What do the members of your religious community think about the Traditional Latin Mass?” As I’ve traveled the United States in my ministry as vicar general and vocation director of the Glenmary Home Missioners, few questions arise as often as this one. Parents, vocation prospects, priests, and even bishops are curious. The question, though, has begun to bother me—and not for the reasons some might assume.
I hold no ill will toward those who ask it. Their interest in liturgical debates is understandable given the subject’s prominence in Catholic and secular media. They read about leaked documents from the late Holy Father’s papacy regarding the Extraordinary Form, or hear speculation about what direction the new pontiff will take regarding the Church’s official prayer.
Questions about the nature of the liturgy are perennial, of course—for as the adage goes, lex orandi, lex credendi. I also have a personal stake in these discussions, not only as a priest, but as co-organizer of a forthcoming conference on navigating liturgical questions in a polarized milieu.
So no, I don’t find this question unimportant. Rather, I worry it distracts the Church in the United States from a more fundamental one: What do we make of the vast regions of our country where there is no Mass at all?
Few of my conversation partners realize that there are around 180 counties in the United States where not only is the Tridentine Mass absent, but no Mass is celebrated at all. These vast areas, primarily in rural America, have no functioning parish church, no resident priest, and minimal Catholic ministry—despite thousands of inhabitants, many of them Catholic. In Georgia alone, more than fifty counties—including over twenty contiguous ones—lack any eucharistic presence.
If you’re Catholic and have ever vacationed in Appalachia or the rural Southeast, you’ve likely struggled to fulfill your Sunday obligation. Imagine if you lived there. In some places, a person can drive for hours without encountering the source and summit of our faith—whether on an altar or in a tabernacle. Compare this to Cincinnati, where I live, where within twenty miles one can find countless Masses, offered in many languages and rites, and celebrated by devoted priests.
The usual reaction to my description of these “priestless counties” is disbelief. (One person even suggested I was lying.) To counter this, I show one of the many maps produced by the Glenmary Home Missioners, a community dedicated to serving these areas. These maps make the point starkly. Out of love for the Eucharist, many people have wept at what these maps reveal. They remain incredulous: How could the Church in the United States allow so many to go without the Mass?
As to the legacy of Traditionis Custodes, I leave such judgments to Church historians and liturgical theologians. Regarding what decisions, if any, Pope Leo XIV should make about the Traditional Latin Mass—or any form of the Mass—I pray for him to continue to receive God’s guidance.
But for the counties without the Mass, there are practical responses. American Catholics can support missionary orders and organizations dedicated to serving these neglected regions. Dioceses, parishes, and families—even amid a shortage of priests—can encourage their own young men and seminarians to consider a missionary vocation. In fact, there is historical precedent to do so.
And those who analyze and debate liturgical matters might also dedicate some of their energy to writing about places where the liturgy is absent altogether. Doing so would help Catholics who love the Mass recognize and respond to this urgent need.
As I continue to journey across the United States, I have no doubt I will keep hearing questions about Catholic liturgy and its debates. I welcome these conversations. But I hope another theme begins to dominate: supporting and serving the vast regions of our country where Catholics still wait for the Mass to arrive.
