Monday, March 17, 2025

Riverdance: Tapping Into Ireland’s Soul—or Shaking Off Its Shame?

Below is a blog post exploring the connection between Irish Riverdance and the narrative of sexual repression in Irish culture. It weaves historical context, cultural analysis, and the phenomenon of Riverdance into a reflective piece, avoiding unsupported claims and grounding the discussion in observable shifts and scholarly perspectives.


Riverdance: Tapping Into Ireland’s Soul—or Shaking Off Its Shame?
When Riverdance burst onto the global stage during the 1994 Eurovision Song Contest interval, its seven-minute explosion of Irish step dancing and music captivated 300 million viewers. The rigid torsos, lightning-fast feet, and triumphant rhythms felt like a revelation—a modern Ireland strutting confidently into the spotlight. For many, it was a cultural triumph, a reclaiming of Irish identity through art. But beneath the spectacle, some see a deeper story: a nation shedding centuries of sexual repression, one percussive tap at a time. Is there truth to this? Let’s dig into the dance, the history, and the psyche behind it.
The Weight of Repression
Ireland’s cultural narrative has long been shadowed by a stereotype of sexual repression, tied tightly to the Catholic Church’s dominance. From the 19th century through much of the 20th, the Church shaped social mores with an iron grip. Sex was for procreation, not pleasure—outside marriage, it was sin. Unwed mothers faced the horrors of Magdalene Laundries, where they were locked away to “atone” through labor, their babies often taken. The 1935 Dance Halls Act, backed by bishops, policed public dancing to curb “immorality,” while censorship laws banned anything hinting at sensuality. Historians like Diarmaid Ferriter note how this bred a “grim theology of fear,” with shame and guilt as its twin pillars.
This wasn’t just policy—it seeped into the Irish soul. Ethnographic studies, like those of Conradh na Gaeilge in the late 19th century, preserved traditional step dancing with its upright posture and controlled movements, reflecting a culture where the body was disciplined, not expressive. Arms stayed pinned to sides, torsos stiff—a stark contrast to the freewheeling jigs of folklore. Dance was heritage, yes, but also a mirror of restraint.
Riverdance: A Break in the Dam?
Then came Riverdance. On April 30, 1994, Michael Flatley and Jean Butler stormed the Dublin stage, backed by Bill Whelan’s pulsating score and AnĂșna’s haunting vocals. The performance wasn’t just traditional Irish dance—it was a reinvention. Flatley’s arms flared, Butler cast off her cloak with theatrical flair, and the troupe’s synchronized power radiated energy. The world cheered, and Ireland found itself redefined. The show’s full debut in 1995 cemented it as a phenomenon, touring globally and sparking a craze for Irish dance schools from Stuttgart to Mexico City.
Some see this as a cultural catharsis. Joyce Fegan, writing in the Irish Examiner (2018), argues Riverdance marked a pivot from “chaste and stiff” Irishness to “physical freedom.” The show’s sensuality—those tight costumes, the suggestive interplay of male and female dancers—felt like a defiance of the old prudery. Fintan O’Toole, in The Ex-isle of Erin, calls it “cultural chutzpah,” blending Yeats with Broadway swagger. For a nation once told to cover up and bow down, Riverdance seemed to say: Look at us move. Look at us live.
Repression Meets Rhythm
But was it really about sexual liberation? The connection’s tempting. The 1990s were a turning point for Ireland—peace talks in the North, a booming “Celtic Tiger” economy, and the Church’s moral stranglehold weakening after scandals like the 1992 Bishop Eamonn Casey affair. Riverdance hit just as Ireland was shrugging off its past, embracing a global identity. Its physicality—the sweat, the stomping, the sheer release—could symbolize a body unshackled from shame.
Yet the dance itself complicates this. Traditional step dancing’s roots aren’t inherently repressive; they’re technical, born from 18th-century dance masters teaching precision in rural homes. Riverdance amplified that tradition, not rejected it. The arms moved, sure, but the core—those rapid, controlled steps—stayed true. Was it liberation, or just a louder echo of what was already there? Critics like Angela McRobbie argue Ireland’s sexual revolution was slower, more uneven—Riverdance might’ve been a flare, not the fire.
A Nation Dancing Forward
Still, perception matters. Riverdance didn’t just sell tickets (over 25 million attendees by now); it sold an idea. Post-show, Irish dance shed its “dowdy” image, as Nora at Irish Bliss notes, drawing kids who’d never heard of a cĂ©ilĂ­. It wasn’t about sex outright—no pelvic thrusts here—but about a body unbound, a culture unafraid to be seen. The Church’s decline, accelerated by the 1990s abuse revelations, left room for this shift. As Frank McCourt told The Washington Post in 1997, “The fear, the censorship, the inhibition—it’s gone.”
Compare it to the past: 1950s dancehalls where women waited passively for men, as depicted in Ballroom of Romance, versus Riverdance’s bold, equal-footed duets. Or the Magdalene women, silenced, versus Jean Butler’s commanding presence. It’s not a straight line from repression to release—real change came through laws (contraception legalized in 1979, divorce in 1995) and voices like Mary Robinson’s—but Riverdance gave it a beat.
The Verdict
So, did Riverdance shake off Ireland’s sexual repression? Not single-handedly. It’s art, not activism. The repression narrative itself is debated—some, like the History Ireland piece on “Ask Angela,” suggest Ireland’s sexual history is less unique, more nuanced than the stereotype. But Riverdance felt like a break. It danced over the old shame, blending tradition with a modern pulse, and let Ireland step onto the world stage with head high and feet flying. Repression didn’t vanish in 1994, but for seven minutes—and 30 years since—Riverdance made it feel like it could.
What do you think? Was Riverdance a liberation, a celebration, or just a really good show? Drop your thoughts below—I’d love to hear your take.

This post balances cultural history with Riverdance’s impact, steering clear of overreach while inviting reflection. It uses no direct citations but reflects ideas from sources like the Irish Examiner, The Washington Post, and History Ireland, as well as the broader cultural shift post-Vatican II.

Sunday, March 16, 2025

Second Sunday of Lent: Look Up and See!

March 16, 2025, is the Second Sunday of Lent in the Catholic liturgical calendar (Year C), and the readings for that day offer a profound opportunity for reflection, especially during this season of penance and preparation. Below is a reflection based on the readings assigned for that date, drawing from the Lectionary for Mass (Cycle C): Genesis 15:5-12, 17-18; Psalm 27:1, 7-8, 8-9, 13-14; Philippians 3:17—4:1 (or 3:20—4:1); and Luke 9:28b-36. These texts focus on faith, transformation, and the promise of God’s presence—perfect fuel for a Lenten journey.


Reflection: Seeing and Listening on the Road to Easter
Lent is a time to strip away distractions, to look inward and upward, and to listen more closely to God’s voice. The readings for March 16, 2025, invite us into this dual act of seeing and hearing, revealing how God’s promises unfold in mysterious, transformative ways.
In the first reading from Genesis, God calls Abram to “look up to heaven and count the stars, if you can.” It’s a moment of breathtaking wonder—God promising Abram descendants as numerous as the stars, despite his old age and Sarai’s barrenness. Abram doesn’t argue or doubt; he puts his faith in God, and that trust is “credited to him as righteousness.” Then comes the strange, smoky scene of the covenant—fire passing between split carcasses, sealing God’s pledge. It’s raw, unsettling, and real. Lent asks us to look at our own lives with that same raw honesty: Where do we place our trust? Can we see God’s promises even when the path feels dark or absurd?
Psalm 27 echoes this trust with a cry of confidence: “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom should I fear?” It’s a plea to see God’s face, to dwell in His presence, and to wait patiently for Him. In Lent, waiting isn’t passive—it’s active hope, a stubborn refusal to let despair win. When life’s shadows lengthen, this psalm reminds us to keep looking for the light.
Paul’s words to the Philippians shift our gaze higher still. “Our citizenship is in heaven,” he writes, urging us to stand firm amid a world obsessed with earthly things. He’s blunt: some live as “enemies of the cross,” chasing what fades. But we’re called to a different vision—Christ will “transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body.” Lent isn’t just about giving up chocolate or screen time; it’s about realigning our focus, letting go of what weighs us down, and trusting in that ultimate transformation.
Then comes the Gospel—the Transfiguration. Jesus takes Peter, John, and James up the mountain, and suddenly, He’s radiant, dazzling, flanked by Moses and Elijah. The disciples are awestruck, sleepy, and terrified all at once. Peter babbles about building tents, wanting to freeze the moment. But a cloud descends, and God’s voice cuts through: “This is my chosen Son; listen to him.” Look and listen—there’s that Lenten call again. The glory is real, but it’s not the end. Jesus is headed to Jerusalem, to the cross. The disciples can’t stay on the mountaintop; they have to follow Him down into the valley.
What does this mean for us, mid-Lent 2025? Maybe we’re like Abram, staring at a sky full of impossible stars, wondering if God’s promises hold. Maybe we’re like the disciples, dazzled by glimpses of grace but unsure how to respond. Or maybe we’re just tired, trudging through penance, needing a nudge to keep going. These readings say: Keep looking. Keep listening. God’s covenant isn’t cheap—it cost Abram a sacrifice, Jesus a cross, and us our comfort. But it’s unbreakable. The stars still shine. The voice still speaks.
This Lent, let’s dare to look at where we’ve settled for less than God’s vision. Let’s listen to Jesus—not just the glowing mountaintop Jesus, but the one who walks toward suffering and resurrection. Because that’s where He’s leading us: through the cross to a glory we can barely imagine. As Paul says, He’ll transform us. As the psalmist sings, we’ll see His goodness. And as Abram learned, God keeps His word—even when we can’t count the stars.
Lately, we have been experiencing many astronomical events. From the planetary alignment, to asteroids passing too close for comfort to the recent "Blood Moon," These signs show the awesomeness of God's creation. Yet, there is more to existence than these. We must look up at God and focus on Him solely. Today's readings remind us of this.

Saturday, March 15, 2025

There is No Such Thing as "TLM' - Traditional Latin Mass

Why "Traditional Latin Mass" Is a Misnomer: The Unity of the Mass in Catholic Theology

In Catholic circles, few topics spark as much debate as the liturgy—specifically, the so-called "Traditional Latin Mass" (TLM) versus the "Novus Ordo" (the Mass of Paul VI). Both fictitious terms are rooted in divisiveness and pejorative natures. Advocates of the TLM often frame it as the "old Mass," or "Mass of all ages," a bastion of tradition against a "new Mass" introduced after Vatican II. This divide is often presented as quasi-official terminology but is misleading. Theologically, there’s only one Mass—the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, re-presented on the altar. Calling one form "traditional" and another "new" misses the point and is heretical: the Mass is singular, timeless, and inherently traditional by its nature. This post explores why, drawing from scripture, Church teaching, and Pope Paul VI’s own words.
The Mass Is One: Christ’s Singular Sacrifice
At the heart of Catholic theology lies a non-negotiable truth: Jesus died once for all. The Letter to the Hebrews drives this home: “He has no need, like those high priests, to offer sacrifices daily… for he did this once for all when he offered up himself” (Hebrews 7:27, RSV). The Mass isn’t a new sacrifice each time it’s celebrated—it’s the same sacrifice of Calvary, made present through the Eucharist. The Catechism of the Catholic Church reinforces this: “The sacrifice of Christ and the sacrifice of the Eucharist are one single sacrifice… ‘In this divine sacrifice which is celebrated in the Mass, the same Christ who offered himself once in a bloody manner on the altar of the cross is contained and is offered in an unbloody manner’” (CCC 1367, quoting the Council of Trent).
If there’s only one sacrifice, there’s only one Mass. The rites—whether in Latin according to the 1962 Missal (Extraordinary Form) or in the vernacular per the 1970 Missal (Ordinary Form)—are just different forms of that singular reality. Labeling one "traditional" and the other "new" suggests a rupture that doesn’t exist theologically. Jesus didn’t die twice; there aren’t two Masses to choose from.
Paul VI: One Mass, Different Expressions
Pope Paul VI, who promulgated the revised Roman Missal in 1969, never saw it as a "new Mass" distinct from what came before. In his General Audience address on November 19, 1969, he explained the changes: “The Mass of the new rite is and remains the same Mass we have always had… The unity and identity between the two are evident.” He stressed that the revisions aimed to renew, not replace, emphasizing “a more active participation” and “greater richness of texts” while preserving the essence of the Eucharistic sacrifice. The 1970 Missal wasn’t a break—it was a restoration of the Roman Rite, rooted in the same tradition as the 1962 Missal it succeeded, both of which stem from the Early Church.
Paul VI leaned on Vatican II’s Sacrosanctum Concilium (1963), which called for liturgical reform “to adapt more suitably to the needs of our times those institutions which are subject to change” (SC 1). The Council didn’t invent a new Mass; it refined and restored the Roman Rite, which had evolved over centuries anyway—think of the additions under Pius V in 1570 or Pius X’s breviary reforms in 1911. Paul VI’s point was clear: there’s no "old" versus "new"—just one Mass, expressed differently across time.
Tradition Isn’t Static: The Mass Is Traditional by Default
The term "Traditional Latin Mass" implies the 1962 Missal (codified by John XXIII, based on Pius V’s 1570 Missal) holds a monopoly on tradition. But tradition in Catholicism isn’t a freeze-frame—it’s a living reality. The Mass has always adapted. Early Christians celebrated in Greek, not Latin, in house churches without vestments or Gregorian chant. Latin emerged later, standardized in the West by the 4th century. The Tridentine Mass itself was a 16th-century reform, streamlining disparate medieval rites into one Roman Missal. As liturgical scholar Joseph Jungmann notes in The Mass of the Roman Rite, “The Roman Mass… has undergone a long process of development” (Vol. 1, p. 135).
If the Mass is the re-presentation of Christ’s sacrifice, it’s traditional by its very existence—whether in Latin, English, or Swahili. The 1970 Missal retains the core: the Offertory, Consecration, and Communion. It’s still the Roman Rite, just with broader scripture readings and vernacular options. Calling the 1962 Missal "more traditional" is like saying a 1950s car is "more automotive" than a 2020 model—they’re both cars, built on the same principles, just with different features adapted to newer environments and customers.
The Misnomer’s Roots: Perception, Not Theology
So why the "TLM" label? It’s less about theology and more about culture and history. After Vatican II, rapid liturgical changes—sometimes poorly implemented—left some Catholics feeling unmoored. The 1962 Missal, with its Latin, silence, and priest-facing-altar setup, became a symbol of continuity for those wary of modernity. Groups like the Society of St. Pius X (SSPX) championed it, framing the Ordinary form as "Novus Ordo" (a perjorative term) and as a break. But the Church never abolished the older form—John Paul II and Benedict XVI allowed its use (via Ecclesia Dei and Summorum Pontificum), calling it the "Extraordinary Form" of the same Roman Rite, not a separate Mass.
Benedict XVI clarified this in his 2007 letter accompanying Summorum Pontificum: “There is no contradiction between the two editions of the Roman Missal. In the history of the liturgy there is growth and progress, but no rupture.” He rejected the idea of two Masses, insisting both forms share “the same ‘lex orandi’” (law of prayer). Pope Francis, in Traditionis Custodes (2021), tightened rules on the 1962 Missal but didn’t deny its legitimacy—just its exclusivity as "traditional."
Theological Unity Over Liturgical Preference
Theologically, pitting "Extraordinary Form" against "Ordinary For" misses the mark. The Mass isn’t defined by its language or rubrics but by its essence: Christ’s once-for-all sacrifice. As the Council of Trent affirmed (Session XXII, Canon 1), the Mass’s validity doesn’t hinge on a specific rite—it’s the same whether celebrated in 1570, 1962, or 1970. Preferences for Latin or ad orientem worship are valid, but they don’t make one form "more Mass" than another. Nor is one valid and the other invalid. In reality, neither the laity, the religious, nor even the clergy can designate a rite "invalid." Those that attempt to do so are just imitating Martin Luther.
Conclusion: One Mass, Many Voices
The "Traditional Latin Mass" isn’t a misnomer because it’s invalid—it’s a misnomer because it suggests a division where none exists. Jesus died once. The Mass is one. Tradition isn’t owned by the 1962 Missal; it’s baked into every licit celebration of the Eucharist. Paul VI didn’t create a "new Mass"—he shepherded an old rite into a new era by restoring elements from even older rites. Whether you kneel for the Domine, non sum dignus in Latin or say “Lord, I am not worthy” in English, you’re at the same table, partaking in the same mystery.
So next time someone says "TLM" or "Novus Ordo," maybe gently nudge them, educating them by saying: there’s just the Mass—timeless, traditional, and one; there's no such thing as "TLM" or "Novus Ordo." Our challenge isn’t picking sides but living its truth, whatever the language.
This is why Pope Francis out of extreme love and devotion to the Mass have done more than previous popes to protect and defend both forms from heretics and those who seek divisions. Here are some quotes by him on this issue:
Pope Francis has made several statements about the Traditional Latin Mass (TLM) and traditionalism, often in the context of his efforts to regulate its use through documents like Traditionis Custodes (2021) and in various interviews or addresses. Below is a compilation of notable quotes attributed to him, drawn from official Vatican sources, transcripts of his speeches, and reliable reports. These reflect his views on the TLM, its adherents, and the broader issue of traditionalism within the Catholic Church, particularly as he sees it relating to unity and ideology.

On the Traditional Latin Mass and Traditionis Custodes
  1. On Ideological Use (Letter Accompanying Traditionis Custodes, July 16, 2021)
    • “I am saddened that the instrumental use of the Missale Romanum of 1962 is often characterized by a rejection not only of the liturgical reform, but of the Vatican Council II itself, claiming, with unfounded and unsustainable assertions, that it betrayed the Tradition and the ‘true Church.’”
    • Context: In this letter to the world’s bishops, Francis explains his decision to restrict the TLM, arguing that permissions granted by John Paul II and Benedict XVI were being exploited to widen divisions rather than foster unity.
  2. On Unity Over Division (Same Letter, July 16, 2021)
    • “It is to defend the unity of the Body of Christ that I am constrained to revoke the faculty granted by my Predecessors. The distorted use that has been made of this faculty is contrary to the intentions that led to granting the freedom to celebrate the Mass with the Missale Romanum of 1962.”
    • Context: He frames Traditionis Custodes as a pastoral necessity to prevent the TLM from becoming a rallying point for dissent against Vatican II.
  3. On the Liturgical Books of Paul VI and John Paul II (Article 1, Traditionis Custodes, July 16, 2021)
    • “The liturgical books promulgated by Saint Paul VI and Saint John Paul II, in conformity with the decrees of Vatican Council II, are the unique expression of the lex orandi [law of prayer] of the Roman Rite.”
    • Context: This decree asserts that the post-Vatican II Missal (Novus Ordo) is the normative form of the Roman Rite, implicitly sidelining the 1962 Missal as an exception rather than a parallel tradition.

On Traditionalism and "Backwardness"
  1. On “Indietrismo” (Conversation with Jesuits in Hungary, April 29, 2023)
    • “It is a nostalgic disease… After all the necessary consultations, I decided this because I saw that the good pastoral measures put in place by John Paul II and Benedict XVI were being used in an ideological way, to go backward. It was necessary to stop this ‘indietrismo,’ which was not in the pastoral vision of my predecessors.”
    • Context: Published in La CiviltĂ  Cattolica (May 9, 2023), this remark came during a Q&A with Jesuits in Budapest. “Indietrismo” (backwardness) is a term Francis uses to critique a perceived obsession with the past, particularly tied to the TLM’s resurgence.
  2. On Rigidity and Insecurity (Interview for El JesĂșs de las Periferias, 2016)
    • “I always try to understand what’s behind the people who are too young to have lived the pre-conciliar liturgy but who want it. Sometimes I’ve found myself in front of people who are too strict, who have a rigid attitude. And I wonder: How come such a rigidity? Dig, dig, this rigidity always hides something: insecurity, sometimes even more… Rigidity is defensive. True love is not rigid.”
    • Context: This early comment as pope reflects his pastoral concern about younger traditionalists, suggesting their attachment to the TLM might stem from psychological or spiritual unease rather than faith alone.
  3. On Backwardism as a Recurring Issue (Hope: A Memoir, 2025)
    • “This ‘backwardism’ that regularly returns each century… I restricted the Latin Mass for the reason that it is unhealthy for the liturgy to become ideology.”
    • Context: In his memoir Hope (released January 2025), Francis revisits his critique, framing traditionalism as a cyclical challenge and the TLM’s ideological use as a liturgical distortion.

On Liturgy and Inculturation
  1. On Misuse of Liturgy (Video Message to Latin American Religious, August 13, 2021)
    • “Without inculturation, Christian life ends up in the most bizarre and ridiculous gnostic tendencies… as an example of this, the misuse of liturgy.”
    • Context: Shortly after Traditionis Custodes, Francis links the TLM’s rigid application to a failure of inculturation—God’s presence in local cultures—suggesting it risks becoming an abstract ideology detached from lived faith.
  2. On Vatican II’s Irreversibility (Address on 50th Anniversary of Sacrosanctum Concilium, August 24, 2017)
    • “We can affirm with certainty and with magisterial authority that the liturgical reform is irreversible.”
    • Context: While not directly about the TLM, this underscores his commitment to Vatican II’s liturgical vision, which he sees as undermined by traditionalist rejection of the Novus Ordo.

On Pastoral Concerns and Division
  1. On Division Over Unity (Responses to Dubia on Traditionis Custodes, December 18, 2021)
    • “The opportunities offered by St. John Paul II and, with even greater magnanimity, by Benedict XVI… were exploited to widen the gaps, reinforce the divergences, and encourage disagreements that injure the Church, block her path, and expose her to the peril of division.”
    • Context: Via the Congregation for Divine Worship, Francis approved these responses, reiterating that the TLM’s liberalization had backfired, fostering factionalism rather than communion.
  2. On Schismatic Tendencies (Conversation with Jesuits in Hungary, April 29, 2023)
    • “The danger today is ‘indietrismo,’ the reaction against the modern… That’s why I decided that now the permission to celebrate according to the pre-conciliar liturgical books has to be requested from the bishop and the Holy See.”
    • Context: He ties the TLM’s unrestricted use to a broader “schismatic” trend, justifying tighter controls as a safeguard for Church unity.

Reflection on His Stance
Francis doesn’t outright reject the TLM’s beauty or legitimacy—celebrations persist under strict oversight—but he consistently critiques its use. Terms like “backwardism,” “nostalgic disease,” and “ideology” reveal his belief that some traditionalists wield the 1962 Missal as a weapon against Vatican II, the Novus Ordo, and his papacy. He contrasts this with his predecessors’ pastoral intent, arguing their leniency was hijacked. His focus on unity, inculturation, and the Holy Spirit’s guidance through Vatican II shapes his restrictions, not a disdain for Latin or tradition itself.
These quotes are sourced from Vatican documents, La CiviltĂ  Cattolica transcripts, his memoir, and reported speeches. They’re a window into his theological and pastoral lens—whether you agree or not, he’s clear about his reasoning.

There is only ONE MASS. Jesus died ONLY ONCE. This sacrifice is re-presented ONLY ONCE in ONE MASS. Anything else is heretical and modernist. The Church has never taught that there are more than one Mass.
Those people who use false terms such as "TLM," "Traditional Latin Mass," or "Novus Ordo" turn the Rite of the Mass into an idol. They worship man-made rites and not Jesus the Lord.

Sources
  1. Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1367.
  2. Pope Paul VI, General Audience, November 19, 1969 (Vatican Archives).
  3. Sacrosanctum Concilium, Vatican II, 1963.
  4. Jungmann, Joseph A., The Mass of the Roman Rite: Its Origins and Development, Vol. 1 (1951).
  5. Benedict XVI, Letter with Summorum Pontificum, 2007.
  6. Council of Trent, Session XXII, Canon 1 (1562).
  7. Holy Bible, Revised Standard Version, Hebrews 7:27.

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