came to hear a nice homily. Truly, the surroundings I perceived at the Mass itself formed and fostered this false impression in me.

I continued my spiritual reading and soon I felt the call to start wearing a chapel veil to Mass. I had been reading biographies about the lives of the saints and my faith was being enriched by the examples of these holy men and women. Now, I felt a strong call to be covering my head in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament. I really held onto my faith because of my love for Jesus in the Eucharist, and I desired to give him due honor and reverence with this small act of humble submission. I wanted to wear a veil to express that I believed He was truly present in the Blessed Sacrament.

I was the only person wearing a veil in the little military chapel, and I received a lot of stares. I started to feel that the veil, instead of being a symbol of humility, was actually drawing attention to me. My husband and I were both unhappy at this chapel, so we decided to try a church off of the military base hoping that it would be better, that we would experience something more meaningful. I was craving to be fed with the deeper truths of the faith. I was wading in the shores, barely getting my toes wet, but I wanted to dive in. I felt lost with no one to guide me. I was glimpsing bits of tradition through the books I was reading, but what I found in their writings and what I found at church were not the same.

Instead of doing sufficient research, I simply google-mapped the nearest church off base. This church was… a little nicer than the plain chapels that we'd been going to on the Army bases, but I couldn’t figure out which direction to genuflect in because I could not locate the Tabernacle or Sanctuary Lamp at first. It took me a little bit to realize that the Tabernacle was actually in a separate room off to the side. This bothered me; I didn’t like seeing Jesus pushed off to the side and hard to locate. I was used to the Tabernacle being front and center, directly behind the altar, and this made perfect sense to me. To see the Eucharist pushed off to the side while the “table” and “gathering place of the people” took precedence was truly disheartening to me.

This wasn't a great parish for us, but I literally didn't know what else to do. This is the Mass, I told myself. This is THE most important prayer of the Church. Where else could I go, Lord? There is no where else!

I had been reading books by Fulton J. Sheen, as well as the words of St. Padre Pio, St. Jean Vianney, St. Peter Julian Eymard... and they all had such magnificent and beautiful things to say about the Holy Mass and Liturgy. Why couldn't I see that same beauty and majesty in any of the chapels and churches we went to? Why wasn't I filled with the inspired sense of awe I was reading about? Why were all the churches so bland and ugly? Why was Jesus' dwelling place pushed off to the side, unseen? Why do people come so casually dressed and why does the priest act like a celebrity waving at people as he processes in? None of it felt like a “Holy” Mass, none of it felt sacred. I was confused and restless.

Then my husband deployed again and I was left alone with the three kids. This is when I really get fed up.

In Which I Get Completely Fed-up and Road Trip to the Latin Mass

I was on the phone my mom one day telling her about how fed up I was with Mass. I couldn't take the irreverence, the disrespect, the almost profane attitudes of people who seemed to be at Mass for handshakes and guitar hymns rather than for the Eucharist. After I had thoroughly ranted, my mom simply said to me, "Why don't you go to the Latin Mass?"

It had never even occurred to me. And so I drove 10 hours with three kids to Idaho just so that I could attend a Latin Mass with my mom (I was too nervous to go by myself!) It was not my first Latin Mass because my mom had taken me a couple when I was a child, but since I had no memory of it, it may as well have been my first.

I’m not going to lie to you and pretend like I had some ecstatic experience. Instead, the little chapel was packed full of people and it was standing room only. I was in the very back of the church and couldn’t see anything that was going on at the altar. I flipped through my missal, vaguely trying to keep track of what was going on, but I was hopelessly lost. It was hot and there were a lot of noisy kids, and I didn't even understand the homily because of the priest's foreign accent.

So, my first Latin Mass did not have much of an immediate impact on me, however I still thought it was really awesome to witness this “old mass.” The historical aspect of it alone fascinated me. Plus, the atmosphere and attitude was very different. The people were all kneeling for most of the (Low) Mass, and all the women were wearing veils.

My curiosity wasn’t satisfied and I wanted to try again. So when I returned to Washington, I sought out a Latin Mass. I had no trouble finding one as the FSSP was located an hour north of me at a parish called North American Martyrs. I loaded my 5, 3, and 1-year-old into the car to drive the 70 minutes to the Latin Mass.

I Experience a High Mass For the First Time.

I sat in the back pew because I didn't have a lot of faith in my children's ability to behave during Mass, and I didn't want to disturb anyone.

I was happy to hear the parishioners reciting the Rosary together before the Mass began. Instead of the soft murmurs and chuckles of people socializing and chatting before Mass, people were kneeling in prayer to prepare themselves for the Mass and for the Eucharist.

I was amazed (and a little concerned) that there was a long line for confession during the Mass. I had never before seen people go to confession during a Mass. I wondered if they were truly "fulfilling their obligation," if they were IN the confessional during the Mass... and yet at the same time I thought it was wonderful! I figured this must be an old custom that fell out of use.

There was a startling note from the impressive organ to signal the priest’s entrance. The Gregorian chant coming down from the choir loft was pure beauty as the priest processed in with graceful movements. His head was slightly bowed, his vestments looked stunning, and there was a character of seriousness on his face. This was not what I was accustomed to at all, usually I saw a grinning priest waving at the congregation as he walked toward the altar. This was different; this was dignified. The altar boys glided by in their cassocks with the same sober faces as the priest. One of them was holding a glimmering, golden censer from which a stream of smoke was rising. It was the first time I could remember ever having seen or smelled incense.

Already, I was in awe. Everything from the music, to the vestments, to the demeanor of both the priest and the people, immediately expressed to me that something solemn was taking place here. The people made the sign of the cross as the crucifix passed, then they bowed their heads slightly in deep sincerity as the priest passed. I had never seen a congregation revere a crucifix in that way, nor had I seen a priest treated with such esteem. The Mass hadn’t even started yet and already I was overwhelmed with a stirring sense that something very sacred was happening.

No, I didn't understand the Latin. I didn't exactly know when to sit or stand or kneel. I only recognized the most familiar parts of the Mass. I wasn’t able to follow along in the missal. I was worried my veil would fall off my head as I wrangling three small children. And yet, I was astonished and excited. In my heart, I knew I had found what I had been aching for all these years. A missing puzzle piece fit perfectly in place that day. For me it was instantaneous. A switch was flipped. I can only explain it by God’s grace. It was a gift from Him. He knew what my heart had been seeking all these years and He was letting me know that I had found it.

Before, I had felt distinctly that something was missing. There was an emptiness and an obscurity surrounding the Mass, an innate sense that there had to be something more here that I couldn’t uncover. And now I was breathing in the fullness of the Mass that had been absent before. I was finally catching a glimpse of what I had been reading about from the saints. Now I began to understand why they were able to have such deep and beautiful devotions to the Mass. It's because they were fed with this Mass, the Mass of the Ages! It sounds so stupid, but all of the sudden I realized that the saints for centuries before me had experienced a very different Catholicism than the modern American version of my own time. Just by sitting in that pew at that Mass, I felt a remarkable connection to the past - to my timeless faith!

I admired the people in this community because I witnessed them receiving the Eucharist with loving devotion. I noticed right away that the "Domine non sum dignus..." was said not once, but repeated three times, and that the parishioners penitently struck their breasts each time, a sign of their sorrow for their sins. They knelt at the altar rail, placed their hands under a white cloth, received directly on the tongue while an altar boy held a golden paten beneath their chin, and then returned silently to their pew to immerse themselves in silent prayer. One woman I saw had her hands clasped together, her eyes closed, with a look of profound devotion, the likes of which I had never seen before. I knew she was contemplating the great mystery of the Eucharist within her and uniting herself to Jesus. It made such a strong impression on me that, even after all these years, I have never forgotten what she looked like that in that moment, the moment after she received the Eucharist. All of this was a completely different atmosphere than what I had encountered in any other church in my whole life. I was deeply stirred by all of it. My life changed that day.

That day, I was immersed in purely aesthetical observations and overwhelmed with peaceful joy. It wasn’t until later that I was able to reflect on the actual differences between what I experienced at the new Mass and the old Mass. For now, the beauty and reverence was drawing me in. Week after week I attended this Mass, but I was still often lost in my missal. And yet, I didn't have to see or know every detail of what was going on. It was enough to be in awe of the mystery before me.

Eventually, I found out that there was a Latin Mass much closer to my home, offered by Fr. Kenneth Baker, a very elderly and retired Jesuit. It was no mistake that God put this church, this Mass, and especially this priest, in my life at this time.

Fr. Baker was a professor of theology and his homilies were rich. I felt like I was sitting in a college classroom every time he spoke from the pulpit. The sermons I was hearing were distinct from anything I had heard before. I was learning things about the faith that I had missed out on for so many years. I was being catechized and learning theology.

The other beneficial thing was that this was a Low Mass, not like the High Mass I had been experiencing up north. At the time, I did not know the difference between a "High Mass" and a "Low Mass." The Mass up north had been a High Mass with Gregorian chant and incense and dozens of altar boys. But down south, it was a Low Mass. There was no choir, nothing was sung, there was no incense or entrance procession. There were only two altar boys during Mass, which was mostly conducted in quiet tones or even silence. It was the same Mass with all the same parts, and yet it was not decorated or elaborate. It was pure and simple. Somehow the silence and simplicity spoke to me in an extremely powerful way. I found myself able to pray in this quiet atmosphere. I learned that even from the most ancient times, man has associated silence with profound reverence. It seemed fitting to me that the most solemn parts of Mass were entirely silent. As I was afforded this opportunity of reverent silence, the introvert in me, the one that felt naturally inclined to solitude and privacy, was able to genuinely pray and unite myself to the sacrifice in a way that never had previously.

The church was also much smaller so I had a clear view. By following along in my missal, I finally came to understand the Mass more extensively. For the first time in my life, I was seeing all the details I had never noticed before and understanding what they meant. The beauty of true liturgy was before me. I was captivated by the meaning and symbolism of every movement and every moment. My knowledge of the Mass, theology, and Scripture increased concurrently thanks to Fr. Baker's excellent preaching. It was here, in this little church, within this quiet liturgy, pouring over my missal on my knees, that I came to see and understand the key differences between the old and new Mass — differences that meant something significant to me. Through firsthand immersion into the traditional liturgy and prayerful reflection on what I had encountered, my dissatisfaction and confusion surrounding the Mass was cured.

And that was it! My heart was inflamed. My spiritual life burst into an intense fire of love for God, for Catholicism, for the Liturgy. I had spent so many years wading in a shallow place regarding my religion, but now things were coming together and making sense. I could see more clearly now and the picture revealed was stunning. Once my eyes were opened to the old Mass, there was just no going back. I am so thankful that my oldest son was reaching the age of reason while we were part of this community. Elijah was able to receive his First Holy Communion from Fr. Baker on my birthday, May 11th. It was just about the best birthday present I've ever received to witness my firstborn receive the Eucharist for the first time.

Did you forget that my husband had been deployed this whole time? Oh, my. He had quite a surprise when he came home. At first, he did not want to attend the Latin Mass with me. I was pretty straight-forward with him: I told him he needed to do this with me. I needed him to stop dragging his feet and commit to converting. He had been saying he would for years, but had taken no steps in the process. I needed him to take over as the spiritual head of our family, the role he should of been fulfilling all along. I needed the kids to have a truly Catholic father. I also found out our marriage was invalid according to the Church, so we desperately needed to rectify that.

I called the priest at North American Martyrs and he didn't hesitate to set an appointment with us. Very quickly he con-validated our marriage (on February 14th!), and then he spent four months meeting one-on-one with my husband to instruct him on the faith. The fact that this priest was eager to accommodate my husband's crazy work schedule spoke volumes to us. It showed us that this priest cared deeply about the welfare of my husband's soul, and so he made the necessary sacrifices to ensure my husband had the opportunity to be properly instructed and brought into the Church. That's exactly the way it should be: priests should be willing to make great sacrifices to save souls. We are grateful to this priest for being a loving shepherd to our family during that time.

On June 21st, the feast day of St. Aloysius, my husband went through the ceremony of Baptism, was confirmed, and received his first Holy Communion. My husband chose St. Joseph as his confirmation saint, and I couldn't help but think of all those novenas I prayed to St. Joseph so many years earlier. Our marriage was blessed, and then I received a pregnancy blessing since at that point I was expecting our fourth child. After 9 years of marriage, my husband was Catholic and our marriage was valid. This same priest Baptized our fourth baby, Isabelle, as well.

Thankfully my husband found the Latin Mass as beautiful as I do. He was deeply impressed by the liturgy, and he continues to have a strong devotion to the Latin Mass. As my mom likes to joke, "He's the most Catholic of us all now!" And it’s kind of true!

Eventually, our diocese recognized that our community was well-established enough to be given our own church building. "North American Martyrs South Sound" moved to St. Joseph's parish and became a new FSSP apostolate.

I have now been through the full liturgical year in a traditional parish several times, and I have seen and experienced things that I never saw in my previous 30 years of Catholicism. I learned about so many rich traditions of our Church that I was never aware of before, things that I had never seen or been told about, but that augment my faith and spiritual life tenfold. Catholicism is truly an extremely beautiful religion -- but I never knew exactly how rich and beautiful it was until I lived it in this community.

One thing I felt distinctly as I learned more was this:

Why was this taken away from us?

And why didn't anyone tell me sooner?

Oliver receiving his first Holy Communion
from the hand of Bishop Athanasius Schneider.

Our parish in Tacoma, St. Joseph, grew rapidly. Over the years that we were there, we saw the number of parishioners steadily increasing. Soon, more Masses had to be added to the schedule to accommodate our growing parish. Our family grew too: our twins were born and baptized by Fr. Insco at St. Joseph.

With my husband's military career over, it was time to move back home to Idaho. Unfortunately, Boise is a place where the Latin Mass is not as loved, appreciated, or embraced as it is in other parts of the country. We had a hard time acclimating to this new environment, and to this atmosphere of people who held suspicious attitudes toward traditional expressions and practices of Catholicism. We were instantly ostracized as outsiders for our decision to attend the Latin Mass. This was startling and shocking, since we had just come from a place that was literally bursting at the seams with people who attend the Latin Mass. Our community had been completely traditionally-minded. I felt our bubble of community burst, and it was a painful experience.

I didn't know when I attended that first Latin Mass with my mom all those years ago, that that same little chapel would someday become "home" for us 10 years later. Our transition to the Boise area was tumultuous as we truly grieved over the loss of our treasured parish, priests, school, and friends. But we found the little white chapel in-the-middle-of-nowhere to be a sweet haven in an otherwise difficult time.

After experiencing so many High Masses each Sunday at St. Joseph, going to my beloved simple and silent Mass again -- the Low Mass -- was a refreshing delight. St. Joseph had become a big, bustling parish, and to come now to this tiny chapel was, in a way, a relief. The people here are very much like the people we knew at St. Joseph. I realized how much I prefer small, tight-knit communities, and how spiritually fruitful the silence of the Low Mass is for my heart and soul. I receive extremely helpful and practical spiritual advice from our priest in the confessional.

And one thing that is kind of remarkable to note is that my godfather attends this chapel. I have been able to reconnect with him, and I greatly enjoy chatting with him on Sundays after Mass and bumping into him at the Adoration chapel.

Conclusion

10 years later, I maintain my deep devotion to and love of the Latin Mass. My overall impression when I attend the new form of the Mass has become something like this: this is not a good expression of our faith. As Catholics, we profess to believe certain truths about the Mass and the Eucharist, and I don't see the new Mass to be a good expression of what we profess to believe. I see a more clear alignment in the old liturgy, where the outward expressions of our faith aligns with our professed beliefs and interior hearts. For me, this is why the Latin Mass "makes sense" to me in a way that the new Mass never has.

I attended the new Mass for 2.5 decades and remained confused, upset, unhappy, and generally dissatisfied. I didn't understand why I felt that way, and I even tried to will myself to love the Mass the way the saints did. Things didn't "click" until I experienced the old Mass. Then it all made sense to me, almost instantly. My spiritual life, which had been stalled and stunted, was able to thrive and prosper under these new conditions, and it hasn't stopped. Before, my faith-life felt limp and lifeless and I had to force myself to attend out of obedience. Now, in this "new" atmosphere of the old Mass, my spiritual life continues to grow vigorously and Mass is my absolute favorite place to be.

The difference between the two, and the superiority of one over the other, was just that clear, simple and easy for me.

How I Came to Have a Devotion to the Latin Mass

Conclusion

The Divine Office

The Necessity of Baptism