In the middle of last year, I introduced the Communion propers at the church where I serve as Director of Music. And I can now confidently say that the Communion proper should be widely sung at services of Holy Communion in the Episcopal Church.
What is a proper, you might ask? Propers are distinct from the ordinary of the Mass (Kyrie, Gloria, Credo, Sanctus, Benedictus, Agnus Dei). Propers include the Introit, Gradual, Alleluia, Offertory, and Communion. It is something more specific to the particular service being offered.
In the practice of many Episcopal churches, there is no need to sing the Introit, Gradual, or Alleluia, as these moments in the liturgy are ably serviced by the singing of the hymn and a lectionary-prescribed Psalm. The Offertory proper has also widely been supplanted by a choral anthem (and possibly a "Presentation" hymn). The Communion proper, however, could still have a place in most parishes today, regardless of churchmanship.
If one of the propers is sung in a church, it is likely the Introit: a piece of music is sung just prior to or simultaneously with the entrance of the ministers who will lead the service.
The traditional form of the Introit is an Antiphon followed by a psalm verse (or more than one verse, as circumstances require). The Antiphon is then repeated. This past Sunday, the Fourth Sunday in Lent, the words were directly related to the idea of entrance: "I was glad when they said unto me: Let us go to the house of the Lord." (In other places, a relatively short piece of choral music may be chosen by the director and called an "Introit".)
The Communion proper takes this same form: an Antiphon followed by a psalm verse. Over time, the psalm verse was dropped.
But as an historic part of the Western Church's liturgy, these antiphons (and psalm verses) deserve our consideration, possibly over and above the creative whims of the director of music.
Furthermore, an important moment in the liturgy is often left unaccompanied by choral singing, which is a break from the tradition of the Western Church: the Communion of the Celebrant.
In the regular order of operations, the Canon of the Mass ends with the Lord's Prayer and is followed by the Fraction. In many Episcopal Churches a Fraction Anthem is then sung or said (perhaps the Agnus Dei, or another text). After this, the rubrics of the Episcopal Church's 2016* Book of Common Prayer require two things of the Celebrant: 1) the spoken Invitation to Communion and 2) the Communion of the Celebrant.
The rubric reads, "The ministers receive the Sacrament in both kinds, and then immediately deliver it to the people." While the rubric is a bit murky about who goes first, the Church's tradition is that the Celebrant receives first. And it is this moment at which Communion proper begins.
What happens in most churches? There is likely either organ improvisation or silence during this reception, as well as the movement of the choir, who usually arrive (a bit too early) at the place where they will receive Communion.
Using the Communion proper has led me to believe both practices are undesirable. The beginning of what the prayer book calls "the ministration of Communion" is a fitting time for music, especially so given that we have received from the tradition of the Church the perfect piece of music for this moment. Historically, the time at which the Communion proper should begin is the Communion of the Celebrant.
How, then, can the Communion proper be sung?
The words of the proper may be sung quite simply, or they could be sung in Latin in a traditional musical form that has been passed down through the centuries. Thanks to the work of Bruce Ford, they can also be sung in a kind of "Anglican compromise": to the traditional plainsong melodies adapted to English words. Some freely available resources for all three approaches are:
- Anglican Use Gradual - C. David Burt - English, simple chant tones
- Graudale Romanum (1961) - Latin, traditional chant melodies
- American Gradual 2020 - Bruce Ford - English, traditional chant melodies, adapted
Whether sung by a cantor, a portion of the choir, or the choir as a whole, I contend that the Communion proper should be employed in Episcopal churches today.
A rubric about music at Communion specifies: "During the ministration of Communion, hymns, psalms, or anthems may be sung." While it does not forbid organ improvisation, the prevailing practice in the Episcopal Church seems to use improvisation as a default during the ministers' reception of Communion. Organ improvisation can easily be delayed until a moment when it is more fitting: when the choir itself receives. It is easy to infer from the Prayer Book a preference for sung music over the strictly instrumental variety.
I have become increasingly fascinated by traditional plainchant, or what is often called Gregorian chant. Within the liturgical year, each Sunday has an associated set of melodies for each of the propers, including the Communion proper. I wondered what it would be like to engage with these traditional materials over several years.
Bruce Ford's American Gradual 2020 is a new edition of the work he began in his American Gradual (both freely available resources).
The musical experience has been a challenge. We have taught ourselves to read traditional neumes in four-line notation. We have familiarized ourselves with Ford's approach to the quilisma as outlined in his preface (the reverse of the prevailing practice). The musical demands of each Sunday's Communion Antiphon vary widely, ranging from the simple and direct to the florid and complex. The results have been hard-fought and, if we assess things honestly, a little rough around the edges in the liturgy on occasion.
But even six months into this project, I can report that the benefits of engaging with this historic repertory far outweigh the costs. The words are those of scripture, and they often hold great significance at the moment of Communion. The melodies are those of the ancient church, removing us from the fallacies of preference and desire. The synthesis of the scripture and the music is often so great as to be undeniable. Even in its adapted form, these chants are remarkable aids in contemplating the Divine Mysteries.
In our present situation (and I suspect this would be true for the vast majority of places), the Antiphon alone is sufficient for the ministers to receive. After singing the Antiphon, the choir themselves then come forward to receive Communion. The Communion Antiphons vary in length; in some weeks, even the Antiphon alone is slightly longer than required. I do not believe that the clergy or musicians in the parish have lost any sleep over an extra 15 seconds at Communion every now and then.
We have yet to learn the Communion propers for this Easter season, which are, of course, replete with Alleluias! Many of the Communion propers we have learned lodge themselves quite compellingly in the mind, and I look forward to singing them again in future years.
While I am personally drawn to the historic plainchant of the propers, I know that their performance will not be possible or desirable in every situation. A simpler version of these propers could be used, say The Anglican Use Gradual by David Burt. The chant tone is easily learned and repeated from week to week. Specifically in these shorter versions, a psalm verse or two could then be added without fear of making the proper unduly long—and, indeed, the length of the form would be highly predictable from week to week.
My hope for the Episcopal Church at large is that church musicians will rediscover the Communion propers, notice how tailor-made our liturgy is for their insertion, and then create new musical forms so that a rich variety of material is available for use.
* yes, the Prayer Book was revised in 2016, and referring to it as the 1979 just causes confusion. Make sure you get your lectionary right, especially in Holy Week!
Labels: Bruce Ford, church music, Gregorian chant, liturgy
Built into the very warrant for sacramental worship is a verb of performance. Hidden in that performance is a vision of life in Christ that is not a state of being but rather an act, an act of the worshippers who enact a cosmos and a community that is nothing less than God’s act of creation.McCall, Richard D. Do This: Liturgy As Performance. University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame, Ind (2007). p. 2
General Convention starts in less than a week, and the service bulletins still contain errors that will hinder the participation of the people.
I'm not going to go into full detail the way I did in my first post on this subject, but here, briefly, are the remaining services for General Convention.
July 7 - General Convention Revival at Palmer Center
I think this service sounds really interesting. If you're unaware of the word "revival" in Episcopal parlance, you can find information on the recent and upcoming Episcopal Revivals here.
I'm fascinated by the compelling blend of evangelical and liturgical. I'll be honest: the first time I read the versicle and response "Lord, send a revival. / And let it begin in me!" I got chills.
For me, this is some of the most compelling of the liturgy that will be offered at General Convention. This seems like exactly the time and the place for this kind of service, and it builds on the present Episcopal Revival movement.
What I don't like so much is that the printing of the Acclamation Hymn is woefully incomplete. The last three lines are missing. This is the kind of error that hinders the participation of the people gathered for this service, most of whom will not know this hymn at all.
I also question the choice of having the hymn "I have decided to follow Jesus" twice in this short service, albeit to different tunes. But who knows. Maybe it works.
But the second iteration of this hymn includes what appears to be English words engraved under the notes, and Spanish words printed below the hymn. A closer inspection reveals that the "English" words actually contain stanzas two and three in Spanish, but they don't correspond to the Spanish "translation". (Did you follow that?)
Another example of a significant error that will, in this case, prevent people from singing in unison.
UPDATE: the plot thickens. The music listing that was made available quite recently (Music of the Liturgy) indicates that the final hymn is to be "This little light of mine". If the music has been changed, it's very possible that there is now yet a third set of service bulletins that we do not yet have access to.
The sources of this service appear to be Enriching Our Worship 1 and Eucharistic Prayer A.
One also notes at this service the repetition of Siyahamba, which was sung on July 7. Why all the repeated hymnody at this Convention?
July 9 - Eucharist of Reconciliation
This service is Rite II beginning with the Penitential Order, and has a Eucharistic Prayer called "Mass of the Immigrant". It does live up to its name: "Your Son Jesus Christ, our brother, the immigrant from heaven and a model of immigrants…".
July 10 - Eucharist for the Care of God’s Creation
I can't identify the source of the first part of the service, but the Eucharistic Prayer is Prayer C.
It is puzzling that the Song of Praise "Sing of the raven, bird of creation" is printed in the time signature of six-four and not nine-four as the Hymnal has BUNESSAN. The result is that half of the strong beats arrive on weak parts of the bar, and vice versa.
Is Canticle 12 (Song of Creation) truly to be recited? Another wasted opportunity. And if so, why make people stand for it?
Even in the newly published Music of the Liturgy document there is no attribution for "God of the galaxies", a hymn which really gives "Earth and all stars" a run for its money. I suppose it is simply mistitled in the service leaflet, and that the attribution for "Honor the earth" by "Douglas Mews/ Shirley Murray, lyrics" applies here.
July 11 - Benedict of Nursia, Abbot of Monte Cassino, c. 540
This "Silent Song of Praise" has been the most-discussed element of these services so far, at least among Episcopal Musicians. It is preceded by the Taizé "Veni Sancte Spiritus", so I suppose the intent is to have a bit of Taizé-style silence to follow. But silence in Taizé is not meant as a "hymn", it is meant as silence. Even on paper, this just doesn't appear to work in the context of a Rite I Eucharist.
Oh yeah, this service is Rite I. Kind of.
The Acclamation is. The Collect for Purity is. And then [*record scratch*] the salutation to the Collect of the Day is not ("And also with you").
But then we're right back to Rite I with the Collect of the Day.
And then [*record scratch again*] the Gospel Acclamation is back in Rite II ("Glory to you, Lord Christ").
Why the back and forth with the two Rites? It is perplexing, and I can think of no justification for it. This is the only appearance of Rite I at the Convention, and it's not even permitted to be itself.
Finally, we settle with Eucharistic Prayer II (which is found in Rite I).
July 12 - Closing Holy Eucharist
The Sequence Hymn is "In Christ alone", which I find lamentable. The phrase "...the wrath of God was satisfied" is there in black and white for all in attendance to sing. I'm sure that will go over well.
Maybe the Presiding Bishop is preparing to shift his focus from the "loving, liberating, life-giving" God to the "reverent, redeeming, wrath-filled" one.
Who knows.
Labels: General Convention 2018, liturgy
“Wasted opportunity”. That's the phrase that comes to mind when I consider the “Silent Song of Praise” that will occur at the worship service on July 11 at the General Convention of the Episcopal Church in Austin, Texas.
There are, it occurs to me, many opportunities for silence in the liturgy. Silence may be kept after the lessons. Silence may be kept during the prayers. Silence may be kept after the bidding to Confession. Silence may be kept (and rarely is in most churches!!) at the Breaking of the Bread.
But music is another matter. Music is rarely silent.
It is sometimes, of course. The famous 4'33" by John Cage is silent. That's the whole point. It has even recently been used as congregational song. But note that this was a congregational "performance" of 4'33" relating to a theme of confession.
It's not that I'm unsympathetic to the idea. General Convention must be (I imagine) a busy, noisy, stressful place. And who doesn't want some silence in the midst of that? But again, Song + Praise ≠ Silence (unless you are in outer space, in which case, please reach for Hymn 431).
But perhaps the “Silent Song of Praise” is just a symptom of a larger mix-and-match, kitchen sink approach to the liturgical planning that we see for General Convention.
Don't get me wrong, I know that planning liturgy and music for General Convention is very hard work. I once sat down with the Rev. Charlie Dupree and we discussed this very topic.
It is a very tall order to plan worship for a body as large and diverse as the Episcopal Church's Triennial Family Reunion, but an examination of the available service leaflets for this year's General Convention reveal a litany of errors and confusing choices.
The service leaflets themselves are marred by technical and typographical strangeness and inconsistencies. But more than this, the concept of these eight services seem to relish in a kind of "liturgical restlessness". It's more innovation than is really necessary, even at a gathering of this type, I would think. And it seems to me that by trying to please everyone, few people would walk away with a sense that this is the kind of worship that they could find in their home diocese. It brings to mind those words of C. S. Lews, “Jesus said to Peter, ‘feed my sheep,’ not, ‘experiment on my rats’”.
When I began examining these services I expected to find one or two mistakes. As I discovered more and more, however, some of which are somewhat ludicrous (Absolution before Confession, being one example), I became vaguely angry about the whole thing. If the national Episcopal Church cannot correctly juggle the limited amount of options without serious error, perhaps we have introduced too many already. Truly, we need to have “deep engagement with the structure, content, language and theological thrust of The Book of Common Prayer (1979), with a view to increasing the Church’s familiarity with the book in its entirety” as resolution A069 so aptly puts it.
July 5 - 79th General Convention Opening Holy Eucharist - Rite II, Eucharistic Prayer A
- The very first hymn, “We are one in the Spirit” appears in no published resource of the Episcopal Church (that I am aware of). Does this matter? We're just getting started, so perhaps more on this another time.
- The first line of this very first hymn is duplicated in error. It appears on both the first and the second page of the service leaflet. This type of mistake is highly confusing to congregations, and will not make for a very good debut of the congregational singing for the days to come.
- Where other resources would use dashed slurs to show that notes are sometimes slurred in certain stanzas where the underlay requires it, they are omitted here. Furthermore, the underlay uses a long line (sometimes called a “lyric line”) in cases of two syllable words where standard musical engraving practice is to use hyphens (notable examples being “Je_____sus” and “Spi_____rit”).
- In the Song of Praise “Sing to the Lord a new song” having the directions in quotes is very strange indeed. I laughed out loud the first time I saw it.
- A minor point, but there is no indication how many times the Psalm refrain is to be sung.
- The Sequence Hymn “Great is thy faithfulness” is printed in unison in D Major, not in parts and in E-flat as it is given at Hymn 189 of Lift Every Voice and Sing II (LEVAS). The fermata over the final “faithfulness” is omitted.
- A rubric about the Absolution, and its bolded “Amen” is printed directly before the Confession. I'm not a priest, but I don't believe this is permitted, even in Enriching Our Worship.
- In the Sanctus, the word Hosanna is spelled “Hosannah”. I know of no published instance of this spelling. (The Spanish translation, I notice, uses the correct spelling.)
- This is (possibly) a minor point, but the line breaks and indentation of the Lord's Prayer in the BCP have not been preserved here.
- Another minor point: the capitalization of the word Celebrant in the rubric “The celebrant breaks the Bread in silence” is not consistent with the Prayer Book. It also conflates what are two separate rubrics in the BCP. (“The Celebrant breaks the consecrated Bread.” / “A period of silence is kept.”)
- The word Celebrant is lowercase throughout in this service. Its Spanish translation is sometimes capitalized, but mostly not. I find it again strange to deviate from the Prayer Book style, but the inconsistency is easily avoided.
- The Agnus Dei is hilariously misspelled “Angus Dei”.
- The word Post-Communion is not hyphenated in the Prayer Book.
- Again a (possibly) minor point, but the sense lines from the BCP are not preserved in the Postcommunion Prayer (the word, without hyphens, appears on page 408 and 409 of the BCP).
- In the closing hymn, some of the slurs are drawn improperly. They are slurs over the first stanza words “preach”, “go”, and “-newed”.
July 6 - Holy Eucharist Festival [sic?] - Rite II, Eucharistic Prayer B
- Am I the only one to find the title of this service peculiar? I have attended a “Festival Holy Eucharist,” and a “Festal Holy Eucharist,” but the words at the title of this service strike me as out of order.
- I will be interested to hear how the pagination of these services appear if hard copies are printed. It strikes me as unfortunate that the four-stanza opening hymn will involve seven page turns if the first page of the available PDF is the cover of the document. I am of the strong opinion that the congregation should not have to flip back a page to begin a successive stanza of a hymn.
- Furthermore, “King” is not correctly capitalized the first time it appears in the hymn. (It is, though, capitalized at the end of the first stanza.)
- It is interesting to note changes to John Rutter's setting of the Benedictus es, Domine. The words “Glory to you, Lord God of our fathers” now read “Glory to you, Lord God of creation”. This seems like a willy-nilly change to both a familiar piece of service music and an approved text of the Prayer Book. I posit that texts authorized by General Convention should not be altered at worship services for a meeting of this very body.
- In this same piece of music the word You is capitalized in error on the second line (“glory to You”).
- In this same piece of music, Name is not capitalized. This seems to me more of an error than a deliberate choice, but who knows at this point.
- A minor point (probably) but the end of this same piece of music does not have the requisite number of bars required by the descant. If the descant is not being sung this is probably a moot point. In any case, the descant is not printed here as it is in the Hymnal.
- This piece also suffers from poorly rendered slurs. The first instance being the two notes above “your”.
- At the salutation below the heading Collect of the Day, the word Pray is errantly capitalized (“Let us Pray.”)
- In the Sequence Hymn “Cantad al Señor” the hyphenation of Señor is incorrect throughout (should be “Se-ñor”).
- Every instance of the word Alleluia after the Gospel is misspelled. Each is missing an L.
- The Agnus Dei is spelled correctly in this service, but it is not in small caps like the rest of the section headings.
- I have to object to the truncating of the closing hymn, Hymn 518 in the Hymnal 1982, ”Christ is made the sure foundation”. It is not a long hymn, and the Hymnal gives no provision to omit the second stanzas as is done here. (In the hymnal, stanzas starred with an asterisk may be omitted without hindering the general meaning/narrative of the text.)
I will continue examining a few more of these services (possibly all of them) in the coming days. I at least have more to say about the use of a Rite I Eucharistic Prayer on July 11. But for now, I have just one final observation.
When hymns in these service leaflets come from published resources of the Episcopal Church, there is no indication of this. There are no hymn numbers for hymns from the Hymnal 1982 or hymnal supplements.
But let alone any reference to published resources, there is no attribution of authors or composers of sacred music. The copyright permissions will be available online, each leaflet tells us, but what of material in the public domain? Will Henry Francis Lyte be credited as the author to “Praise, my soul, the King of heaven”?
There is a way in which creative input, both of the musicians in the room and the composers and authors of the sacred music being sung at these services, seems deeply undervalued. To not print anyone's name – living or dead – in these leaflets is a mistake, I believe.
As a church musician, I hope that my contribution to the life of the Episcopal Church is valued. If I wrote music and saw it used at an occasion like this, only to find no reference to my name in the printed material, I would be very disappointed.
These are not anonymous contributions. All of this music, all of this poetry, was born out of the ongoing creation of our loving, liberating, life-giving God (to borrow a phrase). Let's properly acknowledge the contributions of church musicians and artists at all gatherings of the Episcopal Church, please, and especially at General Convention.
My mother is here for the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (PCUSA), and she showed me their printed worship orders. Even they can get this right in their worship services.
At a time when Prayer Book revision (and by extension Hymnal revision too) is at least up for discussion, all of this warrants some deeper reflection.
19 June, 12:30 p.m.: An astute reader points out that the Offertory Music listed for July 5 also likely contains an error. "¡Recesito Alleluia!" is probably meant to be "¡Resucito Alleluia!"
Labels: General Convention 2018, liturgy
The primary governing body of the Episcopal Church is the General Convention, which meets every three years.
The first meeting of General Convention was held in 1785 in Philadelphia. The second meeting of General Convention was held a year later, in 1786, also in Philadelphia (they hadn't quite worked out the every-three-years thing yet).
The list is pretty nifty, and it's on Wikipedia: List of General Conventions of the Episcopal Church
When Episcopalians from all over gather at one of these General Conventions, they not only pass legislation relating to our common prayer, but they also worship together.
So, I find myself thinking particularly about the worship history of General Convention specifically as it relates to worship.
Worship at recent General Conventions is a veritable smörgåsbord, with a little of this liturgy, a little of that rite, some of this music, and a whole lot of that...
It reflects the diversity of our liturgical rites, styles, and musical traditions.
But should it?
Because surely it has not always worked this way.
The key piece of legislation for the modern Episcopal liturgical era is here: Resolution 1979-A133. This is the resolution that authorized the present Book of Common Prayer. It was the second reading of this resolution. In order to change the prayer book of the Episcopal Church, the resolution must be passed at two successive General Conventions. It's a serious decision, so the founders of the church built in a three-year waiting period.
So, what does this mean for the worship at General Convention historically?
In broad strokes, it means this: Rite I was used exclusively for the first 60 General Conventions of the Episcopal Church.
I'm using the term "Rite I" to loosely refer to the rite which was continuously revised by the General Convention in American prayer books up through the 1928 Book of Common Prayer.
And I'm being slightly conservative here, I think.
Trial materials leading up to the 1979 Book of Common Prayer were only published in earnest in 1967 (the eucharistic rite) and 1970 Services for Trial Use (the "Green Book").
Is it possible that some of these trial liturgies were used in worship services at General Convention before then? I think it's possible, but I can't know for sure. The Episcopal Church has very thorough records of the legislative proceedings of the convention, but no records on the nature of the worship that has occurred.
This is an interesting thing to consider: the bishops and delegates at General Conventions past: how did they worship? who made the decisions about how they would worship? to what degree were trial liturgies used in the worship held at General Convention?
Among the many steps toward the 1979 Book of Common Prayer was a resolution at the 1964 convention right here in St. Louis:
The time seems ripe to many in the Church to undertake a revision of the Book of Common Prayer in this Church so that the language may be more easily understood of the people, and the forms of services more suitable to the present age; … …with a special view to making the language and the form of the services more relevant to the circumstances of the Church's present ministry and life.
Is it possible that by 1964 trial liturgies were being used at the plenary worship of the General Convention? Yes, but without accounts of the worship, or orders of service themselves, I have no way of knowing for sure.
But lets assume for a minute that 1964 is when it happened, that a new – let's call it "Rite II" – service was introduced as a form of worship for that body.
That means that for 60 General Conventions, from "I" Philadelphia to "LX" in Detroit, Rite I was used exclusively.
From then, only at the past 19 General Conventions (and I'm including the "Special" unnumbered convention held in Fort Wayne, Indiana in 1969), the worship has been more "Rite II".
In recent General Conventions, however, we have seen a move to represent nearly all of the possible modes of eucharistic liturgical expression – with the seeming exception of Rite I. Rite I was not used at the 2015 General Convention of the Episcopal Church in Salt Lake City
It was the sole liturgy of this Church from 1785 to 1976. It would have been the language of worship used at the first 60 General Conventions.
If those who design the liturgy of General Convention are so deadset on giving us (seemingly) all the liturgical options at one point or another, why is this option never given?
It seems to me that if you look at the two most frequently used liturgies in our church, they would be the 1) Holy Eucharist, Rite II (done as the principal service in most parishes), and 2) the Holy Eucharist, Rite I (done as the early service in most parishes).
The inclusion of Rite I was deliberate in our rather daring 1979 Book of Common Prayer. This volume binds the old together with the new, so that both may inform each other in our common life.
The quest to represent all the diverse interests and experiences in worship at any Episcopal Church gathering is a tall order, nowhere more so than at our ultimate ecclesiastical conclave. But surely it is a mistake not to include one of the most commonly experienced liturgies in our church.
To omit Rite I is disingenuous to the liturgical reality of the Episcopal Church – the very Church this body is gathered to govern. Furthermore, it disconnects General Convention from its own history, which is the history of this Church.
Many of us may be a modern people who need "a language more easily understood," but for many Episcopalians, the most understood language is in the form of Rite I.
How many Episcopalians were baptized, fed, and buried with the language of Rite I? To jettison this language at our triennial gathering proves that we are, in the words of G. K. Chesterton, "the small and arrogant oligarchy of those who merely happen to be walking about."
General Convention is a grand, representative democracy, but should it not also have a bit of the "democracy of the dead"?
So, let me say it loudly for those of you in the back: Bring back Rite I at General Convention!
And maybe a bit of Morning Prayer too.
Labels: General Convention 2018, liturgy
"We invite you to return to this site for the updated service bulletins by June 1, 2018."
That's how the website for worship at this summer's 2018 General Convention of the Episcopal Church in Austin, Texas reads after the draft versions were removed.
So, by this Friday, at the latest, according to the website, we should see the new versions of the service leaflets for the convention.
The first versions caused a stir, to say the least. There was, among other things, a "Silent Song of Praise"
Here are the first published versions which were subsequently removed from the General Convention website.
Labels: General Convention 2018, liturgy
For the first time, this blog has offered its traditional preview of the music list for the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols from King's College, Cambridge a full month before Christmas Eve.
Now, for the days leading up to the service, we'll take a more in-depth look at each piece of music to be sung.
We begin with the opening hymn. (This is a slightly revised version of an essay published here in 2015.)
There's a famous discussion that happened when Gustav Mahler came to visit Jean Sibelius. The two composers discussed the nature of the symphony itself. Mahler made the case for romanticism: for him, the symphony must be all-encompassing. It must be "the world". Sibelius, the modernist, disagreed. For him the symphony was about the "inner logic", the interconnection and interplay of ideas.
These two approaches need not be and, in fact, are not mutually exclusive. Mahler and Sibelius, if pressed, could probably find examples of their preferred creative worldview in each other's work.
The discussion these composers had is instructive in naming parts of the particular liturgy that is Lessons and Carols. Given the nature of the subjects of religion, one would expect the catholic (romantic) view of liturgy: it must be "the world". And yet, for liturgy to be Protestant (modernist) it must also provide an "inner logic".
“the Anglican Church's ongoing liturgical apotheosis is found in the service of Lessons and Carols”
And there is no greater flowering of the two streams of Catholicism and Protestantism than the Anglican Church.
And the Anglican Church's ongoing liturgical apotheosis is found in the service of Lessons and Carols (a service not found in the Book of Common Prayer!).
The Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols at King's College, Cambridge, England on Christmas Eve begins with the processional hymn "Once in royal David's city" sung to the hymn tune IRBY. This tune was written by Henry John Gauntlett, and his original harmonization can be found in Carols for Choirs 1 (Oxford Univ. Press).
Gauntlett claimed to have composed 10,000 hymn tunes, and this may explain the tune's success. Whether or not he composed precisely that high a number is irrelevant. What we see with the melody of IRBY is the steady hand of a master at work. One could imagine for this hymn tune a scenario similar to Beethoven's "Ode to Joy": draft after draft, revision after revision, until the melody that emerges is as perfectly crafted as the parameters of acoustic science will allow.
Of course when we talk about IRBY we must talk about its use, since 1919, as the opening hymn at the annual Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols. While Gauntlett was able to refine this tune with pen and ink, its modern performance practices have been forged from the particular alchemy of the stone of a gothic chapel, boys voices, and a small, significant red light from the BBC.
It is in the cool air of King's Chapel that the tune was first paired with its harmonization by Arthur Henry Mann. Mann, the Organist of King's College since 1876, had worked together with the Dean Eric Milner-White to direct the music at the very first service of Lessons and Carols at King's in 1918. The following year, the two settled on "Once in royal David's city" as the opening hymn, and it has remained the opening hymn of the service ever since.
Like Mann, attendees and listeners to this service first confront the tune itself, unadorned, and sung by a single treble voice. The red light comes on. The director nods. The chosen treble, who only moments before did not know for certain if he would be singing the solo verse, begins the story in the winter light of the chapel as millions around the world hold their breath to listen.
The tune begins on one note (the dominant, the fifth scale degree), rises a bit (to the leading tone), and then resolves just higher than that (to the tonic). The first two notes are readily heard as members of the Dominant (V) chord, especially in the ample acoustic of King's Chapel. In conventional harmony, the V chord always resolves itself to the Tonic (I), as it does here.
“these three notes succinctly resolve our waiting for the Incarnation to arrive”
The question must be asked -- and we at Sinden.org cannot readily find the answer -- when did the excellent custom of presenting this tune unharmonized and sung by a solo treble begin?
It is an understated elegance with which the tune unfolds. In the same way that it is St. John himself, later in the service, who "unfolds the mystery of the Incarnation", these three notes succinctly resolve our waiting for the Incarnation to arrive. Together, they are the unequivocal end of Advent.
From its arrival on the tonic, the rhythm picks up steam. The arrival is weighted so that the first tonic pitch lingers over the next beat, resulting in a succession of five eighth-notes and a melodic turn and cadential appoggiatura. The rhythm is repeated exactly in the consequent phrase.
It's the kind of thing that in a very sprightly tempo (and with the right kind of instrumentation) would make for a rather convincing country dance. In a slower tempo, as it must be sung, it becomes quite regal, as befits the word "royal" in the first line.
Mann's harmonization, found in Carols for Choirs 2 and most hymnals that carry the tune, is heard on the second stanza when the choir enters. It complements the shape of the tune's "unfolding". Harmonized not with a V chord, but with only scale degree three in the bass. This gives more than a hint of the tonic chord for a melody that is about to outline V, but the tonic chord is not heard in root position on a strong beat until the tail end of the consequent phrase. This is a sophisticated harmonization with narrative power.
After this, beginning at the third stanza, the organ and congregation join the festivities.
The words of the hymn work to tell this story beautifully. Cecil Frances Alexander was storyteller type of hymn-writer. See, for instance, her lyric opening "There is a green hill far away / without a city wall". You may also know her work from the hymn "All things bright and beautiful". Alexander had a particular fondness for the word "little", using it almost as much as the Book of Mormon uses the phrase "and it came to pass". But here, she seems to be at the height of her powers, giving the narrative a "rare clarity and dignity" (J. R. Watson, The English Hymn).
The notes tell a story just as much the words do. The opening pitches of the melody are well-matched to the words' "Once upon a time" aesthetic, but they also have the effect of a certain set of blue words on a black screen. This story is an epic tale that many are drawn to and love hearing year after year. This story is "the world", in Mahler's terminology, or at least a key part of it.
Taken together, the words and the tune of this opening hymn have set the stage for this service for over nine decades. Perhaps there is contained in the implied harmonies of opening melodic motive (V-I) the possibility of a kind of reverse liturgical Shenkarian analysis of the pattern of the whole service: longing and fulfillment; tension and release; sin and redemption.
Like the unexpected beginning to Beethoven's First Symphony (V7-I), in the pattern of lessons we hear a repeated V-I resolution, in different keys, and within a larger scheme.
- The First Lesson relates to the Ninth in this scheme. See below.
- In the Second Lesson we come in media res ("because thou hast done this thing") to the story of Abraham and Isaac. The cries of Isaac are not heard, but the promise of God is: "in blessing I will bless thee"
- Third Lesson: people walked in darkness and they have seen light.
- Fourth Lesson: a branch shall grow and peace will come.
- Fifth Lesson: a virgin is impregnated.
- Sixth Lesson: a pregnant woman gives birth.
- Seventh Lesson: shepherds are afraid of angelic visitors, but then they're excited and go "with haste" to Bethlehem
- Eighth Lesson: wise men seek the King of the Jews and find him (the sub-plot with Herod is not resolved in this service; that's what Epiphany is for!)
- Ninth Lesson: What began in the First Lesson as unresolved is ultimately wrapped up in the Ninth (like a good baseball game). In the First Lesson, Adam and Eve do a bad, bad thing, and they are punished for it, but their world has changed. They are separated from God.
And let's note that in a contemporary world where the concept of sin is mocked, and confession is increasingly ignored, it is helpful that this origin story is preserved in this liturgy at Christmas. Sin is properly understood as separation from God, and Christmas can change this. Through another famous hymn we sing, "cast out our sin and enter in". (See a rather beautiful essay on these things at Sed Angli "Confession and Grace")
The Ninth Lesson provides the massive crashing resolution of the entire thing, including that niggling part about the apple in the First Lesson ("to them gave he power to become the sons of God"). Christ is the Second Adam. Like the exuberant "Ode to Joy" in Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, the Ninth Lesson is the Incarnation as Easter story. A fitting resolution if there ever was one.
Make no mistake: "O come, all ye faithful" after the Ninth Lesson is sung in the same key as "Once in royal David's city" because there is an "inner logic" to this service.
Labels: Anglicanism, Arthur Henry Mann, Beethoven, Christmas, Eric Milner-White, John Gauntlett, King's College (Cambridge), Lessons and Carols, liturgy
Recently, I was listening to From All Points a podcast from Episcopal Cafe, specifically "Episode 8: The Prayer Book".
In this episode, the suggestion was made that we need a "pew edition" of the prayer book that takes out some of the lesser used elements. The service for the Ordination of a Bishop, it was suggested, would best be moved to The Book of Occasional Services since it is, quite literally, a very occasional service.
This did not sit well with me. But I couldn't really articulate why.
Luckily, I didn't have long to ruminate on it, because I've been reading Admirable Simplicity: Principles for Worship Planning in the Anglican Tradition by George Wayne Smith. Smith wrote this book in 1996 when he was an Episcopal priest. He was ordained a Bishop of the Diocese of Missouri in 2002.
As Smith so clearly articulates, the reason that we keep this service in the Book of Common Prayer has to do with the role of the prayer book in our belief as Anglicans (lex orandi lex credendi: "the law of prayer is the law of belief;" or, in the title of another book on Episcopal liturgy, "Praying Shapes Believing").
But for Anglicans the consensus achieved through common prayer does provide a center point not only for practice but for belief. Thus the Book of Common Prayer bears scrutiny for all aspects of Anglican believing. And so BCP 1979 includes, for example, the order for the ordination of a bishop, despite the fact that this service will be used about once every decade or two in a given diocese. It is even then a matter for diocesan worship, not parochial worship. But this infrequently used service tells us what Anglicans believe about bishops in a way no other resource can. The way faithful people worship when gathering as the church to ordain a bishop tells Anglicans what they believe about bishops on all occasions. And so any practical concerns about omitting a little-used service from the book in order to save on printing costs has to give way to the principle of lex orandi lex credendi.Smith, George Wayne. Admirable Simplicity: Principles for Worship Planning in the Anglican Tradition. Church Hymnal Corporation, 1996, p. 38.
Labels: Anglicanism, BCP, liturgy, ordination, Wayne Smith
As of today, you can listen to the first episode of a new podcast that I'm starting with the Rev. Ian Lasch. It's about liturgy and music from our particular Episcopal/Anglican perspective called All Things Rite & Musical.
Of course, we've given this fledgling podcast every possible advantage:
- a website: riteandmusical.org, where you can always listen to the latest episode (no fancy podcast know-how required!)
- a Facebook page: facebook.com/riteandmusical
- a Twitter account @riteandmusical
And if you want to subscribe to the podcast, you can do that
We hope you'll have a listen!
Labels: ATRM, church music, liturgy
Frankly, why shouldn’t Christianity look a little odd to a modern viewer? Our tradition insists that a God-Man rose from the dead. Constant ecclesiastical searching for ‘relevance’ can be highly damaging spiritually and institutionally.
"#MitreGate: And the End of Vestments". Pray Tell, 10 July 2017.
Keep an eye (ear?) on this new effort, which appears to be just beginning. In the two services posted so far, hymns are included, but choral music is not.
Recordings of some of our services are being made available via the Cathedral’s Soundcloud page. We hope this will enable those unable to join us in person to enjoy a little of the worship which is so much part of the rhythm of daily life in the Cathedral. It is hoped to soon expand the services we offer to include more of the wonderful choral work of the Cathedral Choir.
There are now quite a number of places in which one can hear regular choral services in the Anglican tradition.
- Choral Evensong from the BBC, a long-running weekly broadcast of choral evensong services from different locations around the UK and, on occasion, from other shores
- Canterbury Cathedral
- Hereford Cathedral
- King's College, Cambridge
- New College, Oxford, webcasts are a bit more sporadic
- St. John's College, Cambridge
- St. Thomas Church, New York City, regularly webcasting five services weekly
- Trinity College, Cambridge
Labels: Communion, Evensong, liturgy, webcasting
I have an unpopular opinion: the "community theatre" style reading of the Passion on Palm Sunday and Good Friday is an idea whose time is past.
Hey, remember the last time I had an unpopular opinion? Old 100th is really new again
And let's get something out of the way right now: the phony idea that reading the Passion narrative on Palm Sunday is a new innovation that came with the 1979 Book of Common Prayer. It's not. The Passion according to Matthew (xxvii. 1.) was printed for the "Sunday next before Easter" since the 1786 proposed Book of Common Prayer.
Only the name "Palm Sunday" is new, appearing in the 1928 book.
Reading the Passion on the Sunday before Easter follows the pattern set forth in the 1662 Book of Common Prayer. Follow the publication history further back and you find that in the 1549 Book of Common Prayer the previous chapter of Matthew was also read, which is very like the "full" lection of Matt. 26:14-27:66 given in the modern Revised Common Lectionary.
So when I hear complaint about reading the Passion on Palm Sunday, or see places that shift or eliminate it, I just have to shake my head. For Anglicans the Scripture and Tradition we have on this day should account for something. Shift the Passion out of the traditional location for the Gospel reading and you have placed undue focus on the triumphal entry; eliminate it and you have a very wobbly stool indeed.
The Passion is part and parcel of what Palm Sunday is about, and it is the day that we incorporate this rich narrative into our weekly cycle of Sunday celebrations.
Some clergy have told me that they remember the Passion being read on the Fifth Sunday in Lent and that Palm Sunday was reserved exclusively for the Palm Gospel.
I don't believe it.
If this was done anywhere there was certainly no provision for it in the Prayer Book, and furthermore, either this actual violation or the fabricated memory of it seems to come from a misunderstanding of "Passion Sunday" which is, let's face it, a problematic term.
It was the '70s, man. This custom was probably more influenced by Godspell than the Gospel.
Historically, it seems to have been used for the Fifth Sunday in Lent, which was the start of Passiontide. But Passiontide didn't really signify anything other than the time to veil the crosses (they were not veiled for the whole season of Lent as they are in many places today).
Nowadays, most places have never even heard of Passiontide (the only relic of it in the 1979 Prayer Book may be that second proper preface for Lent). Use the term "Passion Sunday" today and it will be assumed that you are referring to the official 1979 Prayer Book title for Palm Sunday: "The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday".
So if the custom of reading the Passion Gospel on Palm Sunday is not new, why did the 1979 Prayer Book provide the rather strange permission for it to be read by various and sundry persons?
It was the '70s, man. This custom was probably more influenced by Godspell than the Gospel.
But, I have to ask the question: is it really worth doing something with this Gospel that we do with no other Gospel?
The rubric, which appears both for Palm Sunday and Good Friday reads: "The Passion Gospel may be read or chanted by different persons. Specific roles may be assigned to different persons, the congregation taking the part of the crowd."
Are we really comfortable with the words of the Gospel being read liturgically by lay people on Palm Sunday? On Good Friday? On any day? Why? I'm not trying to make a slippery slope argument here, and neither is the Prayer Book. But why these days? Why any day?
From personal experience I can say I've never really been satisfied with a single rendition of the Passion that I've heard read in a dramatic fashion with a large cast. I'm referring to what I think is typically done in most places: separate parts for the narrator, Jesus, Pilate, various others, and the congregation taking the part of the crowd.
I know that many people find it meaningful to shout "Crucify him!" at the appropriate points. I suppose I did too when I was younger (we did this in my Presbyterian Church growing up). But now I just find it kind of … I don't know … gimmicky.
With a large cast (who, let's be honest, usually haven't rehearsed it all together and are just going through it for the first time in the service) there are the various hesitations, miscues, mispronunciations, questionable inflections, amplification problems, etc. The process of hearing the Gospel this way, at least from my perspective, diminishes the prominence of the words.
I'm not trying to single anyone out. This has been the practice in most of the Episcopal liturgies I have experienced. And, each time, for me, the result has fallen flat.
When we want the words to be heard, we shouldn't distract the focus of the congregation by getting them to wonder about who is reading them. As the Rev. Christopher Arnold put it on Twitter, "We're remembering, not reenacting. It's a fine line, but even [on] Palm Sunday we're celebrating the resurrection."
I cannot conclude this meandering essay without mentioning that for the five years I served at St. Paul's, Richmond the Gospel was sung in choral settings on Palm Sunday. This was a deeply embedded and dearly held custom at this parish, and it was one that the Choir took with great seriousness. The hymn before the Passion always took on extra significance as the Choir would form up for procession to the Chancel steps from which the Gospel would be proclaimed.
And while I don't want to advocate for choral settings of the Passion in every place, I do want to point out that the custom of singing the Gospel is an ancient one. Before any choral settings were composed there was the tradition of the Gospel being chanted by three deacons: one taking the role of the Chronista (narrator), Christus (Jesus), and Synongaga (everyone else). So, yes, even in the ancient church there was a special dispensation made for the proclamation this story -- but please note, the chanters were ordained ministers of the Gospel.
And I would suggest that this glimpse backward might provides a way forward. In churches with multiple clergy, perhaps the three traditional roles can be assumed by deacons and/or priests. If the clergy are insufficient in number for this, why not employ laypeople to assist? But under this scheme maybe the Narrator should be a clergyperson. I don't know. I'm just thinking out loud.
Out of curiosity I tuned in to Trinity, Wall Street yesterday to see what their Palm Sunday service was like. Trinity is no stranger to creative approaches to liturgy. In recent years the Trinity Choir had devised an interesting approach to improvising chants for the Passion narrative. I also seem to recall another year with the reading of the Gospel being divided with stanzas of the hymn "Ah, holy Jesus," which I found an effective approach to the "problem" of length.
But this year, to my surprise, the Gospel was read from the midst of the church by a priest.
Just like it was the week before – just like it will be on Easter.
Tune in next time when we talk about how fun it is to say the Acts reading for Pentecost in different languages simultaneously!
I got dibs on Klingon!
Labels: Good Friday, Holy Week, liturgy, Palm Sunday, Passion, RCL, Trinity (New York)
I am delighted to invite you to a new offering at St. Peter’s, St. Louis this year. As part of our Evensong series on the second Sunday of every month, the St. Peter’s Singers will lead A Meditation on the Passion of Christ on Palm Sunday, April 9 at 5:30 p.m.
What is this service? It is a compelling synthesis of ancient and modern. And, like Evensong, I hope that it can be a space for real contemplation and prayer, especially at the start of the holiest week of the liturgical year.
A couple weeks ago St. Louisans had the good fortune to be able to hear a performance of The Gospel According to the Other Mary by American composer John Adams, which is a rare modern setting of the Passion. In the program notes Paul Schiavo notes “because its inherent pain was at odds with Western culture’s increasingly determined pursuit of happiness, the Passion story lost popular standing among Christian chronicles to the more comforting Nativity tale during the 19th century and beyond.”
One of the benefits of this cultural affinity toward the Christmas story has been renewed attention to the musical form of the carol, largely music with a focus on the Nativity, but not exclusively. The popularity of carols was so great that it prompted the editors of the 1928 Oxford Book of Carols to call upon churches to hold “carol services” not only at Christmas time, but also Advent, Epiphany, Eastertide, and – why not? – Lent too! Indeed, within the Oxford Book of Carols a number of pieces of music marked for Lent and Holy Week can be found.
This impulse to use the carol to draw Christians deeper into their faith arose at an academic community where there was no liturgical observance of Holy Week. This place is St. John’s College, Cambridge (which also served as the source of the liturgy for our Advent Carol Service). The students of Cambridge University are not present during Holy Week, so a service was designed for the St. John’s College community to reflect on the mysteries of this key part of the Christian story beforehand. The service was designed in 1985 by the Dean of Chapel, the Rev. Andrew Macintosh, and the Organist, George Guest.
The original name of this service was “A Meditation on the Passion of Christ, with Carols,” though it should be noted that at St. John’s, and many other places where this service is offered, the designation “with Carols” has been dropped, and now many different types of music are used.
Read more on the on the St. Peter's, St. Louis website: Carols and the Passion: Drawing on Many Traditions for a Modern Meditation
Labels: Guest, Holy Week, Lent, Lessons and Carols, liturgy, Palm Sunday, St John's (Cambridge)
Was reminded of this poem in reading "Bringing back the ’Gesimas: A liturgical proposal" by Mark Michael at the Living Church's Covenant blog, an article we commend to you.
Labels: Gesimas, John Betjeman, liturgy, poetry
I'll never forget the first time I sang the hymn tune SAN ROCCO. It was at a Choral Evensong sung by the choir of Hereford Cathedral in October 2002 at Trinity Episcopal Cathedral in Cleveland, Ohio.
I believe that this service was just one of the regular Wednesday Evensongs still offered regularly at Trinity, Cleveland, which, while a bit smaller, bears a striking resemblance to Hereford.
I can't remember how full the building was, but I would wager it was a bit fuller than they typically get on a Wednesday night. On the other hand, it certainly wasn't full or even close to it, which was a real shame because this service was something.
At least, it was to me.
Trinity Cathedral
Cleveland, Ohio
At the time I was a junior in college and just a few weeks earlier had begun working in an Episcopal church. I was excited about going to this Evensong but I didn't really know what to expect. Had I even ever been to an Evensong at that point in my life? Probably not.
But I'd picked up a Prayer Book and, having done a bit of homework, I sort of knew what it was about.
This was also the first time that I had heard an English cathedral choir in person. I remember being surprised that at least one boy seemed to have forgotten his white surplice back in England. He was easy to spot in the procession because he came down the aisle in only his blue cassock (the cathedral in Hereford is officially "Cathedral Church of St. Mary the Virgin and St. Ethelbert the King"; churches named after the Blessed Virgin Mary typically wear blue, I would learn later). How embarrassing for him, I thought. Then I saw another chorister dressed the same way. And then another. And I remember thinking that this must mean something too, but what?
I was on the edge of my seat because everything was new that night. There was the newness of the Prayer Book, this American document that prescribed liturgy in the Episcopal Church, but was a direct descendent of a book of the same name from England. It was this English book that the Hereford Choir would know, so a close observation of the service might tell me more about the worship tradition in which I was now engaged.
I vaguely remember checking the lectionary in the back of the book to see if they had chosen the right lessons. I still do this today when I get distracted (though now only with the daily lectionary).
It was all so much to take in, and it was all so grand. And the singing was fabulous. The Psalm was beautifully chanted. The liturgy was seamlessly conducted and very dignified.
But the thing I remember the most clearly was the final hymn.
It was SAN ROCCO, and it was glorious.
Trinity, Cleveland is a bit unusual in that there is not a big organ up front the way you would expect to be. Rather, there is a great big Flentrop in the back. It's more the kind of organ that Bach would have known and less the kind of organ you expect to find as the main instrument in a large Episcopal church.
Flentrop was big presence in northeastern Ohio in the second half of the last century. A small Flentrop was installed in Christ Church, Oberlin in 1964. A three-manual Flentrop was installed in Warner Concert Hall in the Oberlin College Conservatory of Music just a short ways away in 1974. Trinity, Cleveland put in a similar instrument in 1977. (They also have a 14-stop Choir Organ that was installed in 1976).
If you enter from the liturgical West doors at Trinity, Cleveland, you walk under the lofted organ to enter the nave. In plain view is a tall metal spiral staircase that one must ascend to reach the organ.
And so it was at the end of this Evensong that whosever it was who had climbed the stairs and was accompanying the service cracked open the Hymnal 1982 and launched in with the introduction to SAN ROCCO. And – here I rely on my more than a dozen-year-old memory of this event, but I believe it to be credible – the introduction to this hymn was in D-flat.
The reason I feel somewhat confident in this assessment is for two reasons: 1) I was working on my pitch identification with great intensity back then. I would keep track of key areas and such whenever I attended a concert or recital (and would often notate them in my program to keep myself honest); and 2) it sounded a ever so slightly funky in the temperament on that Flentrop, which leads me to believe that it wasn't C Major.
If all this is correct it means that the experience I remember so vividly involved hymn 253: "Give us the wings of faith to rise", the words of Isaac Watts, and a splendid modern hymn tune by Derek Williams.
Earlier on this blog: A few years after I attended this service the words of this same hymn were included in fallenness - flatness as.
I was swept up in the drama of the music, and they paired so well with the words we were singing (the more I think of it, I'm sure it had to be Hymn 253. The tune pairs well with Brian Wren's "When Christ was lifted", but it's just not the same!).
And part and parcel of the drama that I was experiencing was this viscerally propulsive two-bar interlude that comes out of one stanza and leads seamlessly back into the next.
Embellishing the space around the break in the stanzas is a modern hymn tune trope that began with the pedal thumpery of Stanford's ENGELBERG. It's a quest to eliminate the amorphous pause between stanzas (the organist's perpetual necessity and dilemma) and offer a musical unification of the poetry that is (mostly) whole.
As an aside, it's the kind of linkage we so sorely need between the last two stanzas of Frank Mason North's long-lived Social Gospel hymn "Where cross the crowded ways of life" by Frank Mason North.
O Master, from the mountain side, make haste to heal these hearts of pain; among these restless throngs abide, O tread the city's streets again; Till all the world shall learn thy love, and follow where thy feet have trod; till glorious from thy heaven above, shall come the city of our God.
It's perhaps the most final sounding semi-colon in all of hymnody, and without one of these "revolving door" tunes, how can it be otherwise? Maybe someone will give us a Long Meter equivalent of SAN ROCCO. Maybe someone already has!
But, in the mean time, we still have SAN ROCCO, the "richly textured, thoroughly modern tune". Its sweeping ascents and its and audacious range. It defies gravity a bit, this tune.
And maybe that's what that interlude is about. It's so bold, the hymn tune, that it needs something else a bit more weighty to bind it to earth before it goes soaring through the air once again like an exuberant albatross. It's touching base, perhaps.
I'm talking here of the two-bar "Optional Interlude Between Stanzas" in the Hymnal 1982. You can hear it employed on the very find recording The English Hymn, Vol. 1 - Christ Triumphant recorded by the Wells Cathedral Choir under Malcolm Archer.
I have to say, I've learned that the Hymnal 1982 can slightly sanitize some of the more pioneering elements in modern hymnody, and I wonder if the word "optional" might be an American editorial insertion. At any rate, I'd be curious to see the original publication of the tune and figure out if the composer really considered it "optional" at all.
Because for me personally, this interlude is part of the whole experience.
And when I start this hymn up this morning for All Saints' Sunday I'll be transported back, once again to that Evensong – back to a chilly October evening in Cleveland.
It will take me back to that soaring gothic nave and the stained glass. It will take me back to the sounds of that Flentrop organ and the airy lightness of the Hereford Choir. It will take me back to the sense that I had stepped into a tradition that was much older than I was -- a tradition that I was eager to absorb, study, and be a part of.
But not a stodgy immovable tradition that never innovates. It's the kind of living tradition that would attempt the breadth of Anglican music but with a Flentrop organ, not an Aeolian Skinner. It's the kind of tradition that would allow for an Optional Interlude Between Stanzas.
About a year and a half after my first visit to Trinity, Cleveland I returned to that same cathedral on a May morning to be confirmed into the Episcopal church.
And though it wasn't included in the festive Eucharistic liturgy again that day, the words and the inspiration I drew from that hymn at Evensong were with me. It had kindled in me a zeal. This hymn had started me on a path and led me back again, to seek Confirmation and a committed life in the Episcopal expression of the Christian faith.
In a very real way, SAN ROCCO changed my life.
Give us the wings of faith to rise within the veil, and see the saints above, how great their joys, how bright their glories be. We ask them whence their victory came: they, with united breath, ascribe their conquest to the Lamb, their triumph to his death. They marked the footsteps that he trod, his zeal inspired their quest; and following their incarnate God, they reached the promised rest. Our glorious Leader claims our praise for his own pattern given; while the long cloud of witnesses show the same path to heaven.
Labels: All Saints' Day, BCP, Derek Williams, Evensong, Flentrop, Frank Mason North, Hereford, Hymn 253, Hymn 603/4, Hymn 609, hymns, Isaac Watts, liturgy, Malcolm Archer, San Rocco, Trinity Cathedral (Cleveland)
Good thoughts on Communion Hymns from Kyle Babin and the Center for Liturgy and Music:
At the end of the day, though, what liturgical purpose and theological statement do communion hymns provide? Are they viewed merely as “filler” while people receive communion? If so, that rationale hardly seems justifiable. Why not have silence during communion? It is not theologically defensible to consider liturgical music as “wallpaper.”
Read the whole thing here: To Sing or Not Sing Communion Hymns
Cathedrals have been in the news lately.
In particular I'm thinking of
- A video from Indianapolis
- News of surging attendance in England
- A final Evensong in Hawaii
Episcopal Cathedrals are hard places. I know. I used to work at one (full disclosure: it was Indy). And I used to work at a place that occasionally functioned as one in a diocese without a cathedral church.
There tends to be a lot going on all the time, and the pressure to be the liturgical and religious "standard-bearer" for the diocese, the city, and the region can be immense.
Why? Because cathedrals find themselves at the center of things by design.
The cathedral simply houses the official seat of the bishop. The name of the place comes from the bishop's ceremonial chair, the "cathedra". And even if the bishop is rarely there (maybe only at Christmas, Easter, ordinations, confirmation) this gives the church the name and status of "Cathedral" 365 days a year.
There is wide variability in the way cathedrals are governed on both side of the Atlantic. In the UK, even despite an effort toward standardization in 1999, there are still differences in how the cathedrals operate, particularly in regard to who appoints the Dean (the Crown, the Bishop, trustees, drawing lots, throwing stones, etc.; it's a real gordian knot that I saw here: tl;dr)
In the US things are generally a bit more consistent even if they're not any clearer. Cathedrals are generally parish churches that have special status. In many cases, they started life as a parish church, like Christ Church, Indianapolis did before it became the cathedral on October 10, 1954.
There are a few US cathedrals that operate as "true" cathedrals, not parish churches. I think the one in Boston is one because they must not report their parish statistics? (Good luck finding their chart with the Studying Your Congregation and Community tool on the Episcopal Church website).
Recently, the staff of Christ Church, Indy compiled some of their stories on race and racism into a short, well-produced video. It has been viewed over 13,000 on Facebook in the past week.
Of course the Cathedral's rich liturgical life continues, and it is exciting to be able to see and hear recordings of so much of the Cathedral's music in recent days. I've been delighted to catch a couple live videos on Facebook of the weekly Thursday evensong service. You can find them to watch again on the cathedral Facebook page.
Speaking of a rich liturgical life, this has proved very good news in England.
...This analysis finds support in the C of E’s own ‘growth research’ programme, which stresses the cathedral as a place for ‘peace, contemplation, worship, music and a friendly atmosphere’. Significantly, it is midweek evensong that has boomed, not Sunday matins or mass, with attendances doubling in a decade. These visitors are untroubled by Philip Larkin’s church as ‘a shape less recognisable each week/ A purpose more obscure’. They come for the music.Jenkins, Simon. "Why cathedrals are soaring". The Spectator, 8 October 2016. Emphasis added.
This is pretty remarkable to hear. Cathedral churches, which are the churches most likely to have the capability to offer a service of Evensong mid-week (not just on Sunday, mind you!), are seeing a major uptick in the numbers at these services.
The videos of recent Evensong from services at Christ Church, Indy have been viewed a little over 1,000 times as of this writing. That's exciting to see, but I bet the service attendance was a lot lower. When I was the assistant organist for these services back in the late aughts, it wasn't uncommon to look out into the nave on a frigid Hoosier winter evening and see an attendance in the single digits for Evensong.
And yet like the sanctuary lamp that remains lit, the Church's worship and song continue day in and day out. As the old hymn puts it, "the voice of prayer is never silent / nor dies the strain of prayer away".
So I for one am glad to see this news from England, and the large interest in the service videos from Indianapolis because it affirms what I and many others believe about what the Episcopal Church should be doing. The Rev. Broderick Greer put it this way:
People are hungry for sacraments and historic liturgy. This is the Episcopal Church's moment. Either we'll seize it or stay on the sidelines
— Broderick Ghoul 👻 (@BroderickGreer) November 6, 2013
Put another way: do we have the courage to truly be the church we are?
We've pondered the question of the "power of particularity" previously. See Brooks, David - on why Anglican church music helps form our identity
A final sad note: The Cathedral in Hawaii has apparently offered its last regular Choral Evensong for the foreseeable future. More on that development here: Three little words (those words are "A new direction", the headline about the situation in the local paper). And a recap of John Renke's last service, including a full audio recording, here: A beautiful farewell.
I've never been to Hawaii, but this strikes me as an especially profound liturgical and cultural loss for this place. It's not as if one can just pick up and head to another cathedral easily. By my reckoning, the nearest cathedral is in San Diego, California, 2,521 miles away.
Cathedrals will always be chaotic, busy places. There will always be a lot (maybe too much!) going on there, but this is sort of how I hope things would be at the intersection of the city and the diocese.
And I for one certainly hope that daily prayer, including Evensong, will be one of those things that will be going on.
I hope you will join me in my prayer that our cathedrals will be places that seek the truth and worship God in the beauty of holiness.
That cathedrals will strive to feed those who are hungry for the sacraments and historic liturgy. And those who are just plain hungry.
That cathedrals, of all places, will be held up on the three pillars of scripture, tradition, and reason.
Labels: cathedrals, Christ Church Cathedral (Indianapolis), Evensong, liturgy, St. Andrew's Cathedral (Honolulu)
I have been taking my toddler to Evensong.
He's a good sport about it. Mostly.
The very first Evensong we attended together must have been at St. James's Episcopal Church in Richmond, Virginia. It was a full house that day, and I had to carry him through the gallery in his infant carseat. It was crowded. People made room. I was the weird dad who was bringing his baby to Evensong. He could only have been three months old, tops.
He had heard me sing before. Heck, I did it the day he was born. But that was the first time he heard me sing in a room full of other people singing.
His whole face lit up.
I could read the joyful relief on his face. It was like, "hey, dad's not crazy! He's just doing this thing that other people do!"
“There's probably not any childcare because, I mean, come on, who brings a baby to Evensong?”
It was a pretty great first outing.
Other services were not so glamorous, or well-attended. And often on these occasions he was more unruly. He was noticeably unimpressed with my singing and would sometimes sabotage my efforts to manage a hymnal.
But that's okay with me, though. It's easy just to sit in the back, close to the door. Sometimes we need to wander out into the narthex or portico during the Nunc dimittis. It's alright. The ushers understand, and sometimes they'll even grab the door for us. (After a short break we have always been able to sneak back in.)
I mean it's not like Sunday morning where someone is going to very helpfully let you know about the nursery (sometimes with transparent motives). It's Evensong. There's probably not any childcare because, I mean, come on, who brings a baby to Evensong?
As it turns out, we've actually been doing this fairly regularly for a couple years at this point.
So I was pretty excited when I asked him if he wanted to go to Evensong this past weekend, and he said the word back to me in response:
"Evensong!" He likes the word. He was proud to say it. He knows what it's about.
I don't know about you, but it's pretty easy to get to Evensong where we live. Here in St. Louis if it's the first or third Sunday of the month we can head over to the Church of St. Michael & St. George. If it's the fourth Sunday of the month we can go the Cathedral downtown. And this has the added excitement of seeing the Gateway Arch through the front windshield now that his carseat faces forward. ("Arch!" I hear from the back, the first time it slides into view.) Other parishes in town have Evensong services on occasion, and we try to take those in too. And, heck, he can even come to my place (but his mom has to sit with him) if it happens to be the second Sunday of the month.
Christ Church Cathedral,
St. Louis, Mo.
And I thought this was all just in good fun until this last time. But something changed for us. It became real.
I should have known something was different when he said "Evensong." He has more and more to say these days, and it was exciting to hear him say this word.
But there we were in the service, and we got to the prayers. And that's when it happened.
This little person next to me started singing the Lord's Prayer. All the words, and with his very best preschool elocution. And a big Amen. And I think even an extra Amen. (Or two!)
Now, mind you, we say the Lord's Prayer at home. Or, more accurately, I say it while he listens. But it's part of the bedtime routine, just like brushing teeth, and you can't really be sure how much of that is sinking in. But we say it at home; we don't sing it. And it never really occurred to me that this little person on the kneeler to my right would remember all these words so clearly in a gothic cathedral downtown, recognize what was going on, and spontaneously join in on a monotone with the rest of the congregation.
“God's very being draws praise from our lips”
There's a phrase I use a lot, and I am quite sure that I stole it from someone, but I can't remember who. And Google is no help here at all. So maybe I made it up, but I don't think so.
And that phrase is this: "God's very being draws praise from our lips".
I really believe that.
After all, what is it that causes people everywhere, from the countryside to the big city, to get up early in the morning, gather again in the afternoon, and even late in the evening in some places to sing praise to God?
If the morning church service still bears the cultural residue of institutionalized/secular religion – a service of "duty" if you will – Evensong has long enjoyed freedom from this – a service of "delight".
At Evensong there is no Baptism or Communion. In most places there's no sermon either. The liturgy and the music are the order of the day. They stand alone, without "ulterior motive". They are their own sacrament, in a way.
This is an incredible place – physical, temporal, spiritual – in which to be. Evensong is a real gift to our harried age.
And so I hope that if you see us or your friendly neighborhood toddler mishandling a prayer book at Evensong you will remember that "Christ doth call / one and all", even the tiny and small.
And if you love Evensong maybe you'll be inspired to invite a young (or any-age) person to go with you (there are often snacks afterward). Or maybe you'll simply consider going yourself if you haven't already made a habit of it.
Obviously I don't know if my son will still find Evensong interesting next week, let alone next year. I sort of hope he does as he grows older, but mostly I hope that he finds something like this that he genuinely loves and that feeds his spirit.
Here is what I do know.
I know that I have really valued these times I have spent in worship with him in the late afternoon. For us, the primary reason is one of logistics: since I am a professional church musician, we don't have the opportunity to share the same pew on Sunday mornings very often.
And I know that, yes, God's very being draws praise from our lips, but it certainly helps if someone will teach us some words.
Maybe some music, too.
Labels: Christ Church Cathedral (St Louis), Evensong, liturgy, prayer, St Michael & St George (St Louis), St Peter's (St Louis), St. James's (Richmond), St. Louis
Something about the Very Rev. Neal Michell's easy dismissal of traditional sacred music in "A call to common prayer" is troubling, especially when held in tension with his points about a common rite. Music, I think, cannot be fully separated from the rite.
- If "we a church under authority", who holds authority over the music. (Answer: rectors and deans. Question: what is the scope of their musical training? Does it compare to the rest of their liturgical training and practicum?)
- "We are a church of common prayer." Yes we are. And is not service music and hymn singing a part of that common prayer? Are we singing the same corpus of hymns (i.e., are we using the Hymnal 1982?). Are we disproportionately using hymnal supplements? Are we singing the real Gloria and not just a reader's digest version?
- "Using non-authorized rites is a bad idea" because "doing so exhibits an individualism that is antithetical to a church aiming to be catholic." Okay. So how is using "non-authorized" music any different?
Music, of course, should not be uniform, but neither should liturgy. Context is important.
I'm being naïve, surely. And yet I wonder if there isn't a double standard here.
My expereince leads me to believe there are probably just as many (if not more?) violations against "common music" than there are against "common prayer".
Labels: BCP, church music, liturgy
Notes on a page are not music. Neither is the sound produced by an instrument, and neither are the motions of a conductor. Music is something more, something beyond symbols on a page, instruments, and performers. Likewise, liturgical prayer is not simply the words we say, nor the posture we adopt: neither gesture, nor vesture, nor our attitude, nor the result we desire. Liturgical prayer is something more than all these — encompassing them, but beyond them.Sawicky, Blake. "The liturgy, the crucible of love". Covenant (The Living Church) 8 April 2016
Labels: Blake Sawicky, liturgy
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