Spleen—Ecclesiastical, Music Edition

I've been meaning to write this post for quite a while. Almost every Sunday afternoon I come back from the 11:00 am mass in, at the best, a mood of resigned unhappiness and, at the worst, a simmering rage. Many's the time I've vowed never again to darken the door of the local chapel-of-ease where we usually go on Sunday mornings. So far, I've thought better of it. The congregation is made up (mostly) of people from our neighborhood, and it's good to be able to greet people on the sidewalk or in the subway with whom you've worshiped on Sunday; the kids are used to it, and besides, it's impractical to schlep them around town on Sunday morning (been there, done that); and we usually aren't scandalized by what we hear from the clergy. This Sunday, though, was different. I won't go into much detail because (1) I don't want to embarrass anyone, and (2) I'm not sure I entirely followed what was being said. But suffice it to say that Father's take on the mystery (or, to use his word, "legend") of the Epiphany was somewhat out of the ordinary.

So, in order to purge my choler, I'm presenting an omnium-gatherum of the things that have grated on me through the years. I'll start today with music. Here are my first three rocks of stumbling. I know many others have been bothered by these or similar things for years, but, hey, it's my blog and I'll whine if I want to.

1. Sing along with Ms. Mitch. Complaining about Catholic church music goes back a long way. I'd hoped that Thomas Day's Why Catholics Can't Sing, twenty years old this year, would make a difference, but in these parts, at least, things haven't changed. A cantrix looks out meaningfully over the congregation, tells us that the melody of the psalm refrain isn't the one in the book (often with an unnecessary explanation) and goes on to warble a tune that makes Milton Babbitt sound like Gounod. She instructs us (twice) on where to find the hymn (or "worship song"), and which two out of five verses we're going to sing. (Why do Catholics assume that only as much of a hymn should be sung as is necessary to get the priest to and from the altar? Aren't we singing to worship God?) I reached my limit last Sunday when her instruction on singing the acclamation broke through the midst of the Eucharistic Prayer, taking with it whatever recollection I'd managed to attain. Has it never occurred to anyone that having someone standing in front of you singing at you through a microphone is not the best way to encourage your participation? And our parish is by no means the worst. At least there's no arm-waving, and the gain isn't pushed up to ear-bleed levels.

2. Gather Me Out. Let's face facts, people: No one has written a good hymn since Ralph Vaughan Williams. What passes for hymnody today are ersatz folk songs, campfire favorites, pseudo-Broadway showstoppers, and Las Vegas lounge numbers. Every time our organist sits down at the piano to tickle the ivories for a David Haas classic, I always look to see if there's a brandy snifter set out for tips. And in addition to the inappropriate-to-worship and unsingable melodies (the funereal accompaniment and wandering cantorial pitch don't help), there are the words.Why do we spend so much time telling the Lord who we are and what we're doing/going to do? Why do we exhort and/or congratulate ourselves in persona dei? Why do we ask for unintelligible things ("Give us the courage to enter the song")? Why are even the old standbys defaced with politically correct maunderings and awkward changes in diction. I can picture the offices of OCP, WLP, GIA, etc., with row upon row of eagle-eyed former nuns in Birkenstocks, blue pencils in hand, ruthlessly removing masculine pronouns from the church's hymnary (sorry, I mean personary).

3. Cue the Applause. Our parish is overwhelmingly Spanish-speaking and working class. e have two choirs, one for the Spanish masses and one for the English masses. It is very difficult to recruit people for the English choir, and most of the singers have had little musical training. The choir sings on alternate Sundays in our chapel and in the parish church. It has a limited repertory; besides the hymns, the choir usually sings one of its four or five pieces (which range from "I Come to the Garden Alone" to "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring") after communion. Aside from the fact that a choir piece is better placed during Communion, with a hymn after Communion when people can look at their "worship aids," the singing is more performance than prayer. As such, it's usually followed by applause. Now, my Much Much Better Half likes to cite Miss Manners on the impropriety of applause in church: Everything in church is done for God, and He'll applaud if He wants to. (Sorry. Make that "Everything in church is done for God, and God will applaud if God wants to." Feel better now?)

To be continued.