As a bonafide JPII baby and a long-time resident of the relatively conservative Arlington Diocese, I grew up without hearing the traditional or Tridentine Mass. I prefer “Tridentine Mass” to “Latin Mass” because having been raised in such a time and place, “Latin Mass” means something quite different to me than it does to most people: it stands for the Latin Novus Ordo.

I will confess right now that despite having attended numerous Old Rite masses in various places, and even gone to it daily for a year of college, I still favor the Latin Novus Ordo. There’s something about an entire congregation belting out the Credo in the de Angelis or cum Jubilo setting that is unmatched by anything the English or the silent, prayerful Tridentine have to offer. It gives the listener—the participant, rather—a profound and dramatic sense of the meaning of the phrase “the Church militant.” Few people have had the privilege of growing up with such a Mass—more’s the pity.

I love the Latin for two reasons. The first is that the English translation of the Novus Ordo is lousy. It sacrifices both poetry and literalness on the altar of Sixties sensibility. It displays neither good theology nor good taste. The second reason is that the use of a common language for worship does much to elevate the minds of the worshippers and preserves the sense of a universal Catholic culture and doctrine. Given this second reason, I’m never going to be completely happy with the English Masses that I frequently attend. Yet Latin advocate though I am, I never quite appreciated how bad the current translation is until this Wednesday.

The parish my family attended to fulfill our obligation was not our usual one. The Mass was in English, but there was a fairly energetic (more energetic perhaps than talented) choir singing the five parts in Latin. Because the missal was only in English I found myself helping my young sister try to follow the words as I sang along. I realized very quickly (what I had always known in theory) that the English and the Latin don’t really match up. “Gloria in excelsis Deo” is translated, reasonably enough, as “Glory to God in the highest.” The unhappy sequel, however, is not “on earth peace to men of good will” but “peace to his people on earth”—a not very inspired attempt at colloquializing the message the shepherds at Bethlehem first received. In the Latin the divine praises that follow (“Laudamus te, benedícimus te, adoramus te, glorificamus te, gratias agimus tibi propter magnam gloriam tuam”) use a regular repeating pattern that some innovative translator must have found boring; he rendered them: “we worship you, we give you thanks, we praise you for your glory,” incidentally (as if it didn’t matter) transposing this part with the part that follows (“Lord God, heavenly king, almighty God and father”).

I could go on, but the sins of the translators are generally too well known to need detailing here. What struck me that evening was the sheer impossibility of following one while hearing the other. It was much easier to translate the Latin on the spot—assuming one was capable of that; and how many people are?

So I returned for about the tenth time to the USCCB website to look greedily at the new missal translation. (http://www.nccbuscc.org/romanmissal/) “And with your spirit.” “Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.” “Consubstantial with the Father.” “Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of hosts.” The words are music to my literalist ears. I understand a few parishes in Southern Virginia have already implemented the new language. Almost makes me want to pack up and move . . .

I’d still give my eye-teeth to have a Latin Novus Ordo in every parish within a hundred miles. But short of that, I’d settle for a translation—like the new one—that actually says what the Latin says.