1. When you celebrate the usus antiquior, does the act of holding together thumb and forefinger from the consecration until the ablutions make a psychological or spiritual difference for you? If so, how would you describe it?
     2. If you began your priestly life celebrating only the usus recentior and later learned the usus antiquior, did learning to hold the fingers together strike you as more devout, or as a nuisance, or something else?
     3. Has this traditional practice affected the way you view the corresponding lack of rubric in the usus recentior? Have you considered adopting, or do you adopt, the traditional practice in the modern rite? Why or why not?
     4. In your mind, how does this practice fit into the overall “ethos” or spirit of the classical Roman liturgy?
     5. In your pastoral experience, has any layman ever commented on or asked about the holding-together of the fingers? Do you think it is noticed and has any bearing on the piety of the laity?

I will preface my response by saying that the usus antiquior as a whole constantly helps turn my attention to the adoration of Christ and His offering on Calvary and to the flow of the various prayers and intentions throughout the Mass—from the many suppliant cries of prayers such as the Confiteor and Kyrie, to the praise of the Gloria, to the supplications of the Canon, etc. Hence, as such, the many prescribed gestures of the usus antiquior are usually not at the forefront of my mind. Rather they come and go as aides to what is more essential acts of the soul.
       The holding together of thumb and forefinger has not been for me one of the more impactful gestures of the usus antiquior. Nonetheless, it is a real help. It serves as a reminder and sign that my other movements, and the movements of my heart, should be particularly reverent from the consecration until the ablutions.

Holding the thumb and forefinger together (which I also do in celebrating the Novus Ordo, since there’s nothing forbidding it) helps in a little way to remind me and reinforce the fact that I am now holding the Lord’s Body with those fingers, and no longer just bread. But I wouldn’t call it a spiritual or psychological ‘big deal’ for me.

God has blessed me with a strong faith in the Real Presence, and even before I had studied the usus antiquior I had a sense of awareness and concern about the particles of the Most Blessed Sacrament that result from the ordinary carrying-out of the Holy Sacrifice.
       At the Mass in which I was ordained a deacon (alone, no other ordinands), the Eucharist was “served” from a glass dish of sorts (from which hosts or particles thereof easily could have fallen, and I purified it with great care after Holy Communion; it required a rather noticeable period of time to do so, which was obviously more than local clergy and people were used to. After that Mass both the vocation director and the ordaining bishop “corrected” me on this matter, with the bishop reminding me that the purification was only a “ritual purification” and that such care was not needed in carrying it out, since a sacristan would wash everything after. (A totally incoherent position.)
       This was my introduction – and a rather painful one, at that – to the practical lack of faith on the part of the clergy in the Real Presence, which I have witnessed and experienced many times in the 11 years since then. I say “practical” because few would deny the Real Presence and most would even defend it quite eloquently. But the way they actually handle the Eucharist betrays their lack of understanding and/or belief. (This is particularly the case with how they handle the Precious Blood, the purificator, etc.—but this is the topic of another discourse.)
       Therefore, when I began to study the usus antiquior and learned about the detailed and systematic process of purification, which really leaves little room for error, and of the practicalities such as holding the consecrating digits together until purification, my faith was confirmed. And, although knowledge of the Church’s historic practice served, perhaps, to heighten my awareness of just how bad things generally can be now, and thus heightened my sense of pain, yet at the same time, it was a consolation to know that I was on the right track.
       In short, yes, the custody of the digits does make an important and positive psychological and spiritual difference for me.

I find that it certainly makes a difference both psychologically and spiritually. Psychologically it has the effect of reminding me what I am doing and Who I am touching and holding. Spiritually, it helps deepen my faith in the Holy Eucharist. Again, it is a reminder of Who am I holding, and what I am doing. It keeps me grounded in reality, and focused on the presence of Jesus.

For me, I would describe it primarily as a difference of logic. There is also some element of psychological and spiritual difference, as well as devotional. Primarily, however, the practice seems like the logical conclusion of the Church’s belief. Although holding together these fingers may not be an absolute necessity, it seems like a natural outgrowth of her liturgical and doctrinal development—the logical and fitting thing to do.
       Spiritually, I find that the practice has given new meaning to the ablutions (or ablution cup) for me. Even when there are no discernible particles that seem to require purification, the act of holding my fingers closed until their ablution conveys the larger spiritual truth (to both priest and people) that something out of the ordinary—something outside the natural order—has transpired in the consecration. The ablution then takes on the role not only of a practicality, but reveals itself to be also a symbolic act whereby things are set back in right order. 

Holding together the thumb and forefinger in “liturgical digits” after the first of two consecrations costs so little mentally and has such great rewards psychologically. What I mean by the first is that after offering Mass several times, liturgical digits become pretty natural. What I mean by the second is that the knowledge that no crumbs of Our Lord’s Sacred Body will fall to the ground becomes a great reward psychologically or spiritually.

Holding thumb and forefinger together is one of one of the differences between the two uses that most contributes to giving the older use a different “feel.” In general, the older use has a highly stylized and formalized feel. Whereas, the newer use has a more informal feel. This is also felt, for example, in the narrow limits set to the orante posture in the older use—in the newer use the rubrics are vague, but the style is a more expansive orante. The more formalized approach of the older use emphasizes the importance of what is being done, and the self-effacement necessary. In particular, the holding of thumb and finger together emphasizes the awesome, and as it were “dangerous” reality of the real presence.

There is certainly a greater awareness, through the observance of this practice, of the reality of the divine Presence in the sacred species. It is in this way not unlike the discipline of folding one’s hands properly with fingers closed and closely joined to those of the other hand. It helps focus the mind while it binds his hands.

I think it gives me a greater awareness of the Real Presence. The reality that every particle, visible to my eyes, is the whole Christ. Not that I did not believe this before. I have always had a deep Eucharistic spirituality. But this practice deepens it.

The God of heaven is beyond our ability to comprehend. The universe cannot contain Him. This allows us to grasp, however imperfectly, the depth of the love that He had for us; to become so small as to enter the womb of the Virgin Mary as a child. The knowledge that the God of heaven became so tiny as to be only available to sight under a microscope, leads me to accept without question what some liberals have called crumb theology. Yes, that tiny crumb on the paten is the God of majesty who became fully what we are without ceasing to be fully His divine self.
       Our faith has everything to do with the body. All we need do is look at our religious language to see that Truth: Body of Christ, Precious Blood, Sacred Heart, and Immaculate Conception. Awareness of my own body and its participation in this mystery makes me realize that the crevices of my fingerprint might contain trace elements of the Host I have just raised in my hands.
       So yes, holding thumb and forefinger together does make a spiritual difference. Reverence for the Most Precious Body of the Lord means that I should preserve these trace elements until the ablutions are available.

I’ve never celebrated a mass without holding thumb and forefinger together. So, while it was a conscious choice at the beginning of my priesthood due to the clearly apparent fittingness of the expression (though I might not make an “argument from fittingness” with the same strong weight that such a term carries in Thomist language, simply on account of the gesture lacking in other ancient revered rites) it is hard to say how much of a psychological and spiritual difference it makes in the daily celebration—for me as the celebrant. For it is and has been for a long time completely automated. I do not consciously dwell on the act of holding my fingers a certain way. It is second nature. The conscious attention is focused on the liturgical action as such (the prayers). The only point it is more in focus is at the time of purification, but even then the mind is fixed more on the real presence and less on the actual act of holding or releasing the fingers. I would reckon that the greatest psychological and spiritual difference can probably found in what seeing that gesture (and knowing what it means) does to the faithful.

There is no difference, as I do the canonical digits at Novus Ordo anyway. True, it was learning the EF that led me to do this practice, which I was already familiar with by watching other young priests do it. Regardless of the form of the Mass, canonical digits is a reminder of what it is that one has touched and consequently how much reverence is due to even the smallest fragment.

I see/experience it as a reminder of and a gesture expressing attentiveness to the presence of Christ on the altar under the sacred species, and of reverence and care for the Sacrament of the Eucharist. While it may have origins in the desire to keep particles from falling, I do not consider it on its own—in particular, apart from the act of rubbing any fragments left on the fingers after picking up the host into the chalice—a very reliable means to keep fragments from falling; so I see its character as an act of reverence deriving from its significance as a reminder of the reverence due to the eucharistic Presence in even the smallest fragment.

Yes, it most certainly does foster an interior awareness of the immensity of the Mystery that lies before me on the corporal. It focuses and centres me in the real presence of the Christus Passus.

It is hard to say. I’m used to hold the fingers together in both forms, after the consecration until the ablution. Thus I cannot say how I would “feel” if I did not so. For me it is such a fixed custom that it would be hard not to hold the fingers together when I touch the consecrated species. For example, if I join a celebration just for helping to distribute holy communion if there are too many faithful for one priest—some weeks ago I was in a seminary and I had to help in such a way. In this case only my right hand comes into contact with the species of bread (since the left hand holds the ciborium). In this case it takes special “effort” not to hold also the fingers of the left hand together, just intuitively! I think this is a great thing, since it highly facilitates the reverent treatment of the Blessed Sacrament.

I do not celebrate the usus antiquior, though I have had some training in it. Thus, I cannot answer this question.

After celebrating the Mass of blessed Paul VI for 17 years, my first experiences of holding my thumb and forefinger together seemed a bit exaggerated. It did not take long, however, before I had the real sense that I could not have that which had touched and handled the Consecrated Host touch anything else prior to their proper cleaning. Similarly, at the Qui Pridie, though I just moments earlier had the Lavabo, I consciously wipe my fingers and thumbs on the corporal, one final preparation before handling that which is to become the Sacred Species, an action that I now use in celebrating any Mass.

I understand the reason for the practice, just as I understand the rubric that directs me to keep my hands within the bounds of the corporal while at the altar from the consecration until the ablutions. The purpose is to prevent the loss of particles of the Host that may have stuck to my thumb or forefinger; if they should fall from my thumb or forefinger, they would fall onto the corporal.

The practice raised my alertness to a far higher level of the fact of the Real Presence and of my solitary and sublime responsibility as a priest.

It struck me as both more devout and also, at first, as a bit awkward since I had been used to celebrating the usus recentior without this gesture. But that sense quickly disappeared and I instinctively began to want to use this gesture also when celebrating the usus recentior.

I started my priesthood saying the Novus Ordo but was taught the rubrics for it by a conservative priest superior who taught me to hold fingers together—and why. So when I started the usus antiquior a bit later that same practice then didn't really make any difference for me.

As can be seen from the first answer, it certainly struck me as more devout. It did take a small amount of time to get used to it, but even that was not difficult, since it so powerfully confirmed what I already knew by faith.

This is exactly my situation. I didn’t celebrate the usus antiquior until almost 10 years into my priesthood. However, from the day of my first Holy Mass, I have held my fingers together after touching the Sacred Species. I have always found it to foster devotion in myself, but also in the congregation. I in no way find it a nuisance.

I began celebrating the Extraordinary Form after four years of celebrating only the Ordinary Form.  I did not perceive holding together my canonical digits as a nuisance in any way.  I would say that it did strike me as somewhat more devout, as, related to Question 1, I sensed a particular devotional significance in the gesture.  

I have been a priest for seven years. The first four years I was doing the Novus Ordo. The last three years I have been doing the Traditional Latin Mass. For all of this time (in both Masses over seven years), I have kept liturgical digits. It wasn't a matter of showing people what was devout, as just a result of knowledge that crumbs could be on my fingers. As a guy once said, "You're dealing with plutonium up there." He actually got it right. Would we not follow every precaution possible with something as precious and as powerful as the physical body of the Son of God? For this reasons, it is hardly a nuisance to hold my fingers together in an act of protection.

This was in fact the path I took— celebrating first the newer use, and then learning the older. Holding the fingers together in the older use struck me immediately as more devout.

One who is not a priest and has not had the experience of keeping the fingers joined at the appropriate times cannot fully appreciate the difficulty that this may cause him. Try, as an example, taking your handkerchief out of your back pocket, passing your hand with its joined fingers along the way, opening the handkerchief and blowing the nose after having sneezed!

I was ordained 17 years when I learned and began celebrating the Traditional Rite. It was not all that foreign to me. A friend of mine who was a Franciscan in his late 70’s still used canonical fingers for new Mass during the early 1980’s. Learning to turn pages and hold things without dropping them was something to get used to. Bringing greater respect and reverence to the Holy Sacrament is of utmost importance.

The one thing that became abundantly clear when learning the Extraordinary Form was that I was not in charge. I could not pick and choose this or that option depending on my homily or my personal preference. No, here I had to conform myself to the liturgy. This was experienced both spiritually and physically. In the spiritual life, it is my hope that I can be conformed ever more to the likeness of Christ. This becomes possible in the Extraordinary Form. I never experienced it as a nuisance. I took it up readily and easily.

As said above, from the beginning I celebrated both forms—but always with those two fingers together.

It is clearly more devout. It can also be clumsy especially with the design of some modern ciboria. It just cannot be done with the sign of peace: which suits me just fine! Give me canonical digits over handshakes any day.

I have from the beginning celebrated Mass according to both usages—my first Mass was in the usus antiquior, my second Mass in the usus recentior… However, I found it all three—more devout, in the sense indicated above; somewhat of a nuisance in distributing Communion from a Ciborium or when using a Missal without good tabs; and corresponding to a general greater visible and corporal mimesis in the usus antiquior than in the usus recentior.

Never did I find it annoying or fussy.

In our congregation we learn the “holding together” in both forms from the very beginning. It is even an internal rule to do it in both forms, always.

I learned the usus recentior and then later learned about how to celebrate the usus antiquior. The practice of holding the fingers does strike me as devout and careful. I have held those fingers at nearly every single Mass I’ve ever said. The first 30 or so Masses I said were without this practice. The others included it. I believe that it is a catechetical tool. It gives people something to think about, it is distinctive and it begs the question: why do you do that? It gives me a chance to talk about the Real Presence, thus I like it.

Though holding the fingers together may have been a nuisance to begin with, it quickly became a very conscious sign of the care I needed to take regarding the Host and any particle whatsoever. This consciousness has definitely affected the way I celebrate any Mass.

The practice did not strike me as a nuisance, though it took some getting used to, especially when turning the pages of the Missal.

It struck me as awkward at first, merely from the mechanics of the gesture; but unreservedly as a more devout and indeed as so naturally devout that I wondered how on earth the usus recentior could ever have suppressed the gesture.

St. Josemaria Escriva observing 'liturgical digits'

And let us be clear on what is happening here. This is not a trade show. It is not a series of lectures. Every single person coming here, and there are some 250 people, will be actively participating in a chant choir and a polyphonic choir under a world-class conductor, and they will have to choose among several available options for polyphony - an impossible choice really. I know of no other event that compares in terms of training Catholic musicians of the future, training to be producers on the local level, to establish scholas to sing the Mass, to conduct and sing with the purpose of upgrading the liturgical experience in the Catholic framework… We are living amidst a new renaissance of liturgical music… 

To be stamped with the image of a divine Christ is a title to glory far more exalted than the glory due to us were we to bear the image of a purely human head, even though a sinless one. When God pardoned, He pardoned magnificently. So far was He from being grudging in His concessions to submissive humanity. He loaded it with favors. He gave with a divine generosity. He did not content Himself with restoring what had been forfeited. He added superabundantly to His first gifts. God’s incredible magnanimity brought it about that man, instead of losing all by the Fall, can profit exceedingly by it, if only he is willing to utilize all that has been won for him and placed at his disposal by the great Sacrifice of Jesus on the cross.

Nothing is so important to the soul as sanctifying grace; yet nothing is more difficult than the task of imparting to people, especially to children, an effective knowledge of the meaning and importance of this divine gift. In undertaking to supply a practical exemplification of the way in which the meaning and reality of such grace can be brought home even to children, Father Matthew has undertaken a most useful piece of work. Father Matthew’s skill as a catechist is born of his native ability and the loving devotion he has given to many years of experience in instructing children in the truths of their religion. The time and care he has lavished on this little book are immediately evident, and reflect his own love of God, his affection for the children he serves, and his devotion to the great work of the catechist. What characterizes this book is the profuse but clear and apt use of many of the illustrations found in Holy Scripture to explain the significance and effectiveness of sanctifying grace, and the ingenious comparisons he has worked out to imprint these things indelibly on the mind. This book is a real treasure that will never be forgotten by those who read it.

Here below man can know God only by analogy; hence we are constrained to apply to Him the three scientific questions: An sit,Quid sit, and Qualis sit, that is to say: Does He exist? What is His essence? and What are His qualities or attributes?  Consequently in theology, as in philosophy, the existence, essence, and attributes of God must form the three chief heads of investigation. The theological treatment differs from the philosophical in that it considers the subject in the light of supernatural Revelation, which builds upon and at the same time confirms, supplements, and deepens the conclusions of unaided human reason. Since the theological question regarding the existence of God resolves itself into the query: Can we know God?—the treatise De Deo Uno naturally falls into three parts: (1) The knowability of God; (2) His essence; and (3) The divine properties or attributes.

God’s first and primal work is the Creation of the universe. Creation constitutes the fundamental and essential postulate of all being and operation in the natural order as well as of all supernatural institutions, such as the Incarnation, Grace, the Sacraments, etc. Hence, the dogmatic treatise De Deo Creante et Elevante, which forms the subject matter of this volume, views God as the Author of Nature and the Supernatural. A true idea of Creation is indispensable to deepen and perfect the conception of God gained from the treatises De Deo Uno and De Deo Trino. Further, the consideration of the creation of men and angels and of their natures—anthropology and angelology—is the most important counterpart to the consideration of God as Creator.