About 140 people came to the Sweetest Heart of Mary church in Detroit for the Traditional Latin Mass at noon the Sunday after Easter. Incense and organ music wafted through the ornate sanctuary, built by Polish Catholics in the late 19th century. It was a beautiful sunny spring afternoon, and the lilacs by the rectory were in bloom.
In the pews, however, the mood was uncertain. It had been less than three weeks since the new archbishop of Detroit, Edward Weisenburger, told priests that he planned to drastically reduce the availability of the traditional Mass in the archdiocese starting this summer, following a 2021 edict from Pope Francis that cracked down on the rite worldwide. Backlash verging on panic followed in some quarters, with one critic calling it a “bloodbath.”
Then on April 21, the pope died, throwing the plan back into question — or at least its critics hope so.
“If the next pope really wanted to, he could come in the first day and completely open up access to the Latin Mass,” said Kiera Raymond, 18, a college student in Michigan who organized a “Latin Mass Mob” to rally supporters to parishes offering the Mass before the restrictions kick in.
The Traditional Latin Mass was once simply Mass, celebrated the same way by Catholics around the world for centuries until the modernizing reforms of the Second Vatican Council in the 1960s. The differences are subtle but important to those attuned to their meaning.
The priest faces the same direction as the worshipers — that is, away from them, toward the altar — for most of the Mass. He places the Communion host directly on the tongue, not in the hand. And yes, most of the service is in Latin, not English or the hundreds of other languages in which the “new Mass” is now celebrated around the world.
More recently, the traditional Mass has become an unlikely lightning rod for broader theological and ideological disputes, especially in the American church, with its strong strain of theological and liturgical conservatism. Its adherents tend to attend Mass more often, and have a vision for the church focused on theological orthodoxy over the openness and modernity of the Francis era.
Pope Francis referred to the old Mass as divisive, and some of his other comments stung traditionalists: his reference to large families who have children “like rabbits,” his comments to priests to stop wearing “grandma’s lace.”
The traditional Mass represents only a sliver of Catholic life. But it is growing in popularity in many dioceses across the country, and especially with young people, including young priests. The archdiocese of Detroit now has 28 parishes and chapels offering the traditional Mass, according to Alex Begin, who maintains a newsletter for local supporters. There are about 500 venues that offer it nationally, according to another unofficial list online.
That was the context in which Archbishop Weisenburger announced on April 8 in a large private meeting with Detroit priests that he planned to reduce the availability of the traditional Mass to four or five locations starting in July. (One of them, St. Joseph Shrine, already has up to 650 worshipers on a typical Sunday, and is bracing to receive more after the restrictions go into effect.)
When a public backlash erupted after the meeting, Archbishop Weisenburger sent a letter to try to clarify.
“This was not a matter I had hoped to delve into so close to the start of my own ministry in our archdiocese,” he wrote, urging priests to not let the issue become a distraction. He also suggested that the traditional Mass itself might have become an issue in the church not because of the liturgy itself but because of the character of the priests who celebrate it.
Holly Fournier, a spokeswoman for the archdiocese, said that parishes had been granted temporary extensions after the pope’s 2021 restrictions on the traditional Mass, and those extensions were already set to expire this summer. The archbishop “believes parishes have been given sufficient time to implement the Holy Father’s direction,” she said in an email.
In the pews at churches around the archdiocese on the Sunday after Easter, the mood was of wary waiting.
“People are very scared,” said Lauren Leyva, 33, the organist at St. Edward on the Lake, about an hour north of Detroit. She attends the traditional Mass with her family, including two young children.
“We prayed for the pope and his health,” Ms. Leyva said after Mass that Sunday. “But we are hopeful that something will change.”
Priests who celebrate the traditional Mass in Detroit are in a delicate position. Some of them are maneuvering behind the scenes to maintain the traditional Mass in their parishes, or at least in their regions. But few want to be seen as agitators in the tense moment before the restrictions are enforced and before a new pope is selected.
“Now things are up in the air,” said the Rev. Brian Hurley, who celebrates the traditional Mass at his parish in Lapeer, Mich., to a typical congregation of more than 200 people. Many young couples in his parish now request weddings celebrated in the old rite, too. Father Hurley said priests are talking among themselves, and with friendly archdiocese employees, to try to preserve access to the traditional Mass for as many people as possible.
At St. Edward on the Lake, the Rev. Lee Acervo advised his congregation at the 8 a.m. traditional Mass not to write to the archbishop, but simply to pray and “trust in the Lord.”
Father Acervo, like several other priests around the diocese who are poised to lose the traditional Mass in July, declined to speak to a reporter. In a letter to his congregation published in the parish bulletin, he made the stakes of the next conclave clear.
“This is a really pivotal time in the church’s history,” he wrote. “We need to pray for a holy pope. A saintly pope. Not a political pope. Rather, a pope who won’t compromise the faith in order to get along with the world. A pope who will teach the faith with clarity and not ambiguity.”
The point was clear to those who had ears to hear. Francis’ critics accused him of sowing confusion, issuing conflicting and even contradictory messages about matters like the church’s teaching on marriage.
Traditionalists are closely watching the run-up to the conclave in Rome. They have their favorites, including Cardinal Peter Erdo of Hungary and Cardinal Robert Sarah of Guinea, the former head of the Vatican’s liturgy office and a leading opponent of Francis.
“It’s a personal assault to have this Mass taken away from me,” said Anna Graziosi, 79, the parish council president at Assumption Grotto on Detroit’s east side. Ms. Graziosi was in the pews at a traditional Mass at 7:30 a.m. last Monday morning with about 20 other people.
Ms. Graziosi’s family immigrated to Detroit from Italy when she was 5. She grew up with the Latin Mass, before the Second Vatican Council.
For her, the novus ordo, or new order, drained not just the sanctity of the rite but also her own attention to it. Following along in the prayer book, as the old Mass required, demanded prayerful focus.
The new Mass was designed in part to involve worshipers more, but Ms. Graziosi found her mind — and faith — wandering until she sought out the Latin Mass back at her childhood parish, Assumption Grotto.
She is praying for Pope Francis’ soul this week, as she prayed for him in life. “I hope for a merciful judgment,” she said.
