Paul Inwood
Music and Liturgy 50.2 ( July 2024)
The 2010 edition of the Roman Missal contains some less well-known starting points for reflection. I’m thinking, for example, of passages like this extract from general rubric 2 for the Sacred Triduum: “Cantus populi, ministrorum et sacerdotis celebrantis peculiare momentum habet in celebrationibus horum dierum; textus
enim maxime suam propriam vim recipiunt quando in cantu peraguntur.” The UK edition of the Missal translates this as follows: “The singing of the people, the ministers, and the Priest Celebrant has a special importance in the celebrations of these days, for when [the] texts are sung, they have their proper impact.” (p.329)
I’m sure that this is especially true for the Triduum, but I’m also quite sure that it applies more generally to
celebrations throughout the year. The fact is that singing by all the people mentioned has a special importance at all times. There’s also a strong implication (in the phrase ‘when [the] texts are sung’) that it’s talking about the
singing of the ritual texts themselves, not about singing add-ons in the form of hymns and other material. There
are still many who have not yet heard the adage ‘Sing the Mass, not Sing at Mass’. Nevertheless, it’s also possible to interpret this as a more general statement: any text has a better chance of having its proper impact if it’s sung.
Other rubrics during the Triduum that have recently been added to the Missal make it clear that the primary value is that things be sung well, which will have implications for who is to sing them. At the showing of the Cross on Good Friday, the priest carrying the cross ‘is assisted in singing by the Deacon or, if need be, by the choir’. At the procession of the Paschal Candle ‘The Deacon or, if there is no Deacon, another suitable minister, takes the paschal candle.’ For the Exsultet, ‘The Easter Proclamation may be made, in the absence of a Deacon, by the Priest himself or by another concelebrating Priest. If, however, because of necessity, a lay cantor sings the Proclamation . . .’ For the singing of the Triple Alleluia after the Epistle at the Easter Vigil, ‘If necessary, the psalmist intones the Alleluia.’
All of these indicate that pastoral adaptations can be made, if desirable—i.e. in order to have these texts sung
properly. It seems like a recognition that in the past things have not been sung as well as they might be! Anyone who has endured the torture of listening to a deacon struggling and stumbling through the Exsultet, simply because he is a deacon and he or the parish priest thought that he should do it, will understand the problem. When the assembly is made very uncomfortable for the ten minutes or so that the Easter Proclamation takes, one is forced to ask exactly what liturgical values are being promoted here. Unease communicates itself like a brush fire.
Having said all this, it’s also important for us to know why singing is considered important, which leads us into
a brief consideration of what music does in the liturgy.
• Music highlights whatever it touches. It elevates it to a different plane, makes it stand out in contrast to ordinary speech. This means that our music ought not only to help to delineate the structure of the rite but it should emphasise what we know are the more important parts of the rite. It’s often a salutary exercise to look at what we do and ask ‘Are we actually singing the parts of the rite that we say we think are the most important?’ If the answer is No, what do we intend to do about it?
• Music heightens the meaning of a text, or it should do. This means that it brings to life the natural textual accents that are already present. Some texts can be more difficult than others in this regard—I’m thinking
of the opening of the Gloria, for example. The mood of the music needs to be in sync with the meaning and function of the text. Sometimes, as well as false musical accents, we will encounter a music setting that is simply in the wrong mood for the part of the rite or the season or the text itself. Such a mismatch can pass unnoticed if we are enjoying the music itself too much!
• Music slows us down. Singing a text takes longer than simply saying it. This is true even of the shortest of responses, and in the case of longer texts the increase is proportionately greater. Taking more time gives us an opportunity to take in and absorb the meaning of a text more efficiently and more deeply. In a society where often everything and everyone seems to be in a hurry, taking time, even a few extra seconds, can add much value to what we do.
• Music creates community. When everyone is joining in strongly, they are transformed. The very fact of doing something in unison draws people closer together. In this way, music helps to create the very tangible presence of the People of God as a single body, united in worship. Music can of course divide as well as unite. Usually this will be because of a poor choice of style or idiom that, while it appeals to some, may alienate others. As music ministers, we have the delicate task of providing music that will speak to the whole community and isn’t just a
reflection of our own personal tastes. The way in which music is played and sung can also make a huge
difference to how comfortable the assembly is.
• Music has a spiritual role. To put it bluntly, it sanctifies people. The documents talk about raising hearts and
minds to God, adding solemnity, etc. One might also paraphrase a famous sentence from Sacrosanctum
Concilium n.112 and say that music makes people holier in proportion to the amount that it infuses their
spirit. Music in the liturgy does not just make people feel good, it helps them to pray. It opens us up to the
presence of God in our lives. It is obviously an aid to devotional exercises, but we can also see that music can
have a therapeutic function—for example, when people are grieving. If people feel that they are really enfolded
in the music, the music has fulfilled its purpose.
• Related to this, music transforms, inspires and enthuses. If we are not changed by the music we sing, if we
are not given strength and impetus to carry out the mission of bringing Christ to the world, our music has failed us. Sometimes we can get bored by using the same music over and over again. We become stale. A change of repertoire is sometimes but not always the answer. It may be that our performance itself needs to be tweaked. Ideally we ought to feel as if this is the first time we have ever sung this piece. It should feel fresh and new and invigorating, and yet familiar and comfortable. When it works well like this, music helps our soul to take wing.
• Music creates inner stillness. Joseph Gelineau sj was fond of saying that the most important part of liturgical
music is the silence that follows the last note. Notes and words ring on in our mind, and if we are open to this, rather than rushing on to the next part of the rite, we can find that music aids a more meditative spirit in us. This is all of a piece with the fact that we know how important silences are in liturgy in general. One of the remarkable features about the music of Taizé and similar repetitive forms is that you don’t in fact have to wait until after the last note for this to happen. It happens while the music is in progress.
What we need is a vision of what music is supposed to bring about in our celebrations. We need energy to keep at this task, even when the going seems tough; for if we do not commit ourselves totally to it, the generations that will follow us will not thank us. We won’t have provided a foundation for them. We will have avoided our responsibilities. But if we do keep at it, the People of God will undoubtedly be blessed, and will grow in discipleship and mutual love.