Balthasar Fischer
by John H. McKenna, C.M.
27 June 2001. Professor Balthasar Fischer of Trier, aged 89. A pioneer and giant of the liturgical movement in Germany and worldwide, he held the first chair of liturgy in Germany, was a co-founder of the German Liturgical Institute at Trier (1947) and a peritus at Vatican II. The whole Church is in debt to his work. As a member of the Consilium, he was involved in drawing up the rites of infant baptism (1969) and adult initiation (1972), and chaired the working parties which produced the Directory on Masses with Children (1973) and the three eucharistic prayers for children (1974). His guiding motto, from St. Augustine, was “to use the language, not of the learned, but of the simple.”
Professor Balthasar Fischer was-and still is, I presume—a warm, loving person. (Charlie Gusmer would say “Menschenfreundlich.”) He loved people and that is one of the reasons that he was such a good teacher. He spoke "pictures" with great enthusiasm.
Professor Fischer especially appreciated the role of the laity in the church and particularly in the Initiation process, which he did so much to shape. He loved to repeat a saying he learned in Australia: "sheep make sheep, not shepards."
Two stories in particular illustrate the kind of person he was. After I nearly died from complications from minor surgery, he came to visit me in the hospital. He invited me to go with him to a Congress to be held in Ireland. He said that he needed someone who spoke English. Anyone who knew Balthasar Fischer knew that his English was excellent. He spoke with a great sense of nuances and idioms in English. What he really was doing was trying to give me a lift. He was a man of great sensitivity and compassion.
When I went to pick him up for our journey to Ireland together, his mother said, "I am so happy that my little Balthi is traveling with an experienced traveler." Of course, "little Balthi" was bigger than I physically and in every other way. As we turned to leave, his mother made a little sign of the cross on his head. When I noticed this, he explained that it was an old tradition reflecting the baptismal cross received as infants. I learned through that to bless my little nieces and nephews and to teach them that they could do the same. When we boarded the plane and I began to tell a joke about flaming engines and parachutes, he stopped me immediately. "No, no, that is not funny. I am terrified of flying." This was one more sign of his humanness.
The other story took place when he visited my sister's family for dinner one night. My nephew Kevin, then five years old, said to him: "Why don't you take your shoes off?" Balthi responded: "Why should I?" Kevin said: "'Cause it's more comfortable." And so, what did this world-famous liturgical scholar, whom many of us had crossed the ocean to study with, do? He took his shoes off. He was a very simple, humble man who had a love for, and an understanding of, children.
I went to Germany in search of a scholar and discovered a great teacher and a holy man. I went looking for a mentor and found a good friend.
We miss Balthi but we believe and trust that he is celebrating Christ's dying and rising which he taught and lived so well.
Let the Church say: "Amen!"