bearing blog

Palm Sunday Mass was amazing.  I am so happy at our new parish.

The processional song was All Glory, Laud and Honor (link plays music). I’d never heard it before.

This is the first procession I’ve ever seen that didn’t try to make everyone in the church cram into the lobby and then process awkwardly in.  Instead the procession came in from the back and wound around and around the sanctuary.  I was free to stand in the pew, sing joyfully, and drink the whole thing in.  For the first time in my life, I felt I was watching the kind of Hosannas that greeted the Lord.

The procession included about a dozen Knights of Columbus in full regalia, including swords, delighting my four-year-old son. About thirty children followed, waving double fistfuls of palms. And I mean waving:  not a gentle, dignified swaying, as I’ve always imagined, but rattling them excitedly like long rustly pompoms.  Of course!  And of course, that’s what it would have been.  I never understood what was so special about being honored with palm branches.  But they are streamers, they are ready-made flags to wave, to rattle excitedly, while you jump up and down and hope you’ll be noticed, if the hero turns his head your way when he passes by. 

Youths carried banners bearing images of the crown of thorns, the lance, and other symbols of the Passion. All processed around and around the sanctuary, up and down the aisles, singing.

I couldn’t sing. I wept. It was just so dear and real to me.

The reading of the Passion was another new experience.  This time it was chanted. The narrator sang a warm baritone. Pilate’s, the crowds’, the soldiers’ voices were sung by a powerful but reedy tenor. Our priest chanted the words of Jesus.

I thought of how singular it is that Palm Sunday Mass contains both Hosanna and Crucify him, how close together they are, how quickly popular sentiment can change.  St Faustina writes in her Diary:

March 21, 1937.  Palm Sunday.  During Mass, my soul was steeped in the bitterness and suffering of Jesus.  Jesus gave me to understand how much he had suffered in that triumphal procession.  "Hosanna" was reverberating in Jesus’ heart as an echo of "Crucify." 

What reverberates in our hearts?

Some music isn’t appropriate for Mass.  Why?

Until pretty recently, I uncritically enjoyed the folksy, eclectic, heavy-on-the-Celtic style of liturgical music that is common at many Catholic churches in the U.S.  I was proud to see in my little parish choir all kinds of instruments thrown together, from piano to electric bass to saxophones to African drums; even a little pipe organ tossed in from time to time. I used to brag to my Protestant friends about the quality of the music at my parish, and sniff at one friend’s "conservative" distinction between "hymns" and "praise songs."  We Catholics adapted all kinds of styles to our worship, I thought proudly.  Diversity and sanctification of the worldly and all that. 

Sure, some places you only hear a pipe organ; but hey, "traditional" Mass is just as good as "contemporary" Mass.  There’s room for everyone’s preferences.  Isn’t there?

My first collision with this came when I attended the late Sunday evening Mass at my old parish not long after they’d instituted a "contemporary worship style."  Perhaps I would have been less discomfited by the Christian rock band if it hadn’t been Palm Sunday.  Don’t get me wrong, I like rock music.  Good rock music, that is.  Which is one reason why I’ve never liked Christian rock much:  not very good Christianity, not very good rock.  But especially today, the combination was sour: the cymbals and electric guitars and over-the-top vocals clashed with the story of the Lord’s Passion we’d just heard. The lyrics didn’t have anything to do with Passion Sunday, either—just some religious-sounding words, transcending nothing, ordinary and ever-mediocre pop.

On the bright side, remaining in the pews probably qualified as mortification of the flesh.

I learned only later that the Church has a history of specifying which styles of music, indeed which instruments, are appropriate for Mass.  The most recent significant document on the subject seems to be "Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy," or Sacrosanctum Concilium, starting at paragraph 112. 

Turns out that only the pipe organ is given the blessing of the whole Church, and the local bishop is empowered to decide what other instruments are appropriate or inappropriate for Mass:

120. In the Latin Church the pipe organ is to be held in high esteem, for it is the traditional musical instrument which adds a wonderful splendor to the Church’s ceremonies and powerfully lifts up man’s mind to God and to higher things.

But other instruments also may be admitted for use in divine worship, with the knowledge and consent of the competent territorial authority, as laid down in Art. 22, 52, 37, and 40. This may be done, however, only on condition that the instruments are suitable, or can be made suitable, for sacred use, accord with the dignity of the temple, and truly contribute to the edification of the faithful.

Traditional music of various cultures throughout the world is permitted and to be encouraged, but only where it meets certain requirements:

112. …[S]acred music is to be considered the more holy in proportion as it is more closely connected with the liturgical action, whether it adds delight to prayer, fosters unity of minds, or confers greater solemnity upon the sacred rites. But the Church approves of all forms of true art having the needed qualities, and admits them into divine worship.

119. In certain parts of the world, especially mission lands, there are peoples who have their own musical traditions, and these play a great part in their religious and social life. For this reason due importance is to be attached to their music, and a suitable place is to be given to it, not only in forming their attitude toward religion, but also in adapting worship to their native genius, as indicated in Art. 39 and 40.

Therefore, when missionaries are being given training in music, every effort should be made to see that they become competent in promoting the traditional music of these peoples, both in schools and in sacred services, as far as may be practicable.

What are the "needed qualities?"  For that we turn to St. Pius X, mentioned in SC as an example of one who "explained… the ministerial function " of sacred music.  In 1903 he wrote "On the Restoration of Sacred Music," Tra le Sollecitudini.  This document is full of specific references to specific instruments.  The piano is forbidden, as are "noisy or frivolous" instruments like cymbals, and "bands."  But he also outlined general principles to follow in the selection of music and instruments.  These principles probably still stand, even if the changing culture has altered their application to specific instruments.

As I read these documents, I’m coming to agree that much—not necessarily all, but much—contemporary liturgy has departed from the principles that make sacred music sacred.  It lacks transcendence and has devolved to simple entertainment.  It lacks universality and has become instead a hodgepodge of different flavors.

At the same time I’m sad, because—well—I like a lot of that music.   I can think of many songs I love, some that I’m sure helped me develop as a Christian.  And the idea of banning them from the liturgy seems insane. 

Till I ask myself, well, why do I need them in the liturgy? 

And the answer is only:  Because I won’t be able to hear them anywhere else.  So that leads to the question:  Why not?

Maybe the problem is that a whole class of lovely songs have been culturally restricted to church.   Why do we have to go to Mass to hear this kind of stuff?  Why don’t I have cds that I play at home, for instance? 

Maybe those songs, with worldly style and holy message, belong in the world calling the people to the Church.  Maybe they don’t belong in the church, recalling us to the world.

And let’s be honest.  There are a lot of songs in the same hymnal that I positively detest.  I really really really really hate "On Eagle’s Wings,"  (warning: link plays sound) a.k.a. "On Beagle’s Breath," a.k.a. (from its first two syllables) "the yoo-hoo song."  I hate even more, to the point where I feel ill when I hear it, this horrid song called "I Danced In The Morning" (warning:  link plays sound) that everyone seems to call "Lord of the Dance" and that has ruined the tune "Shaker Song" for me. 

And yet both of those songs were very popular at my old parish.   I resented being trapped in the pews every time they were played, of course, but most people liked them.

Which brings me to another point.  How contemporary music affects you is largely a matter of taste.  OK, so "I Danced In The Morning" doesn’t appeal to me.  I could pretend "It’s just because the imagery in it is not appropriate for Mass," but frankly anyone else could say the same thing about some of the modern songs that I happen to like.  In Mass itself, in this Universal Church,
perhaps we should be going for something that transcends personal taste. 

I don’t know if it’s possible for there to be a truly universal liturgical music. I guess we have to ask what the purpose of music in the Mass is.

Putting aside for a moment the fact that there are documents giving guidelines about
music style, let’s pretend that it is our job to design the music for Mass for the church throughout the world:  choose the instruments, the styles, etc.  What would our guiding principles be?

We can argue back and forth about whether music should be consistent from place to place or reflect the local culture. But until we go back to guiding principles that will be nothing more than the "argument from taste."  Some folks’d never praise with drums, but then again some folk’ll…

Questions to ponder.

– Why does the liturgy have music at all?  What elements would be missing without it?

– Is the music supposed to help us *feel* something?

– Is the music supposed to make us, or draw us to, *do* something?

– Is the music supposed to help us *think* something?

– Is there some music that will affect all of us, or at least those of us who don’t have some kind of pathological association with it, essentially the same way?

– How is liturgical music analogous to, say, liturgical art (stained glass windows, statuary, altarpieces, etc.)

– If someone suddenly invented a new kind of musical instrument never heard before, that had no associations with any kind of profane or secular culture, what characteristics would it have that would make it instantly appropriate for Mass?  (Would it be appropriate by default, because of its "purity" of connotation?  If not, why?)