Having grown up in a family of avid Democrats and now residing in a decidedly post-Christian area, not to mention being an alumnus of a non-sectarian divinity school where I focused on the aesthetics of a Marxist philosopher, I don’t fit the conventional image of a Catholic who has drifted toward preferring the extraordinary form of the Mass.

Make no mistake, I do question myself. Am I a victim of nostalgia, that go-to accusation of so many critics too young even to recognize nostalgia? Like most people getting along in years I’ve been drawn in by nostalgia, usually triggered by an unexpected association with loved ones and places long departed, but my affection for the Latin Mass just doesn’t seem to parallel those experiences. I’m attracted rather to the old rite’s efficacy in focusing my attention on the spiritual, a practical matter very much of the here and now. For someone who finds disciplined daily prayer difficult, that’s no small matter.

Have I so misread Vatican II documents that embracing the old liturgical practice is mere personal fantasy, a case of I’d like it to be so therefore I’ve made it so? Respected scholars like Fathers Anthony Ruff, O.S.B. and John Baldovin, S.J. argue that people like me do just that and, since I can be prone to romantic idealism, I take such criticisms seriously. But considering the number of writers, church leaders and ordinary lay folk who find the old rite of continuing value, particularly when juxtaposed against hard to endure manifestations of the reformed rite, the issue can’t be so easily dismissed as personal delusion or misunderstanding. There is a phenomenal lure at play here and it would be unwise of me to ignore such an internal lodestar, however convinced some may be the old Mass counters the intentions of the Council.

But I must concede unpleasant consequences to my liturgical shift. To begin, most of my close friends and family members don’t share my inclination thus making me an outlier among intimates. And however one waxes poetic over the old rite at some point all must acknowledge there are, despite heavy on-line cheerleading, large swathes of the country with no access to the extraordinary form of the Mass. And many places that offer a Latin Mass do so only once-a-month or at such an inconvenient hour that one can only wonder if the intention is to discourage. If those obstacles aren’t sufficiently disheartening, the mere presence of a Latin Mass is no guarantee that music or preaching will be exemplary.

One must also contend, inevitably it seems, with the misguided zealousness of a few old rite advocates who neither grasp the nuance and breadth of theology nor have any ability to engage with those holding differing points of view. They revel instead in a reflexive “the church says so, case closed!” manner of argumentation that cannot fly in an era defined by clerical sex abuse. Though reformed rite people can also act this way, assuming a stance of moral superiority never bolsters anyone’s cause.

Fortunately, most people I have met in Latin Mass communities are, as a friend once observed, “surprisingly normal.” Accepting that life is riddled with complexity, they do not wallow in resentment nor peddle fear as a primary mode of persuasion. They rather possess a forbearance that allows genuine engagement, surely a prerequisite in gaining the attention and respect of others. I am thankful for such people because their witness sustains me in moments when doubt sets in and I question my own wisdom.