Throughout the year, we present an article in the bulletin each week on a variety of topics, written by a member of our Parish staff or ministries on a rotating basis.
A Spiritual Reflection
by Orin Johnson, Director of Music & Liturgy
Picture a young boy, about 4 years old — yes, me — sitting in a small-town Minnesota church on a Saturday night, with his sister and his parents. A few minutes before mass began, I noticed a new book residing in the holders on the backs of the pews in front of me, brown and orange, the same size as the missalettes they were right next to. I don’t recall the exact conversation, but I know I asked dad what they were, what they were doing there, and he told me that the folks who helped us sing each week decided we needed more music.
Some of you will immediately know I’m speaking of the original Glory & Praise hymnal, packed with songs for liturgy by the St. Louis Jesuits and several other composers of the time. One of my earliest church memories, if not the first, is hoping at Mass that we would sing the “long” and “fancy” amen at the end of the eucharistic prayer, the one with the “alleluias” and “forever and evers” in it. Perhaps you know the one.
Growing up in the era of the Church completely post Vatican II, I have no personal familiarity, and therefore no nostalgia, about the pre-conciliar liturgy, and in particular its music. I know of the music; I find it, at various times, intensely beautiful, evocative, and perhaps even mystical. Other times I find it poorly performed, not engaging at all of my voice, mind, heart, or spirit, and in fact off-putting to a sacred experience of prayer.
Liturgical music today is meant, subjectively, to be music that is beautiful, to be able to carry the weight of the theological texts it bears, and is to engage the assembly, both on externally and internally. There is such liturgical music from almost every land and every age, every style and every instrumentation. No matter from what time or place liturgical music comes from, that music has to be “done” well. The musical leadership must be able, to the best of their abilities, approach the task at hand. Music must be performed not like in a concert hall, but with the demands of the liturgy in mind. Some places, I know, who favor pre-conciliar musical styles, resort to paying not only a music director, but also nearly all of the other music ministers, typically singers. Some places, I know, who favor contemporary music, hire in outside guitar players, bass players, and drummers. Should not, rather, the musical leadership, and even the choice of what music is appropriate for the liturgy of that worshipping community, come from within (as it does here at SMOS)?
That’s what the folks in the rural parish I grew up in were doing. Most small churches don’t have monetary resources, only the talents of those already in the community. By ten years old I was playing the stations of the cross during lent, and the next year I was being mentored into playing mass, a few months later playing on my own, with a small team of cantors there with me. And I was playing many of those same pieces from the Glory & Praise books, and many other pieces, both newer and older.
What is sacred music? What ought it to be? There are many Church documents which point the way, and a whole heck of a lot of arguing about it these days, people setting up camp typically in the musical genre where they feel most at home. Like in today’s Letter to the Hebrews, a two-edged sword often musically penetrates and divides the one body of Christ. Sacred music to me, and to the Church, is this: beautiful, profound, engaging, and led well. SMOS has a strong four-decade tradition in these matters, one I am proud and joyful to be a part of today.