Abstaining from Mass: A Lenten Tradition?

As Catholics throughout the world face closed doors at church, our Lenten fast has changed. We think of Lent as a time of giving up bad things and engaging in deeper prayer. Abstaining from attending Mass would not seem to fit this bill, but it actually has a deep history in the Church.

To this day, the liturgical season of the West has two days without the celebration of Mass: Good Friday and Holy Saturday (at least with no proper Mass of its own before the Vigil). This reflects an even older tradition of not celebrating the Mass during the weekdays of Lent (or limiting Mass to certain days of the week), a custom preserved in some of the Eastern rites of the Church.

It may seem illogical to abstain from the greatest good we have in the world, but sometimes we have to sacrifice something to in order to appreciate it more deeply. Josef Ratzinger reflects upon Augustine’s decision to “excommunicate himself” at the end of his life to undertake a deeper penance. He reflects how abstaining from the Eucharist could lead to renewal:

Do we not often take the reception of the Blessed Sacrament too lightly? Might not this kind of spiritual fasting be of service, or even necessary, to deepen and renew our relationship to the Body of Christ?

The ancient Church had a highly expressive practice of this kind. Since apostolic times, no doubt, the fast from the Eucharist on Good Friday was a part of the Church’s spirituality of communion. This renunciation of communion on one of the most sacred days of the Church’s year was a particularly profound way of sharing in the Lord’s Passion; it was the Bride’s mourning for the lost Bridegroom (cf. Mk 2:20). Today too, I think, fasting from the Eucharist, really taken seriously and entered into, could be most meaningful on carefully considered occasions, such as days of penance—and why not reintroduce the practice on Good Friday? It would be particularly appropriate at Masses where there is a vast congregation, making it impossible to provide for a dignified distribution of the sacrament; in such cases the renunciation of the sacrament could in fact express more reverence and love than a reception which does not do justice to the immense significance of what is taking place.

A fasting of this kind—and of course it would have to be open to the Church’s guidance and not arbitrary—could lead to a deepening of personal relationship with the Lord in the sacrament. . . Naturally, I am not suggesting a return to a kind of Jansenism: fasting presupposes normal eating, both in spiritual and biological life. But from time to time we do need a medicine to stop us from falling into mere routine which lacks all spiritual dimension. Sometimes we need hunger, physical and spiritual hunger, if we are to come fresh to the Lord’s gifts and understand the suffering of our hungering brothers. Both spiritual and physical hunger can be a vehicle of love.”

Behold the Pierced One, pages 97-98, posted at Catholic World Report

There is, of course, a difference between an aliturgical day with no proper Mass of its own and having what is called a Mass of the Presanctified, where there is no consecration but still Communion, using hosts from a previous Mass–most famously on Good Friday. An example of aliturgical days can be seen in the Ambrosian rite of Milan, which traditionally did not celebrate Mass on Fridays during Lent.

I first encountered the second tradition in high school, serving the Liturgy of the Presanctified in the Byzantine Rite during Lent. These liturgies, primary occurring primarily on Wednesday and Friday evenings, have many similarities to Vespers services and are conducted with dim lighting, giving them, as I recall fondly, a somber and mysterious character: chanting the psalms, the incense arising above the candle light, and the great prostrations, accompanied by the prayer of St. Ephraim the Syrian:

{Making a prostration} O LORD, Master of my life, grant that I may not be infected with the spirit of slothfulness and inquisitiveness, with the spirit of ambition and vain talking.

{Making a second prostration} Grant instead to me, your servant, the spirit of purity and of humility, the spirit of patience and neighborly love.

{Making a third prostration} O Lord and King, grant me the grace of being aware of my sins and of not thinking evil of those of my brethren.  For you are blessed, now and ever, and forever. 

Although now celebrated predominantly in the East, these services claim their origin from the great liturgical figure, Pope St. Gregory the Great. This connection may simply stem, however, from the description he wrote of the Presanctified liturgy while serving as ambassador to Constantinople. Either way, both East and West share this tradition, whether on Good Friday alone, on every Friday of Lent (as in the Ambrosian Rite) or throughout the weekdays of Lent (as in the Byzantine tradition). Some of the faithful have also undertaken the tradition of the Missa sicca (dry Mass), preserved mostly by Carthusians, which entails reading the prayers of the Mass (minus the Eucharistic prayers) when Mass cannot be celebrated (or in addition to Mass).

We now all find ourselves undertaking an involuntary Eucharistic penance. Christ is in the tomb, not only three days, but now for extended period of time, withdrawn from physical intimacy with his disciples. Deprived of a sacramental closeness to Jesus, we must face a spiritual dark night, one that can actually inspire deeper love and devotion. This Eucharistic fast may become the greatest sacrifice of all. If we offer it as a voluntary sacrifice, this absence, turned into an act of love, may also become the most fruitful one.