On Kneeling: A Response to Cardinal Cupich

Putting “O Holy Night” on the program at Christmas Masses in Chicago this year may prove a little awkward. Cardinal Blase J. Cupich’s recent message to his diocese, entitled “As we pray . . .,” strongly implies that kneeling to receive the Eucharist should be avoided, hinting that it is selfish and inappropriate. So if a soprano were to let loose a “Fall on your knees” during the Communion procession, the traditional hymn could sound like a provocation.

The letter to the faithful was carefully circumlocutious, as the USCCB explicitly permits Catholics to receive the Eucharist standing or kneeling. The USCCB states that, “[t]he norm . . . is that Holy Communion is to be received standing, unless an individual member of the faithful wishes to receive Communion while kneeling” and that, per Redemptionis Sacramentum, “it is not licit to deny Holy Communion to any of Christ's faithful solely on the grounds, for example, that the person wishes to receive the Eucharist kneeling or standing.”

Thus, Cupich does not specifically forbid kneeling to receive Communion, but hints that there is something inconsiderate and ostentatious about receiving the Lord in this way. He emphasizes the communal nature of processing forward as a body to each receive Christ, and then writes: “Nothing should be done to impede any of these processions, particularly the one that takes place during the sacred Communion ritual. . . . [N]o one should engage in a gesture that calls attention to oneself or disrupts the flow of the procession. That would be contrary to the norms and tradition of the church, which all the faithful are urged to respect and observe.”

It’s hard for me to imagine kneeling as a significant impediment to procession, or one that strongly calls attention to the kneeler. Perhaps it’s because I attend a parish where both kneeling and standing are common—neither attitude seems odd or individual. More likely, it’s because I attend a lively family parish, where no parent can afford to be all that attentive to how someone else is disposed to receive. 

The Communion procession is much more likely to be disrupted by a child breaking away from her parents to run against the flow of traffic, or loudly demanding that her mother pick her up. These examples are drawn from my own children’s variable behavior. At my parish, there is always a thrumming murmur, not of chant, but of children’s quieter noises. At some Masses I’ve attended regularly, there are intermittent, wordless shouts from a young man who is non-verbal, but who gives voice to some great feeling within himself.

The whole Body of Christ is invited to process up to receive him, if we are prepared, and when we process, we are a ragged, messy, disorderly bunch. There is plenty of reverence, but there’s a limit to how uniform our procession can be, no matter the posture chosen for reception.

As the USCCB puts it, the faithful should not have the “dreadfully inaccurate and impoverished understanding” of the Communion procession as just one more queue to wait through, akin to “standing in line in the supermarket or at the motor vehicle bureau.” There are many ways to teach the difference, but for my own smallest children, it is the gesture of kneeling, which happens here and nowhere else, that captures their attention. 

On the average Sunday, as we hustle into our pew, I am primarily focused on putting down jackets, bicycle helmets, hymn sheets, and so forth, so it took me a few Sundays to notice that my two-year-old was genuflecting before she sat. I had not asked or instructed her to do so, but she noticed something was different about how my husband and I sat here versus in all other buildings. She didn’t—couldn’t—ask exactly why we were behaving this way, but she wanted to be part of it, so she imitated us and entered in. 

I’m grateful for each way the liturgy offers a little friction to me and my children. The postures of prayer, the trails of incense, the chapel veil I (briefly) wear before a child seizes it for her own—none of them fully communicate who Jesus is. But all indicate that there is a mystery here, one well worth pondering. 

As they grow, my children will encounter many ways of reverently returning Christ’s love, including in our parish. Our usual Mass has a mixture of motets and shape note hymnody; the afternoon Mass serves a Nigerian community with gorgeous harmonies. The holy cards we rotate through our home oratory depict a range of styles from the earliest catacomb icons to contemporary artists.

Whether kneeling, standing, rolling, or—as the paralytic was—being lowered through a ceiling, Christians must approach with awe and urgency. The whole Body of Christ streams up in response to his call. The more universal the response, the more varied the ways of offering a reverent, grateful Amen. 

Leah Libresco Sargeant is the author of Arriving at Amen and Building the Benedict Option. 

Picture via Creative Commons. Image cropped.