Just this past week I finished a course at the Liturgical Institute of St. Mary of the Lake University, Mundelein, with the Institute’s assistant director Dr. Denis McNamara. Dr. McNamara just recently published the groundbreaking book Catholic Church Architecture and the Spirit of the Liturgy through the Institute’s ‘Hillenbrand Books’, which was the main text for the course.
Ultimately, Dr. McNamara’s book is focused on the practical issue of new church architecture and church renovations, but he sets out to achieve it in the first place by means of an applied study in liturgical theology, architectural theology and a theology of beauty. This first part of his book provides a lens, a hermeneutic, for the rest of his study which journeys through the scriptural foundations of church architecture, the timeless applicability of the Classical tradition, the eschatological nature of iconic images, and a historical survey of modern church architecture.
McNamara’s perspective for the study of sacred art is sacramental (small “s”), according to the Church’s classic definition of a sacrament: “a visible sign of an invisible reality”. This means that sacred art, in this case architecture, uses visible signs to reveal the building’s ontology: its nature, its reason for being. (Dr. McNamara loves to use the word ontology in the classroom, it’s sort of as a catch phrase. One day, in a prayer led by one of the priests in the class, the word ontology managed to show up twice! When we finished the sign of the cross and opened our eyes we saw Denis smiling ear to ear.) Ontology: “What makes a church a church?” “What does sacred art say about its reason for being?”
I heard at one point in the course the axiom coined by the theologian Fr. Edward Oakes, SJ “art doesn’t lie”. In other words, seen from a sacramental perspective, art always signifies some reality: beauty is not in the the eye of the beholder, dependent on the viewer’s subjective state and experience in order to give it meaning. Art always says something about its intention, it communicates, it reveals something, it signifies something; the question is “what reality does it signify?”
In the case of the language of classical church architecture the elements used in design seek to signify the heavenly liturgy; the church building becomes a “sacramental building” which signifies the union of heaven and earth during the liturgy, it shows through its art and design the earth restored to heavenly order, its beauty represents the beauty, perfection, and other-worldliness of heaven, and it invites the liturgical participant to “actively participate” in the heavenly liturgy which is made present in the most excellent way in the holy sacrifice of the Mass. In contrast, in the case of post-modern deconstructivist architecture, which is based on a philosophy of despair, of chaos, which focuses on the disorder of fallen humanity, something else is signified; it represents the fall, it exhibits chaos in built form, it does not look to heaven, but further enables the viewer to “actively participate” in the effects of the fall.
“Architecture is the built form of ideas”, says McNamara. “Art doesn’t lie”. “Art invites the viewer to participate in the reality which it signifies”.
As I reflected on how sacred art assists or detracts from one’s active participation in the sacred mysteries that are celebrated in the liturgy, I couldn’t help but to stop and think of how these ideas could be applied, mutatis mutandis, to sacred music. What followed was somewhat of a revelation.
If architecture is the built form of ideas, it could be said that (in the case of sacred music) music is the sung form of ideas.
It seems that in many of our contemporary debates over liturgical music we can’t seem to get too far away from the subjective elements of musical style. I have heard very prominent exponents of modern “contemporary” liturgical music say to proponents of sacred music: “Why don’t you stop ragging on people who happen to like contemporary musical styles? I respect your stylistic preferences, why can’t you respect mine?” (You may not believe this, but this is an argument given by one of GIA’s most widely published composers–and he attributes it to Fr. Gelineau, with whom he studied). Sacred musicians might respond furiously saying “it’s not a question of style!” but then they might produce a counter-argument, or maybe even post a video on the internet, which compares contemporary and sacred musical styles. This usually amounts to the belittling of pop styles, and it makes an appeal to Gregorian chant, asking the viewer “which one seems more beautiful?” Well, if beauty is in the eye of the beholder then this amounts to an argument over personal taste and preference.
But if one asks the question “what does this musical repertoire, or musical style sacramentally represent?” then we might actually develop a grammar for properly analyzing liturgical music.
If music is the sung form of ideas, this means, in liturgy, that music represents theology. In other words, the music that is sung in liturgy reveals what those who participate in it believe that the liturgy is. Art doesn’t lie.
If the liturgy is an earthly participation in the eschatological reality of heaven; a bursting forth of the heavenly liturgy that takes place at the end of time into the earthly liturgy of the fallen world, then its music should be eschatological. The music of this earthly liturgy would seek to provide a foretaste of the liturgy of heaven, the wedding banquet of the Lamb. It would be transcendent and other-worldly, its noble beauty would befit the heavenly King, it would be ordered music free of the effects of the fall, it would transcend the popular musical styles of the world and would actively engage its participants in a foretaste of the heavenly life that is to come.
On the other hand, if the music in the earthly liturgy sounds like the music of the popular culture, is like the music that would be sung or heard at a festive family dinner party, or perhaps at a concert or in a retail store, if the music is reflective of the music that is on top 40 radio, and so on, what does this say about what the liturgy is? Art doesn’t lie. This music would suggest that the liturgy is like a gathering for a family meal, is entertaining, is immanently bound up with the “now”, or with a particular time period (as is perhaps is the case with 70’s folk music), it may have the effect of persuading people to walk in the doors much like the shops in a mall. A liturgical theology that prefers music that says these things or has these effects would be one that views the earthly liturgy not as a participation in the glories of heaven, but one that is immanently bound up in the effects of the fall.
What all of this is saying to me is that perhaps we need to stop arguing about musical styles. Instead let’s take a step back and take a look at the music that is being sung in the liturgy and ask ourselves what theological reality it is expressing. If a liturgist or pastor or musician or anyone believes that the liturgy is simply a communal meal shared between friends that is bound up in this time and place, well, guess what, their liturgical music is probably going to reflect that. Instead of trying to convince them that certain musical styles and repertoires are appropriate for Mass, through persuasion or worse yet through beating them over the head with Church documents, perhaps we should enter a conversation about the ontology of the liturgy. Our time might be better spent giving a sound liturgical catechesis, in praying for conversion of hearts, for the evangelization of souls, and in becoming, ourselves, imbued with the spirit of the liturgy.
Art doesn’t lie. Music doesn’t lie. Let us know what we’re saying with the music that we sing in the earthly liturgy and let us always strive for a sacramental participation in the liturgy of heaven where God is all-in-all, and where the earth is restored and sings his praise eternally.
"This usually amounts to the belittling of pop styles …"
Agreed. And more so, it involves the comparison of apples and oranges made by a apple grower. Here, look at my crisp fresh apples. There, look at those horrid green, moldy oranges. I might point out they're rotten lemons, and the usual reaction is: "See? They're not even oranges. And you've gotten us off topic, besides!"
I've met Denis McNamara, sat in on his lectures, and discussed liturgy and architecture with him. He's far more open to being challenged on liturgy and perspective.
So I'd say, sure: let's have the discussion on ontology. I don't think its possible outside the context of liturgy to make that assessment. The duelling YouTube videos aren't much different than reading sessions in sterile auditoriums and classrooms. What gets a set of lines, dots and words from the flat page is the context of worship.
What gets the discussion of music off the flat screen is a real diagnosis. Not the tired jokes about Kumbaya and 70's pop. Church music never sounded like 70's pop music. Well, maybe the cappa magna channels Elton John a bit. But that's about it.
Well, 70's folk music sounded pretty similar to 70's church-folk music. Very little difference there. Neither of these seem to be pointed much to the eschaton.
Speaking of tired jokes, why don't we drop the cappa magna…
"And more so, it involves the comparison of apples and oranges made by a apple grower…"
Such an analogy seems to keep the argument at the level of style vs. style…2 fruits, both good in themselves, both different species of the same genus…without anything more specific than that, then of course it seems right to exercise no preference. Such an analogy echoes the post-modernist, who always assumes that all distinctions are without value difference, and thus anyone who argues for some value must have a vested power-interest in the discussion, irrespective of what other reasons they cite. ("The apple-grower can't possibly be trusted to make an objective argument for the value of apples, because his economic-self interest is his REAL reason for saying anything." A better illustration of the 'hermeneutic of suspicion' could not be contrived!)
Adam's thoughtful post reminds us that a discussion of style vs. style, as fun as it can be for some in the short term, is shallow and subjectivist, reducing matters to competing irrational desires.
The discussion that really needs to be had is about what worship really IS. Not about what some people want it to be in a particular place or time, not about a few sentences in a recent Church document separated from the context of Sacred Tradition.
"Church music never sounded like 70's pop music…"
I've only been going to Catholic Masses for about 10 years in one diocese (Phoenix, AZ), and I can without exaggeration say I've heard the pop sounds of the '60s, '70s, '80s and beyond in Sunday Masses. Space is too short and prose not vivid enough to do it justice, though I will say that one "band" at the parish Church in a famous Arizona tourist spot 8 years ago had the distinction of sounding like a Doors cover band. (The Doors released at least one record in the '70s, didn't they?)
Please note that I am merely describing styles, not arguing superficially for one vs. another…that would be unproductive!
If you want to start talking authentic folk music or mainstream popular music with a folk influence, I'm afraid you boys may be well out of your depth.
Folk got electrified in the late 60's, and guitar-playing troubadours were pretty much gone or surrounded by bands. Nobody in churches was sounding like Gerry Rafferty, or Al Stewart, or Eagles.
Acoustic music (a more accurate term) had already branched out like rock by the 70's and had withdrawn more or less happily out of the public eye.
So in the sense that Dan Schutte and the Roches played the same instrument, sure it had one connection. Pretty much like the Hindus and Buddhists used only voices and non-Christian chant sounds like Gregorian. Or Sweet Honey in the Rock or Ladysmith Black Mambazo or the Manhattan Transfer are like polyphony because they use only voices.
So … one Arizona parish utilizes a Fender Rhodes piano and uses electric guitars. You know, individually, I can't vouch for every parish that plugs in like that. Between me and my wife, we have a good bit of vinyl and cassette tape of 70's and 80's liturgical music. Even when the occasional track is plugged in (maybe one in fifty) there's a stronger tendency for it to sound a bit lame–and it certainly still sounds like the SLJ's or David Haas.
"The discussion that really needs to be had is about what worship really IS."
Sure.
"Not about what some people want it to be in a particular place or time, not about a few sentences in a recent Church document separated from the context of Sacred Tradition."
Then we would be talking about worship in a general way outside of the Catholic tradition. Church documents codify tradition, and give a needed structure. Andrew, would you care to give an explanation of why Catholic musicians shouldn't look to liturgical documentation? Or why you think the GIRM is unhinged from Catholic Tradition?
Todd, would that it had been a real Fender Rhodes! It was just a cheap Casio keyboard on an organ setting…
I don't think that I am suggesting we talk about worship "outside of the Catholic tradition", though that might be interesting for anthropologists.
What I am suggesting is that "the Catholic tradition" of worship is more than legal and juridical documents alone, and certainly something more than two or three documents all dating from the last 47 years. The documents are important, but not absolutely self-sufficient.
There are old and venerable theological and philosophical sources behind the legal documents, and there are historical facts about the practice of worship that Catholics should look to as well; all of the above should guide the Catholic understanding of recent liturgical documentation.
I hope we might agree on that.
Andrew, what I will state is that Church music is guided by the liturgy and its norms. That is the starting point: the rites and their general introductions. For the Mass, it's the Roman Missal (red and black) and the GIRM.
Second, Catholic church musicians need to have a grounding in the conciliar documents, starting with Sacrosanctum Concilium, to read and absorb what the goal of worship is.
And yes, there are sources behind the legal documents, and these can inform our philosophical approach to music and liturgy. But not when they are at odds with current liturgical practice.
Do you have one suggested passage from an old document that could shed light on present practice?