The Mass Is Scripture, Part 13a: The Postcommunion, Dismissal, and the Last Gospel
This is Part 13a of a 14-part series, "The Mass Is Scripture: A Protestant's Guide to the Traditional Latin Mass."
We are approaching the end.
Over the course of this series, we have walked through every prayer, every gesture, every word of the Traditional Latin Mass - from the Prayers at the Foot of the Altar through the Confiteor, the Introit, the Kyrie, the Gloria, the Collect, the Epistle and Gospel, the Creed, the Offertory, the Preface and Sanctus, the Roman Canon, the Consecration, the Our Father and the Fraction, and the Communion of priest and people. At every step we have shown you the same thing: the Mass is Scripture. Not loosely inspired by Scripture. Not vaguely reminiscent of Scripture. The Mass is the Bible, prayed and enacted, from first word to last.
Now we come to the concluding rites - the prayers that follow Communion and bring the Mass to its close. And here, at the very end, the Mass does something extraordinary. It does not trail off. It does not fade to silence. It does not end with a casual benediction and a wave from the stage. It ends with the most theologically dense passage in all of Sacred Scripture - the Prologue of the Gospel of St. John. The opening fourteen verses of the Fourth Gospel, proclaimed aloud, with priest and people genuflecting at the words that split history in two: "And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us."
The Mass begins with Scripture. It ends with Scripture. It is Scripture.
Let us walk through the concluding rites, one by one.
The Postcommunion Prayer
After the Communion of the faithful, the priest purifies the sacred vessels in a series of ablutions. He consumes the remaining Precious Blood, rinses the chalice with wine and then with wine and water, and drinks these ablutions. Nothing that has touched the Body and Blood of Christ is discarded. Every particle, every drop, is reverently consumed.
This is the logical consequence of believing that what was on that altar is truly, really, substantially the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Jesus Christ. It is not a symbol being tidied up. It is God being reverenced down to the last visible fragment. The ablutions are an act of faith - a faith that takes the Real Presence seriously enough to ensure that not the smallest particle of the consecrated species is treated carelessly. This practice has its roots in the Old Testament reverence for sacred things. When God gave instructions for the offerings in Leviticus, He prescribed exactly how the remains of the sacrifice were to be handled: "And the earthen vessel, in which it was sodden, shall be broken; but if the vessel be of brass, it shall be scoured, and washed with water" (Leviticus 6:28, Douay-Rheims). If the vessels of the old sacrifices demanded such reverence, how much more the vessels that held the Body and Blood of the New Covenant?
The ablutions completed, the priest reads the Communion antiphon - a brief verse, almost always drawn from the Psalms or from the Gospel of the day. Like the Introit that opened the Mass, the Communion antiphon is Scripture. The Mass began with a Scriptural antiphon and now, after Communion, returns to another. The structure is deliberate: Scripture frames every major action of the liturgy.
Then the priest returns to the center of the altar, turns to the people, and says:
"Dominus vobiscum." - "The Lord be with you."
"Et cum spiritu tuo." - "And with thy spirit."
Then: "Oremus" - "Let us pray."
And the priest prays the Postcommunion. This is the final Collect of the Mass - a prayer of thanksgiving for the grace of Holy Communion and a petition that the sacrament just received may bear fruit in the lives of the faithful. It follows the same five-part structure as every Collect in the Roman Rite: address to God the Father, relative clause recalling what He has done, petition, mediation through Christ, Trinitarian conclusion.
The content varies with each Mass, but the theology is constant: we have received the Body and Blood of Christ, and we ask God that this reception may lead not to our condemnation but to our salvation. This echoes St. Paul's solemn warning: "For he that eateth and drinketh unworthily, eateth and drinketh judgment to himself, not discerning the body of the Lord" (1 Corinthians 11:29, Douay-Rheims). The Postcommunion is the Church's prayer that the Communion just received may be unto life, not unto judgment.
Notice the gravity of this. The Mass does not assume that receiving Communion is automatically beneficial. Paul did not assume it. The Church does not assume it. The Postcommunion prayer acknowledges that the sacrament is a two-edged sword: "For this is my blood of the new testament, which shall be shed for many unto remission of sins" (Matthew 26:28, Douay-Rheims) - but only for those who receive it worthily. The Postcommunion takes Paul's warning and turns it into prayer. It is the Church interceding for her children, asking that the tremendous gift they have received will not become their condemnation.
Ite, Missa Est - The Dismissal
After the Postcommunion, the priest turns to the people and pronounces the dismissal. And here we encounter the word that gives the Mass its name.
"Ite, missa est."
This is typically translated "Go, the Mass is ended," but the Latin is richer than that. "Missa" is a late Latin word meaning "dismissal" or "sending forth." The literal sense is closer to: "Go, it is the sending." You are being sent. You have been fed with the Word of God and the Body of God, and now you are dismissed into the world to live what you have received.
The people respond: "Deo gratias" - "Thanks be to God."
This is the origin of the word "Mass" - Missa. The entire liturgy takes its name from this single word of dismissal. The greatest act of worship in Christendom is named not for its most solemn moment but for its conclusion, because the Mass is not complete until it sends you forth. The word "Mass" encodes mission. You are dismissed to carry Christ into the world. This echoes the Great Commission itself: "Going therefore, teach ye all nations; baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost" (Matthew 28:19, Douay-Rheims). The Mass does not end in contemplation. It ends in sending - because every encounter with Christ is meant to become a mission.
But the Ite, missa est is not always used. The Traditional Latin Mass has three forms of the dismissal, each corresponding to the liturgical character of the day:
Ite, missa est - "Go, it is the sending." This is used at every Mass where the Gloria was said - Sundays outside penitential seasons, feasts, and solemnities. The Gloria is the song of the angels, the hymn of joy. When the Church has sung it, the dismissal is joyful too: Go. You have been fed. Now go and live.
Benedicamus Domino - "Let us bless the Lord." This is used at Masses where the Gloria was not said - during Advent, Lent, on ferias, and at certain votive Masses. The people respond: "Deo gratias." When the Church is in a penitential season, the joyful dismissal is replaced with a more sober exhortation to bless the Lord. The congregation is not dismissed outward with the same triumphant tone; instead, they are turned inward, toward praise and blessing, fitting the restrained character of the season. Even the dismissal reflects the liturgical calendar. Nothing is accidental.
Requiescant in pace - "May they rest in peace." This is the dismissal at the Requiem Mass, the Mass for the dead. The people respond: "Amen." At a Mass offered for the repose of the faithful departed, the dismissal itself becomes a prayer for the dead - because the Mass never stops praying, not even as it ends. The living are not sent forth; they are invited to join in petition for those who have gone before them. This reflects the Church's constant teaching on the communion of saints: that the bond between the living and the dead is not severed by death, and that the sacrifice of the Mass avails for souls in purgatory. "It is therefore a holy and wholesome thought to pray for the dead, that they may be loosed from sins" (2 Machabees 12:46, Douay-Rheims).
Each variant is deliberate. Nothing in the Traditional Latin Mass is arbitrary.
Placeat Tibi, Sancta Trinitas
After the dismissal, the priest turns back to the altar, bows low, and prays silently:
"Placeat tibi, sancta Trinitas, obsequium servitutis meae: et praesta; ut sacrificium, quod oculis tuae majestatis indignus obtuli, tibi sit acceptabile, mihique et omnibus, pro quibus illud obtuli, sit, te miserante, propitiabile. Per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen."
"May the tribute of my homage be pleasing to Thee, O holy Trinity: and grant that the sacrifice which I, though unworthy, have offered in the sight of Thy Majesty, may be acceptable to Thee, and through Thy mercy may be a propitiation for me and for all those for whom I have offered it. Through Christ our Lord. Amen."
Notice what it says. He calls what has just taken place a sacrificium - a sacrifice. He acknowledges that he has offered it, though unworthy. And he asks that it may be a propitiation - propitiabile - for himself and for all those for whom it was offered.
Propitiation. The very word that St. John uses: "And he is the propitiation for our sins: and not for ours only, but also for those of the whole world" (1 John 2:2, Douay-Rheims). And St. Paul: "Whom God hath proposed to be a propitiation, through faith in his blood" (Romans 3:25, Douay-Rheims). The Mass does not claim to be a new sacrifice separate from Calvary. It claims to be the same sacrifice - Christ's propitiation - made present on the altar and applied to those for whom it is offered. The Placeat is the priest's humble acknowledgment that he has been the instrument through which this sacrifice was offered, and his plea that God would accept it.
The priest does not stride away from the altar with confidence in his own performance. He bows low and asks the Trinity to accept what he has offered and to show mercy. This is the posture of every man who has ever stood between God and God's people and offered something on their behalf - from Aaron in the tabernacle to the priest at this altar. "And let him offer it for his sin, and the priest shall pray for him, and it shall be forgiven him" (Leviticus 4:26, Douay-Rheims). The priest's posture is Levitical; his prayer is Christian; the sacrifice is Christ's.
The Final Blessing
The priest then turns to the people and blesses them:
"Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater, et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus."
"May almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit."
The people respond: "Amen."
As he speaks, the priest makes the Sign of the Cross over the people. The blessing is Trinitarian - it invokes the full Godhead and sends the faithful out under the protection of the Triune God.
This priestly blessing has deep Old Testament roots. In the Book of Numbers, God Himself gives Moses the formula by which Aaron and the Levitical priests are to bless the people of Israel:
"The Lord bless thee, and keep thee. The Lord shew his face to thee, and have mercy on thee. The Lord turn his countenance to thee, and give thee peace." (Numbers 6:24-26, Douay-Rheims)
This is the Aaronic Blessing - the oldest liturgical blessing in Scripture, possibly the oldest prayer formula in continuous use anywhere in the world. God did not leave the form of blessing up to the priest's imagination. He prescribed it. He gave the words. The priest was to speak them over the people, and God Himself would honor them: "And they shall invoke my name upon the children of Israel, and I will bless them" (Numbers 6:27, Douay-Rheims).
Notice the remarkable precision. God did not say, "Bless them however you like." He said, "This is how you will bless them." He gave specific words - a liturgical formula. And He promised that when the priest used these words, He Himself would act: "I will bless them." The blessing was effective not because of the priest's personal holiness but because of God's fidelity to His own prescribed form.
The final blessing of the Mass stands in direct continuity with this tradition. The priest does not bless on his own authority. He blesses in the name of God - Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. The Trinitarian formula of the New Covenant fulfills and surpasses the Aaronic formula of the Old, because now the full mystery of God has been revealed: one God in three Persons. What Aaron could only gesture toward, the Christian priest declares openly: the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.
And the Sign of the Cross made over the people connects the blessing to the sacrifice just offered. The Cross is the instrument of blessing. The Cross is the altar of the New Covenant. The priest blesses the people under the sign of the Cross because all blessing flows from the Cross.
The Last Gospel: John 1:1-14
Now we come to the moment that crowns the entire Mass. The priest moves to the Gospel side of the altar and announces:
"Dominus vobiscum." - "The Lord be with you."
"Et cum spiritu tuo." - "And with thy spirit."
"Initium sancti Evangelii secundum Ioannem." - "The beginning of the holy Gospel according to John."
"Gloria tibi, Domine." - "Glory be to Thee, O Lord."
And then the priest reads the Prologue of the Gospel of St. John - the first fourteen verses of the Fourth Gospel. The most theologically dense, the most philosophically profound, the most spiritually overwhelming passage in all of Sacred Scripture. The entire Mass culminates in this.
Here is the full text, in both Latin and English, with commentary on each verse.
"In principio erat Verbum, et Verbum erat apud Deum, et Deus erat Verbum."
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God."
The Word - Logos in Greek, Verbum in Latin - is not a concept or a force. He is a Person, the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity. St. John deliberately echoes the first words of Genesis: "In the beginning God created heaven and earth" (Genesis 1:1, Douay-Rheims). But John goes further back. Before there was a beginning - before creation, before time, before anything that was made - the Word already was. The verb is "erat," the imperfect tense: continuous, unbroken existence. The Word did not begin. He was. And He was with God, and He was God. Two truths held simultaneously. The Word was with God - distinct from the Father, a separate Person. And the Word was God - not a lesser being, not a creature, not an emanation, but God Himself. This is the Trinity in embryo: distinction of Persons, unity of nature. Every Arian, every Jehovah's Witness, every denier of Christ's divinity crashes against this verse.
"Hoc erat in principio apud Deum."
"The same was in the beginning with God."
John repeats it. Emphasis. The Word was not created at some later point. He was in the beginning with God. There was never a time when the Word was not.
"Omnia per ipsum facta sunt: et sine ipso factum est nihil, quod factum est."
"All things were made by Him: and without Him was made nothing that was made."
If all things that were made were made by Him, then He Himself was not made. He is uncreated. The Creed proclaimed this earlier in the Mass - "per quem omnia facta sunt," "through whom all things were made" - and the Last Gospel proclaims it again. The Word is the agent of creation, the One through whom the Father spoke all things into being: "By the word of the Lord the heavens were established; and all the power of them by the spirit of his mouth" (Psalm 32:6, Douay-Rheims).
"In ipso vita erat, et vita erat lux hominum."
"In Him was life, and the life was the light of men."
Life itself resides in the Word. He is not merely alive; He is life. And this life is the light of men - the source of all understanding, all truth, all knowledge of God. "With thee is the fountain of life: and in thy light we shall see light" (Psalm 35:10, Douay-Rheims).
"Et lux in tenebris lucet, et tenebrae eam non comprehenderunt."
"And the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it."
The Greek verb - ou katelaben - means both "did not understand" and "did not overcome." Both meanings are intended. The darkness neither comprehended the light nor conquered it. The light shines in darkness, and no power of hell can extinguish it. This is the entire drama of salvation history in a single sentence.
"Fuit homo missus a Deo, cui nomen erat Ioannes."
"There was a man sent from God, whose name was John."
The Baptist. The forerunner. The voice crying in the wilderness. John shifts from eternity to history, from the uncreated Word to His created herald.
"Hic venit in testimonium, ut testimonium perhiberet de lumine, ut omnes crederent per illum."
"This man came for a witness, to give testimony of the light, that all men might believe through him."
"Non erat ille lux, sed ut testimonium perhiberet de lumine."
"He was not the light, but was to give testimony of the light."
John the Baptist was a witness, not the light itself. The Mass makes this distinction because the world makes this mistake. Every age has its false lights. The Prologue corrects the error: there is only one true light.
"Erat lux vera, quae illuminat omnem hominem venientem in hunc mundum."
"That was the true light, which enlighteneth every man that cometh into this world."
"In mundo erat, et mundus per ipsum factus est, et mundus eum non cognovit."
"He was in the world, and the world was made by Him, and the world knew Him not."
The Creator entered His own creation, and creation did not recognize Him. The tragedy of the human condition in a single verse.
"In propria venit, et sui eum non receperunt."
"He came unto His own, and His own received Him not."
His own people - Israel, the nation He had chosen, guided, delivered from Egypt, led through the desert, given the Law - refused Him. The Sacrifice of Calvary is the consequence of this rejection.
"Quotquot autem receperunt eum, dedit eis potestatem filios Dei fieri, his qui credunt in nomine eius."
"But as many as received Him, He gave them power to be made the sons of God, to them that believe in His name."
Rejection is not the whole story. Those who receive Him are given the power - the exousia, the authority, the right - to become children of God. Not by natural birth, not by human will, but by grace. This is the grace that Holy Communion communicates.
"Qui non ex sanguinibus, neque ex voluntate carnis, neque ex voluntate viri, sed ex Deo nati sunt."
"Who are born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God."
The new birth. The supernatural regeneration that comes from God alone. Baptism enacts this. Communion sustains it. The entire sacramental life of the Church is rooted in this verse.
"ET VERBUM CARO FACTUM EST, et habitavit in nobis: et vidimus gloriam eius, gloriam quasi Unigeniti a Patre, plenum gratiae et veritatis."
"AND THE WORD WAS MADE FLESH, and dwelt among us: and we saw His glory, the glory as it were of the Only-Begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth."
At the words "Et Verbum caro factum est" - "And the Word was made flesh" - the priest genuflects. The people genuflect. Every knee bows. The server bows. The entire church descends in reverence.
This is not a suggestion. It is not optional. Every knee bows at these words because these words describe the event that is the hinge of all history, the axis around which all creation turns, the moment for which the universe was made. The Incarnation. The Word was made flesh. God became man. The infinite, eternal, uncreated God - the God who made all things, the God whose life is the light of men, the God whom the darkness could not comprehend and the world did not know - this God took on human nature in the womb of a virgin. He became what He was not while remaining what He always was. He did not cease to be God. He became man. And He dwelt among us - literally, "pitched His tent" among us, as God dwelt in the Tabernacle in the wilderness.
You kneel because standing would be inadequate. You kneel because the Incarnation is not a doctrine to be discussed but a reality to be worshipped. You kneel because this is the moment that made the Mass possible - without the Incarnation, there is no Body to offer, no Blood to shed, no Sacrifice to present, no Communion to receive. The Incarnation is the foundation on which the entire Mass rests. And it is the fulfillment of the prophecy of Isaias: "Behold a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and his name shall be called Emmanuel" (Isaias 7:14, Douay-Rheims).
The people respond: "Deo gratias." - "Thanks be to God."
And the Mass ends here, at this foundation. Having offered the Sacrifice of the God-Man, having consumed His Body and Blood, the Mass returns to where it all began: the Word was made flesh. Everything in the Mass flows from this fact. Everything returns to it.
The History of the Last Gospel
The reading of John 1:1-14 at the end of Mass was not part of the original Roman liturgy. It began as a private devotion of the priest - a prayer he said quietly as he left the altar. The practice developed gradually during the early medieval period, with evidence appearing in various local liturgies by the eleventh and twelfth centuries. By the thirteenth century it was widespread. Pope Pius V, in his codification of the Roman Missal in 1570 following the Council of Trent, made it a universal requirement for the Roman Rite.
The choice of this passage was not arbitrary. The early Church Fathers held the Prologue of John in extraordinary reverence. St. Augustine considered it the summit of Christian theology - the passage that reaches higher than any other into the mystery of God. St. John Chrysostom called it the "holy of holies" of the Gospels. The early Christians regarded it almost as a sacramental text - a passage that, by its very proclamation, drove away evil and brought the presence of God near. The practice of reading it over the sick, over the possessed, over those in spiritual danger, predates its inclusion in the Mass by centuries.
The theological logic of placing it at the end of Mass is profound. The Mass is the making-present of the Incarnation's supreme consequence: the sacrifice of Calvary. The Word was made flesh so that He could offer His flesh for the life of the world: "And the bread that I will give, is my flesh, for the life of the world" (John 6:52, Douay-Rheims). The Last Gospel takes you back to the beginning - to the eternal origin of the Word, to the act by which He entered creation, to the mystery that makes everything else possible. The Mass ends where the Gospel begins, because the Mass is the Gospel enacted.
And there is an apologetic dimension worth noting. The Church concluded every single Mass - not occasionally, not on special feast days, but every Mass - with fourteen verses of pure, unaltered, unabridged Scripture, proclaimed aloud, reverenced with a genuflection, received with gratitude. And yet Protestants spent centuries claiming the Catholic Church hid the Bible from the people. The Last Gospel is one of many answers to that calumny. The Church did not hide Scripture. She prayed it, proclaimed it, genuflected before it, and built her entire worship around it.
The Mass opens with the Sign of the Cross - "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit" - and closes with the Prologue of John, which tells you who the Father is, who the Son is, and what He did for you. From Trinitarian invocation to Trinitarian revelation. From first word to last, the Mass is Scripture.
In Part 13b, we will follow the priest as he descends from the altar after the Last Gospel and kneels with the people for the Leonine Prayers - the final Scriptural prayers of the Traditional Latin Mass, instituted by Pope Leo XIII in 1884, invoking the protection of the Mother of God, the intercession of the saints, and the power of St. Michael the Archangel against the forces of hell.