Rediscovering Apostolic Faith: The Explosive Growth of the Mass of St. Gregory the Great

Apostolic Roots

The Vetus Ordo, the Latin Mass, the Mass of St. Gregory the Great, the TLM — this Mass, codified at the Council of Trent, was by no means created at that time but is of apostolic origin.

While often misrepresented as a product of the Counter-Reformation, the Roman Rite in its traditional form is in fact the crystallization of centuries of organic liturgical development. Pope St. Gregory the Great (d. 604) is often cited for his consolidation of the Canon and his standardization of liturgical chant — but even in his time, the structure of the Mass was not new. Evidence shows that by the 6th century, the Roman Mass already exhibited the same bones: the Introit, Collect, Epistle, Gospel, Offertory, Canon, and Communion were firmly in place. And these were not novelties but inherited elements with deep apostolic echoes. Early sacramentaries and patristic witnesses confirm that what became the Tridentine Mass was not an invention, but a careful preservation.

While the Eastern Rites — such as the Byzantine, Syriac, and Coptic liturgies — deserve our highest veneration and preserve beautiful and authentic apostolic traditions, they too underwent organic developments unique to their cultures and historical trajectories. However, the Roman Rite stands apart in that its core structure, language, and prayers have been more visibly and continuously traceable to antiquity. There is more direct documentary and archaeological continuity in the Roman Rite than in any other — not as a boast, but as a quiet testimony to Rome’s special role as the See of Peter and center of Christian gravity.

Tradition Betrayed

The Liturgical Movement began as a noble and deeply reverent effort. Born out of the monasteries — particularly Solesmes — its goal was to draw the faithful into deeper participation through greater understanding of the Mass, especially via Gregorian chant, traditional devotions, and liturgical renewal. But by the time of the Second Vatican Council, the movement had been hijacked by a new wave of progressive theologians and liturgists who were extremely well-organized and ideologically driven.

Foremost among them was Archbishop Annibale Bugnini, who made strategic visits across Europe in the 1950s and 60s, networking and coordinating with like-minded reformers. The original preparatory schemas for the Council — many of which were staunchly orthodox and protective of tradition — were quickly discarded in the opening sessions, thanks to the maneuvering of these progressives. The Roman Curia, despite being doctrinally aligned with Pope Pius XII and the anti-modernist encyclicals, was caught off-guard. They had hoped the Council would deliver a final blow to the nouvelle théologie, but instead found themselves outmaneuvered by bishops and periti who wrote the Council documents in such deliberately vague language that they could later be interpreted (or reinterpreted) to mean whatever the post-conciliar revolution required.

Bugnini himself would later admit that the new liturgy was a “radical reform,” saying: “We must strip from our Catholic prayers and from the Catholic liturgy everything which can be the shadow of a stumbling block for our separated brethren.” And even earlier, he revealed the strategy, saying, “We must not touch the ceremonies, but construct a new liturgy as from an embryo.” That embryo would become the Novus Ordo Missae — not an organic growth, but a constructed rite, born of committee and bureaucracy, not the blood of martyrs and centuries of devotion.

A Living Liturgy: The Soul of the Church Cannot Be Killed

Despite this rupture — and perhaps because of it — the traditional Roman Mass has not died. It has revived. It lives. And in recent years, it has exploded.

In the United States, the Vetus Ordo is not a museum piece or fringe devotion — it is a dynamic, growing, youthful movement. Entire parishes are bursting at the seams. New churches are being bought, built, and expanded to accommodate the demand. In San Diego, St. Anne’s has secured new property for expansion. In Texas, St. Joseph’s in San Antonio has purchased land in Schertz to house its rapidly growing flock. In Kansas, the Immaculata stands as a towering testament to tradition in St. Mary’s, serving thousands in one of the largest traditional Catholic communities in the world.

In Idaho, the TLM faithful have rallied around the parish in Post Falls, transforming the area into a hub of large families, strong schools, and Catholic identity. In Chicago, St. John Cantius has long stood as a bastion of traditional Catholic culture. In Oklahoma, Clear Creek Abbey draws pilgrims and oblates from across the country. In Houston, Regina Caeli is bursting at the seams — with families urgently requesting new space and staff to meet demand. Mater Dei in Dallas continues to thrive, regularly overflowing into additional Masses. And in dioceses once indifferent to tradition — such as Charlotte, Detroit, and Arlington — the number of traditional Masses and communities continues to climb.

These are not enclaves of nostalgia. They are epicenters of faith — seeded with large families, rich vocations, and evangelical zeal. The soul of the Church, embodied in this living liturgy, cannot be killed. The Mass of St. Gregory the Great — ancient, apostolic, indestructible — is not just surviving. It is resurging.

Traditionis Custodes: A Catalyst for Growth

With the explosive growth of the Traditional Latin Mass throughout the 2010s, the sons and successors of the postconciliar reformers took notice. Alarmed by its rising popularity — particularly among young clergy and laity — Pope Francis issued Traditionis Custodes (TC), and Cardinal Arthur Roche executed its implementation with ironclad rhetoric and relentless bureaucratic zeal. For many who had labored for years to preserve and promote the Mass of the Ages, it seemed that this decree would be its death knell.

At the time, data made clear what many bishops privately knew: Latin Mass communities were ordaining priests at rates far surpassing their diocesan counterparts. Parishes attached to the TLM were flourishing with large families, thriving vocations, and deeply catechized youth. The movement, liberated by Pope Benedict XVI’s Summorum Pontificum from the constraints of the Ecclesia Dei framework, had spread like wildfire. Yet Traditionis Custodes aimed to extinguish this vitality — to force the ancient rite back into the margins, a kind of spiritual ghetto, far from the visible life of the Church.

But what Pope Francis and his lieutenants underestimated was the unshakable fidelity and resolve of those who had embraced the traditions of their forefathers. Rather than suppress the TLM, TC became the inadvertent accelerant of its most dramatic resurgence yet. The decree, meant to silence, instead drew global attention. For the first time in recent memory, secular media outlets began to ask why the Catholic Church was targeting its most devoted, fastest-growing communities. Commentators — even outside the Church — were struck by the paradox: why attack the only segment of the Church that was growing, youthful, and vibrant?

Suddenly, a spotlight illuminated the ancient rite with unprecedented intensity. Many Catholics who had previously been passive or unaware of internal ecclesial tensions were jolted awake. They began to ask questions. They began to compare. They began to see the spiritual desolation that so many TLM advocates had warned about for decades — the liturgical rupture, the doctrinal confusion, the decline. And it wasn’t only traditionalists who took note: even many faithful attached to the Novus Ordo — particularly those of the reform-of-the-reform persuasion — found themselves in sympathy with the Latin Mass movement, recognizing in it a preservation of something deeply Catholic, deeply sacred, and urgently needed.

The Latin Mass was never about nostalgia. It was never about rebellion. It is the beating heart of the Church’s living memory. And no document — no matter how restrictive — can erase what God has inscribed in the souls of His faithful.

By contrast, the Novus Ordo—despite the sincere efforts of many faithful priests—has often found itself chasing novelty to maintain engagement. Communion is sped up with armies of extraordinary ministers. The laity are pulled into the sanctuary not for sacred orders, but to “keep them involved.” Music is constantly tinkered with, trading in chant and polyphony for guitars, drums, and novelty songs. Children’s Masses, puppet homilies, dancing, applause—all are deployed as desperate tools to keep the flame from flickering out. And yet, despite all these externals and efforts to attract, parishes close, pews empty, vocations dwindle, and average ages rise.

The Traditional Latin Mass offers none of that — and needs none of it. Because Holy Mother Church, in her wisdom, has always known what truly endures: the faith of the apostles, the worship of the saints, the centrality of the Eucharist, and the unbroken connection across the centuries.

This is the Mass that formed the saints. The Mass that nourished the martyrs in the catacombs and the soldiers at the front lines. The Mass whispered in prison cells and resounded in basilicas. The Mass that built Christendom, that anointed kings, that accompanied missionaries to the ends of the earth. This is the Mass that sustained the desert fathers, that drew St. Augustine to conversion, that sent St. Patrick to the pagans, and St. Boniface to the Germans. This is the Mass that St. Francis of Assisi adored and served at barefoot in poverty. The Mass that inspired St. Thomas Aquinas to compose the Pange Lingua, the Adoro Te Devote, and countless hymns still sung today. The Mass that St. Joan of Arc heard before riding into battle. The Mass offered by St. Isaac Jogues in the forests of North America.

This is the Mass that brought the Catholic faith to Mexico, where Our Lady of Guadalupe confirmed the sacred mysteries to a new people and drew millions to Christ. This is the Mass that the Cristeros boldly defended, offering their lives for Christ the King. The Mass that Magellan brought to the Philippine Islands, seeding one of the most fervently Catholic cultures in the world. The Mass that energized the defenders of Lepanto, uniting an embattled Christendom with the prayers of the Rosary and the strength of the Holy Sacrifice.

The Mass carried across oceans, up mountains, into jungles and icy plains. The Mass that endured through schisms, plagues, revolutions, and wars. The Mass that crowned cathedrals, lifted monasteries, and sanctified homes.

It is the Mass of the Angelic Doctor, the Little Flower, the Curé of Ars, and Padre Pio. It is the Mass of St. Damien of Molokai, of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, of St. Maximilian Kolbe. It is the Mass canonized by the lives of millions, etched in the memory of Christendom, and guarded in the hearts of the faithful.

This is not a museum piece. It is not an artifact. It is a living fire, passed from hand to hand, heart to heart, altar to altar.

And it is rising again.

The Mass of St. Gregory the Great — ancient, apostolic, triumphant — is not only alive. It is awakening.