This post begins a series of posts explaining what those qualities are and discussing why it is that this music should resonate in a particular way with people who could be described as theologically liberal, liturgically progressive, or heterodox in their beliefs.

Before that, it is important that I put a few things into context. Some of the comments and reactions I’ve recieved on previous articles about these subjects make me think that not everyone understands where I’m coming from or what it is I’m actually trying to say.

So, to begin with, here are few things to keep in mind…

• I consider myself a theological liberal, in most cases. However, even inasmuch as I think my beliefs are correct/right, I don’t think liberality or progressivism (or any other particular worldview) is the only legitimate one within the Church.
• Much like my friend Jeffrey Tucker, my strong belief is that sacred music is (or should be) essentially apolitical. That is- how you feel about something like women’s ordination (just for example) SHOULD have nothing to do with whether you think Gregorian Chant is proper to the Roman Rite, or that traditional forms of sacred music are better suited to public liturgy than are pop or folk based genres.
• HOWEVER, the unfortunate truth is that, generally speaking, the champions of truly sacred music tend to be conservative. This is clearly not true in every case, and it would be wrong to assume the world of Catholic music is filled with only two groups of people- liberal folkies on one side signing petitions in favor of gay marriage while they listen to their David Haas CDs , and on the other side traditionalist conservatives streaming Palestrina on Pandora while they make angry comments on Fr. Z’s blog. Obviously, the reality is that there are many of us who find ourselves either in the middle of that spectrum, or off the narrow chart completely. But we know that many, maybe even most, of the people who would self-identify as liberal or progressive; the peace-and-justice, power-to-the-laity, why-aren’t-we-ordaining-women, get-rid-of-that-gaudy-gold-chalice kinda people; the people who talk about singing a new church into being… those people are not generally into Gregorian Chant, except perhaps as occaisional “mood music.”
• I do not believe that the liturgy is the place to pursue agendas or hash out theological or ecclesiological disagreements. However- what I’m attempting to say in this article is that those agendas which could be called “liberal” are better served by traditional sacred music than they are by the music usually associated with them (folk music, faux-ethnic, pop/rock). It is my personal opinion that this point is NOT the primary reason one should do traditional sacred music. But it is still a worthwhile line of thought to pursue, for intellectual interest if nothing else. Also, if it helps convince even one of my fellow folkies to move toward a more traditional approach to liturgical programming- all the better.
• None of this should worry or be considered an attack against my more conservative brothers and sisters. This article is not about how liberals are right. It is about how Gregorian Chant is right.

Well, that was a lot of preamble. No doubt some of my readers will still go out of their way to misunderstand me, but that’s going to have to be their problem, not mine.

And now, some content-related preamble:

As I started to write, I realized this was too much for a single post. So it is becoming a series (please, subscribe for updates so that you can stay involved with the conversation). It’s a little unbalanced to do so, but part 1 of the series begins with this post, starting exactly… right… now.

Not in the dark of buildings confining, not in some heaven light years away

I grew up in a liberal, folk-Mass-singing kinda church. Like most kids, I wasn’t really aware that there were alternatives to the “style” of religiosity we practiced. But eventually, I began to learn that there were (more or less, for purposes of this example) two kinds of Christians. We, the super-cool liberals, believed in “building up the Kingdom here on Earth.” This was in opposition to the conservative view that was something more like “waiting for the reward of Heaven after death.” The obvious group in that second camp was the fundamentalist mega-church down the street, but it was also evident in the more boring, more conservative, more traditionalist (it seemed) Catholic parish in the next town over. We sang vibrant songs about Social Justice, and Change, and Helping the Poor. And we also actively participated in working on those causes. I continue to be amazed by my home-parish’s efforts in community work: they run a soup kitchen and a free clinic, provide shower facilities, help people pay bills and stock their pantries, advocate and demonstrate on behalf of the poor, protest at executions, visit prisons and hospitals, and bring the sacraments- from Baptism through to Last Rites- to as many people as they possibly can. That’s what I was taught it meant to be a Christian, and (it seemed to me growing up, and still today) that this particular vision of Christianity was, well… liberal. That is not at all to dismiss either the piety or ministry of those who call themselves conservatives. It is just that these things were, and continue to be, the focus of the post-concilliar understanding of Catholic life. We were taught that eternal life is not something we wait for in the next life, but something that starts now, in this life. We were taught that this, indeed, is what is meant by “on Earth as it is in Heaven.”

And, of course, as liberal Catholics, we weren’t quite content to simply mumble through the Liturgy like those boring, organ-playing, slow-hymn-singing conservatives over at Our Lady of Perpetual Ennui. We lavished the liturgy, and its participants, with what we thought was beautiful and meaningful. Our Easter Vigil fire was a huge bonfire, lighting up the night. Baptisms were an abundant drenching of blessed water. Annointings at confirmation were not a slight daub on the brow, but a generous outpouring of Chrism Oil on the head (and shoulders and face and chest) of those who were being sealed with the most-generous gift of the Holy Spirit.

I realize that there is no accounting for taste, and that beauty is a fairly subjective topic. However, I believe that Gregorian Chant is the among the most beautiful music in the world. There is certainly music that is more fun, music that may be more joyous, or has some other quality that is to be preferred or desired. But, having experienced almost every style of music in the world- from reconstructed Greek theatre choruses to Gamelan gong cycles, from steel drum bands to Indian ragas, from Beethoven to Lana Del Rey- I have found that there is no music as beautiful as Gregorian Chant, and that its closest rivals are also its closest companions: renaissance polyphony, Orthodox chant, Anglican choral music. Anyone has a right to disagree with me on this point, of course, but I would challenge those who do to spend a few days singing Gregorian chant, not just listening to it on CDs. It may never become your favorite music, but it is unlikely you will be oblivious to its beauty.

If, then, we are concerned with the business of building up the Kingdom of God on Earth, why would we not include this music of such deep beauty in our Earthly life and work? Following in the footsteps of Jesus, we do our best to lavish love on the world- on the poor, the downtrodden, the displaced. We pour out our energy, our time, and our money to provide food and shelter and comfort to those who are unable to provide it to themselves. And rightly so, for this is our call as Christians- to do for “the least of these,” the things we would do for Christ Himself. We are also right to understand that all of us are “the least of these,” and to act accordingly in love and service to each other within our communities. Because we know that we “do not live on bread alone,” we use the liturgy (as, I think, it was intended) as an opportunity to show God’s great love for us, and we do that by showing our great love for God and for each other- in the care we take with our furnishings, the richness of the bread, the sweetness of the wine, the generosity of our annointing, the prodigous torrent of baptism, the brightness of our flames, the sensuality of our incense.

Radical communities of love, like the one I grew up in, are in a constant process of growth and improvement- we know that we can never love as we ought. We have to learn how to love each other, we have to learn how to raise our children to love better then we do. We know that change is hard, that it involves sacrifice and pain- which we also know is a part of love. Therefore, I am continually heartened to know that a small, but growing, number of communities are adding such an important dimension to the love they show God and each other. Namely, singing the great love songs of the Church, to the Glory of God, and the comfort of God’s people.

The poor, the broken, the sick in body and soul need us; that it to say, we need each other. We are both nurses and patients in this Hospital of Sinners. Medical care? Yes. Advocacy? Yes. Financial assistance? Yes. Again and again, yes- the need is great and ever growing. But these people – us people – need also the comfort and peace of the ancient, beautiful songs. Do we also need rousing gospel tunes and inspiring praise choruses? Probably so- and I certainly wouldn’t suggest otherwise. But Gregorian Chant is one of the best gifts the Church has to offer, a “treasure of inestimable value.” It is exceedingly beautiful, it exudes peace, it announces and creates the Kingdom.

Let us pour out this gift, liberally and generously, on all who walk through our doors. Let us train well our tongues, so that we may sing to the weary a word that will rouse them. Let us not be frugal or conservative about how much art, how much beauty, we provide to the poor in spirit, the prisoners of sin, the sick of soul. Let us sing ecstatic love songs to the widows, to the orphans, and to God. Let us sing and sing and sing until we drown out the ugliness and despair of the music of this age. Let us sing until the music of the angels is heard loud and clear everywhere on Earth, just as it is in Heaven.

Amen?

This post is part of a series on Gregorian Chant for Radicals. Please subscribe to this blog to stay involved as this series develops.

But a recent story at the Friends of Jake Blog (regarding a homophobic presentation at a Catholic High School in Minneapolis), reminded me of the strained relationship between liberals and conservatives (however they define themselves) within Christianity generally, and the Catholic Church specifically. Moreover, I continue to be troubled by the fact that the apparent resurgence of traditional liturgy and music is tied (in both real and imagined ways) to an increase in political and theological conservatism.

In short, I think the glories of traditional music, much like the glories of Christ Himself, are being co-opted by political and theological conservatism; I also think that the liberal establishment (not all liberals- just the establishment ones) are letting them do this, pretty much without a fight.

This is wrong.

The sacred music of our heritage – Gregorian Chant and Polyphony (and, I might include, Anglican choral music and traditional hymnody) – this music belongs to ALL OF US. It is “a treasure of inestimable value,” and allowing it to become the possession of a single sub-group (Conservatives) denigrates both the music itself as well as any other groups (non-conservatives) who are, apparently, not Catholic enough to sing the most Catholic of all music.

In the name of activism or active participation, liberals and progressive-minded types have spent the last forty (or more) years fighting against a culture of elitist liturgical practice, “reclaiming” the Liturgy from the hierarchs, the clerics, and the general fuddy-duddies.

But what has been reclaimed by the liberals? Not the liturgy itself, but only the time-period on Sunday mornings when the liturgy is going on. The hour (mas o menos) has, in large part, been taken over by progressives. Even in parishes teeming with conservatism, the use of mainstream Catholic hymnals means that 4 or more pieces of music each Sunday were pre-selected by a (likely progressive or liberal) committee or editorial board at one of the major publishing companies.

That’s not a victory to be over-proud of. We took the hour, but we left the Liturgy (the WORK) alone. We created an alternate way of doing Mass- something seperate from the traditionalists, and imagined that it could be equal in value.

How, then, can we be surprised that the point-of-view associated with this “separate but equal” liturgical pracice is marginalized in the institutional Church, and will likely become marginalized within ageneration by the laity? How can an ideology long survive if it yokes itself to a passing fad (popular music), while its opposition is anchored firmly in the oldest extant musical culture on Earth? Shouldn’t we build our liturgical lives on a solid bedrock of music that will ALWAYS EXIST, instead of on the shifting sands of WHATEVER IS POPULAR RIGHT NOW?

Well, yes of course we should.

But there’s more!

It isn’t merely survivalism that lobbies for a greater adoption of traditional music. It isn’t only that we deserve an equal seat at the table of REAL liturgy.

From a liturgical standpoint, traditional sacred music has in it everything that liberals and progressives have been looking for. It accomplishes what the liberal reforms set out to do. In a sane world, it would be embraced by the liberals, and feared by the conservatives.

Or, to put it another way:

Gregorian Chant is radical.

(Stay tuned for more on that.)

Compositions like this are just beyond me. I don’t get why anyone would want to do this instead of just chant the thing.

So… there was a time in my life when I would have thought this was really great.
So, let me try to explain what it is I used to like about this sort of thing…

The Easter Vigil has a certain primordial, primeval, even tribal sensibility to it. Fire, smoke, water, rites of initiation. It is sacred in a way that no other time is, and its timing is tied to natural phenomenon that were celebrated long before the dawn of modern religion: the changing of the season, the full moon.

The reading of the Genesis story, the flood, the Exodus- these (if proclaimed well, to a congregation prepared by prayer and catechesis) make the ancient past, the stories of our people and our God, present in a way that, while not the same as, is comparable to the present-making mystery of the Eucharist.

Music like the link above plays at these understandings- it gives a sense of shared “tribal” identity, a feeling of participation in some ancient rite. We can imagine ourselves drumming round the fire in some Julie Taymor epic. (Perhaps not incidentally, this is the same impetus for those ridiculous mask/puppet liturgies).

Conservatives and traditionalists, however, misdiagnose the problem- attempting to de-tribalize the meaning of the liturgy (Easter Vigil or otherwise), making a lot out of how these emotions and so forth are not the point.

But I believe that those emotions, that sense of “tribal” identity and connection with the “ancient ways,” and all of that is a huge reason for the particular forms of our Catholic liturgical heritage. The problem, though, is that these sorts of things (the recording here, the suburban drum circle liturgies, the puppet insanity) are really bad ways of creating that identity and that connection.

They are bad because they are too easy, and they are false. Our sense of what is truly tribal and ancient is completely skewed by our entertainment and artistic industry’s re-imagining. From the Rite of Spring to the Lion King, from the African Sanctus to The Mummy franchise, from EPCOT center to Karl Jenkins, Enya, and Avatar- our sense of “tribal identity” and “ancient forms of worship” is completely manufactured… which is perfectly fine if you’re going to a concert, a movie, or a theme park.

But the people who love these faux-tribal beats would be BORED TO TEARS if they had to sit through (or stand through) an Ancient liturgy from any culture- whether it’s the Death and Resurrection plays of ancient Egypt, the Greek theatrical rituals, the Early Christian catacomb Masses, or even a contemporary hours-long drum-accompanied, dance-infused Divine Liturgy in the Coptic Orthodox Church. Real tribalism, real ritual, is ghastly boring to modern sensibilities- that’s why the movies dress it up the way they do.

The Catholic liturgy has two sets of “benefits” as it were- the supernatural benefits which we cannot “mess with.” That is, the grace we receive through the sacraments- we receive it regardless of how poor, weird, or ill-conceived things like music or vestments are.

Then there are the (for lack of a better word) psychological benefits- community cohesion, inspiration to live a Godly life, instruction in the knowledge of God, a deeper emotional connection to the faith, etc, etc. These are the things that religion has always done for people, even among the pagans- and they are worthwhile benefits to cultivate within the community.

The progressive, folk-driven, faux-tribal approach to liturgy is trying, very earnestly, to maximize those secondary benefits. This should not be seen as a bad goal, as it so often is by the traditionalists. However, it should be understood that the approach of the last 40 years has been… well, not the best approach.

If we are interested in recovering a sense of our “tribal” identity as Catholics, we need to recover the music that truly belongs to our tribe- not steal some music from another group or try to imagine our own ritualism. If we are interested in entering into the ancient mysteries, we need to realize that time moves at a much slower pace than 180 bpm. If we are going to experience the universal cycle of death and rebirth, we need to embody the liturgy entrusted to those who walked with the man who actually did die and was reborn- not copy some movie recreation of a pagan misunderstanding of that mystery. If we want to feel connected to the Ancient Israelites, we need to fully, actively, and consciously participate in the real (not invented) liturgical structure that was the fulfillment of all their hopes, using the music that evolved directly from their Temple practices.

When you hear music like this, or see misguided white people dressed up in Kente cloth, or hear someone suggest liturgical dance, or any of the other seemingly bizarre practices of the “progressive liturgical movement,” have some compassion for what it is they are trying to accomplish. Their focus on community over hierarchy, experience over doctrine, celebration over sacrifice, emotion over intellect… these are not unworthy viewpoints or emphases. They are needed in our Church- we ARE a community, we NEED to experience the mystery, Mass IS a celebration, emotions DO help us understand God’s great love for us.

But it is the authentic liturgy of the Church, the real traditions of music and prayer, that bring us those “secondary” benefits. The movie music presented here has the best of intentions- but, in the final analysis- it is lacking.

It is lacking because it fake- an inauthentic copy of the truly ecstatic. It is lacking because it is easy- the emotionalism proper to our worship of God should be a fiery, deep, unquenchable passion, not a surface veneer of momentary infatuation. It is lacking because it is alien- not alien to the liturgy (which is universal, and admits of inculturation) but rather alien to (most of) us- it is not the music of our ancestors, and so it can exert no great pull on our genetic memory. It is lacking because it is produced- refined and composed and written down and edited by artistic and commercial interests- it has nothing of the earthy sincerity evident in the devotees of any venerable religious tradition.

For the sake of our “tribal” identity, we need to reclaim the music that is rightfully ours: the ecstatic melismas of the Cantorial tradition, the strophic hymns of the early and medieval church, the mystical organum the late middle ages, the psalmody of the monastics, the truly exotic sequences of Hildegard, the hallucinogenic polyphony of the high Renaissance. That’s the music of “our people.” Those are the base-pairs of our genetic memory, and the soul of our collective consciousness.

Thanks!

Well, I wrote him back almost immediately and let him know he had just jumped to the head of the review line. Unfortuinately, it has still taken me over two months to sit down and write.

What got my attention almost immediately was the style and the quality.

I grew up on what you’d call “Catholic folk music.” In the 1990s. I loved (almost) every second of it (musically speaking), and even now- as much in love as I have become of other, more “serious” styles- this is the music I come back to again and again in my own devotional life.

Since the first wave of new settings of the new translations started coming out, I started to listening, and writing. And despairing.

The two most inspired settings I have found so far are in styles that remain somewhat foreign to me. Chris Mueller’s amazing choral setting is heavenly, but it isn’t mine. Ed Bolduc’s contemporary “Praise & Worship” setting is also truly awe-inspiring (“GLO-RY!”), but again- as much as I like it, it isn’t really mine.

But there was nothing inspiring about the folk-styled offerings.

I have listened to the new settings from the heroes I grew up wanting to be like: Haas, Haugen, Hurd, Schutte, Walker… I’ve listened to and/or played through almost every single one. I don’t know what’s going on. Perhaps these old singer-songwriters have just run out of musical ideas. Perhaps the (supposed) ideology surrounding the new translation was joy-kill to this company of progressive-minded “pastoral musicians.” Perhaps their market-oriented publishers didn’t give them the time or the freedom to explore new things.

I don’t know.

But what I do know is that every folk-styled setting I have experienced so far has seemed boring, derivative, and devoid of passion. This fact, more than any success on the part of the “Reform of the Reform” crowd was making me hear death knells for the musical style of Catholic childhood.

Ah, but then… Timothy R. Smith writes me an email.

His setting, Mass of the Sacred Heart, is being published (I’m shocked, really) by OCP. My home parish used mostly “Breaking Bread” hymnals growing up, so I got used to having a weird sort-of ambivalence to this publisher: great music guys, now why am I supposed to buy this ugly newsprint thing every year?

So, after a being a little over-the-top in my ranting about their new Mass settings, I’m very pleased (and not as shocked as I made it sound like) that they are publishing this excellent setting. (Side note: I also want to give OCP props for making it so you can purchase and download sheet music on their site. Fantastic!) Now, if only they would promote it a little more or include it in a hymnal.

So, on to the setting.

The style is meditative folk (so to speak, I guess). It is gentle, not boisterous or overhappy. It is accessiblem singable. It is instantly familiar, without feeling old or derivative. I really, really like it.

The play-by-play:

Kyrie
Immediately singable. The unresolved chord at the end is wonderfully evocative. Simple, without being trite. Penitent, without wallowing in guilt.

Gloria
Refrain-style. This is perhaps a downside- but refrain is excellent. Verses are not out of reach for a congregation, which is my usual big problem with refrain-style Glorias.

The musical stop (da-Da-DA-DA! [break!]) going back into the refrain is just great! But it is different in each verse. The writing works best in vs2. Perhaps using the same writing each time would have made the device more effective.

The accomp motif in the refrain almost as critical as the melody line. It is very nice.

Gospel Acclamations

Alleluia
Musically nice, but a weakness here is that the short “le-lu” of the second alleluia is counter-intuitive, and does not line up with the natural accents of the word. Also, the end of the versicle melody (the quick slured descent on the last syllable) seems a little forced.

Lenten Gospel Acclamation
This is constructed better than the Alleluia, but I find it difficult to want to hear this during Lent.

This is the weakest point in the setting.

Holy Holy
Simple, singable, attractive. Also, blessedly short.

There’s a certain amount of nostalgia and longing that I experience listening to this. I don’t know if it is by design- I can imagine that it is. It may simply be me re-experiencing what it was like to be learning and singing the Mass as a 90′s era Catholic youth. But I do think, at some level, Timothy Smith is trying to help us enter into the mystery of the Eucharist through a certain longing- the longing to return to the heart of God. While there is a danger here of veering too far into the sentimental, for someone of my background (and there are a lot of us, I think) it is very effective.

Memorial Acclamations
Of the three, “Save Us Savior of the World” is my personal favorite, but all three are nice. Again- the sense of nostalgia is very present. They are extremely easy to sing, and a very well suited to their place in the Liturgy.

Amen
Straightforward, easy to sing, perfectly suited to the music that preceeded it.

Lamb of God
I’ve always felt that while the “Amen” closes the Eucharistic prayer, the Agnus Dei re-opens the Eucharistic mystery for we who are about to recieve the Body and Blodd (so to speak… really it is nothing like that simple). This setting, particularly the writing in the accompaniment, does an excellent job of propelling the listeners/singers into a meditation on Who has come into their presence.

Final Thoughts
This setting is really lovely. It is certainly not as showy and flashy as (for example) the Mass of St. Anne nor (obviously) is it traditional, except for those who consider the folk-style a “traditional” Catholic musical heritage (hmmm…).

Of the settings I have had the opportunity to review (which is a lot), it is the best “inheritor” of the golden-age of Catholic Folk writing- better, by far, even than the new settings by the composers who set that standard back in the 70s, 80s, and 90s.

While I am an active supporter of the traditional music movement, I have said over and over that what I hope will happen is that the ancient music (chant and polyphony) will become normative again in a way that does not completely displace the music (both individual works and the style generally) that so many of us have come to love and cherish. The problem with the post-concilliar Liturgical reform was not the addition of new things, but the loss of so many old ones. I fear that the dual trends of Praise and Worship music on the one hand and Traditional Sacred Music on the other are increasingly displacing not just music (which comes and goes) but the people who sing and worship with it.

So, as we look forward, and especially as we find ways to “deal with” the New Translation, I’m heartened that there are still some composers who remember the Church that I grew up in.

The caveat here is that I am by no means a Latin scholar or a degreed theologian. My translation, and the thoughts about the text that follow, were informed by a lot of research and reading (ok… Latin dictionaries and Wikipedia), but are nevertheless the work of an enthusiastic amateur. If you find anything here objectionable or downright wrong, please be quick to correct, but slow to criticize. (Tell me I’m wrong, but don’t tell me I’m stupid.) Comments always welcome.

Here is the original text in Latin:

Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.

Congregavit nos in unum Christi amor.
Exultemus, et in ipso iucundemur.
Timeamus, et amemus Deum vivum.
Et ex corde diligamus nos sincero.

Simul ergo cum in unum congregamur:
Ne nos mente dividamur, caveamus.
Cessent iurgia maligna, cessent lites.
Et in medio nostri sit Christus Deus.

Simul quoque cum beatis videamus,
Glorianter vultum tuum, Christe Deus:
Gaudium quod est immensum, atque probum,
Saecula per infinita saeculorum.

And my translation for the printed program…

Where there is charity and love, there is God.

We are gathered into one, in the love of Christ.
Rejoice, and be exceedingly happy in this!
We fear, and love, the living God,
and from our hearts, we sincerely delight [in each other].

In the same way, therefore, within the congregation:
Do not be of a divided mind. Beware!
Stop your evil arguing. Stop fighting.
And into the midst of us, let Christ-God be.

Then, in the same way as the Blessed Ones (the faithful dead),
and together with them [at the same time],
we shall see your Glorious face, O Christ-God.
Joy! Joy that is exceedingly great and pure, and is for infinite ages upon ages.

And some thoughts about the words, “Caritas et Amor.”

Ubi Caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.

Those of us who know this line are so used to translating it “where there is charity and love, there is God,” that it’s hard to realize that “caritas” doesn’t really mean “charity,” at least not as we usually mean it today. “Charity” was the word used in the King James Bible (and other translations) for the Latin “caritas,” which is the Greek “Agape.” Another common Anglican translation for the idea is “loving-kindness.” It is a deep, sincere, and intimate love that has God alone as its source. The early Christians refered to the Eucharistic celebration as the “Agape meal,” and when Paul says that “Love is patient, love is kind,” he is using that same word. Indeed, the most famous verse of Scripture, “For God so loved the world, that He gave is only begotten Son…” (Jn 3:16) uses the word “Agape.”

So what about “amor,” then? Also, “love.” But our conventional sensibilties usually stop us from discussing the fact that “amor” is the Latin translation of the Greek, “Eros,” the root of our modern word “erotic.” This is love, “in the flesh,” just as surely as Jesus is God “in the flesh.” Amor, or Eros, is passionate, fiery, and bold. The ancient Greeks thought of it as “madness from the gods.” Plato, though, gave us the conception that formed the medieval poet who wrote this text: Eros (Amor) is the all-engulfing realization that the pains of desire are a longing for wholeness and oneness. In our broken
world, the desire of Eros is often poisoned with a desire to possess the object of Love. But in the classical and Christian understanding, Eros is the need, felt body and soul, to unite intimately with God, to “reach Wisdom without possessing Her.”

Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.

Language is a reflection of the culture and society that is its source. It is not surprising, then, that there is no good way to translate this short truth into modern American English. Perhaps we might say:

Where there is love heaped upon love, where love is deep and sincere and all-encompassing, where love is passionate and bold, where love is true, where love is good and pure, where love is self-sacrificing and intimate and wholly unselfish, where love is unconquerable, where love is infinite and grand and humble, where love is glorious and overwhelming, where love makes us complete, where love calls us to service and justice, where love is the source of all we say and do, where love can not fail, where love is the greatest of all things, where love is stronger than death- where you find this love, there you have found God.

However, I find some of their tactics (if you can call them that) and specific issues of concern to be seriously unhelpful generally, and (in some cases) particularly harmful to the cause of progressivism and liberality (a cause generally supported by critics of the new translation).

The type of frequently-raised issue that concerns me the most is the raising of conern over “too literal” Latin translations of specific phrases. I’m not talking about the stilted rhythm of translated Latin grammar, sometimes found in the Collects, Prefaces, and other longer prayers.

I’m talking about the phrase which has almost come to define the translation saga:

And with your spirit.

The problem raised is never bad translation or stilted poetry, but rather theology, ecclesiology, and (something like) pastoral sensitivity. “We don’t really think of (whatever) that way, so we shouldn’t translate it that way.”

This came up (yet again) in a recent Table Article:

But it [Eucharistic catechesis] does not supply a convincing reason why, for instance, “and with your spirit” is a better reply to “the Lord be with you” than the present form, “and also with you”. In the absence of any explanation for that and similar linguistic infelicities, people will feel bemused and no doubt somewhat irritated.

(BTW: “infelicity” is an odd word choice to describe literally faithful translation).

The writer here, and many other similar critics, act as if there needs to be a better reason than “that’s what the Latin says” in order to translate this very simple phrase. And others have argues that the new translation doesn’t really match present thinking in the Church about something.

But there’s a real problem with that: How exactly can you (sanely) argue that “the Church” doesn’t really think or beleive something that is said over and over in its ritual prayers for two millenia?

They argue that way because in the back of their minds (or the front, sometimes) they know or suspect that “And with your spirit” is related to a certain brand of clericalism which they decry, and which they think the Church has or should have moved away from.

But this is a serious tactical error on the part of progressivism.

By claiming that fidelity to the official Latin text is not a good enough reason to translate something, by demanding a well-thought-out theological rationale for this phrase, the critics are forcing the conservative defenders to spell out exactly what the liberals feared: an ultra-orthodox, cleric-centered justification for “And with your spirit.”

The progressives have then ceded control of the conversation, letting the traditionalists and reformers of the reform set the agenda for interpreting what the Mass is and what it is about.

Imagine you are asking a wise old Buddhist to explain some point of his doctrine, which you know little about. The old man speaks only Chinese, and you do not- so you brought along two interpreters who know Chinese very well and also practice Buddhism.

The old man says that the wisdom is just like a… a something. The two translators each say a different thing. One translates the word as “flower.” Wisdom is like a flower. The other says that the old man said wisdom is like a weed. You ask the old man to explain the saying, but he just smiles and shrugs.

You ask the first translator to explain. “Wisdom,” he says, “is like a flower because it is beautiful. It is good for looking at, but it dies very quickly.”

You ask the second translator to explain. “Wisdom is like a weed,” he says, “because it is everywhere. Always right where you don’t want it. And it is impossible to kill.”

While you’re pondering which of these ideas is true, the old Chinese master leans forward and says in English, “the word I said was flower. Weed is a very bad translation.”

Now, he could have meant that Wisdom is like a flower because they come in lots of different colors. He could have meant that they keep blooming no matter how many times you prune them back. Or that flowers and Wisdom are both useless. Or hard to cultivate. Or any number of things which could have mirrored or diverged from the philosophy of either translator.

But who’s interpretation are you now going to think is “right?”

And what if the seond interpreter tried to justify himself by saying, “Yes, well. Buddhists used to teach that Wisdom died quickly because the Buddha didn’t want us to attend to temporal things. But now, after the cultural shifts of the last 50 years, in response to changing attitudes towards Buddhism among the young, in English we translate the word to ‘weed’ because it better expresses are modern tend away from elitism and alienation.”

The old master repeats himself, “The word is flower. In India, flower. In Japan, flower. Vietnam, Korea, flower. And English-speaking Buddhists who split off 400 years ago- they also say flower.”

The old man still hasn’t interpreted the proverb for you – two lesser minds have offered their understanding. They could both be wrong. They could both be right. But, what would you think was the truest interpretation of the proverb’s meaning?

What about if you got an encyclopedic dictionary of Chinese linguistic history, and found out that the word the old man used definitely means “flower,” and has never, in history, been used to mean “weed.” And then, just for good measure, did a little more research and found out that the original proverb in Sanskrit also used the word, “flower.” And then you found out that translating the word into “weed” was started by a committee in the 1960s, many members of whom weren’t even Buddhists. What would your opinion be about the second translator, and his statement on what Buddhists beleive about Wisdom.

If progressives want their theological ideas to survive and influence the thinking of future generations of Catholics- whether about the nature of God, the Church, the priesthood, or anything else- they cannot yoke those ideas to a translation which was clearly incorrect in reference to the original.

And clearly, the incorrect ICEL version is not required in order to have a progressive understanding of the Mass or Liturgy. Every philosophical and theological position possible, from extreme orthodox to damn heretic, exists among every liturgical-language groups, including those who only ever experienced Mass in Latin. Progressivism is not unique to English-speaking Novus Ordo folks.

Those who have a problem with the way conservatives and neo-trads are doing liturgical theology these days need to come to terms with the new translation, especially with those sections where it is the most faithful to the Latin, and they need to find a way to ground their theology ever more firmly in the original and authentic prayer texts of the Church.

One of the most frustrating things about the digital revolution is the almost obscene abundance of content.

How many recipes does a person need for Chocolate Chip Cookies? I’m pretty sure the answer is somewhat less than two and a half million.

Similarly, how many individual pieces of church music does a music director need? Whatever that number is (a few hundred, maybe?) it is a tiny drop in the ocean of what is available. Even if you were to limit your choices to a particular style, like traditional sacred polyphony or Anglican choral music or early American Protestant hymnody or punk-rock praise band devotionals… using nothing but free scores off the internet you could probably go a year or two without repeating a piece.

So where does one even start?

We need some help here. We need someone to help us through this glut of abundance. The secular world’s digital philosophers have been talking about this problem for a while, and have coalesced on a job description (or at least a title) for the required role: Curator.

We need curators.

A curator helps set standards for what is good and useful. They are the sherpas up the mountain of content. Some accuse curators with censorship (they didn’t include X, they must be Y!), but I rather think they serve the opposite of censorship- they give freedom to information by providing it enough room to have it’s voice heard. They do not supress anything, but only highlight some things; anything else you might want is still available, and probably more accessible by virtue of the network of connections from the surfaced items to the deep storehouse down below.

The major publishing companies purport to be curators, through their hymnal editorship and their general publishing ethos. In some cases, they do an excellent job (see WLP’s approach to new Mass settings), and sometimes they do a not-so-good job (see your least favorite mainline hymnal). But regardless, even with the best intentions, the major publishers have a bit of a conflict of interest, because they are not just curators but also creators. You might also have issues with their liturgical agenda or their approach to Church music generally, but it’s that central conflict of interest that makes them bad curators, not their various philosophies and approaches.

In fact, good curators need to have an approach, a philosophy. It doesn’t need to be MY approach or YOUR philosophy. They just need to have one which is consistent and clear. If you’re looking for the best music from the Early American tradition, it’s not going to do you much good to consult the help of a curator who believes that the only two styles of music appropriate to liturgy are Gregorian Chant and Polyphony. On the other hand, if you agree with that stance, or (regardless of your opinion) find yourself having to plan music for an Extraordinary Form Solemn High Pontifical Mass, that’s probably exactly the person you want to be talking to.

I’m sad to report that I have not yet found a good curator for either contemporary (pop/rock/folk) liturgical music (maybe that’ll be me eventually?) or for traditional Protestant hymnody (Oremus is trying, but it’s disorganized and somewhat arbitrary). If either of those genres is going to survive a widespread Reform of the Reform (which may or may not happen anyway), we need curators to help bring the cream to the top.

I’m happy to say, though, that in the realm of traditional Catholic sacred music, there are a handful of quite stellar efforts either completed or in the works which will seriously advance the cause of high quality music for every parish.

First, let’s not ignore what might be the greatest work of music curatorship ever undertaken: the Graduale Romanum (current and predecessors). Hundreds of chants spanning centuries of practice, organized and arranged by days, seasons, and liturgical function. Eat your heart out, OCP planning guide!

Moving to more contemporary efforts, the Parish Book of Chant has been an overwhelming success. It brings together orders for sung Mass (in both forms) and an amazingly rich corpus of (congregational participation friendly) Gregorian chant hymns. I will never again have to search through five books and a dozen websites trying to find an easy to read edition of Pange Lingua. I will never have to wonder, “What other old chant hymns should I look at?”

I understand the PBC has sold over 12,000 copies. Just astonishing. You can buy your copy here, or download it for free.

A less well known, but almost as important, curatorship effort is underway in the form of Noel Jones’s Catholic Choir Book series.

Have you ever tried searching for new (to you) Anthems and Motets? CPDL is great if you know what you’re looking for, but otherwise its a shot in the dark. Catalogs tell you nothing. A music store (assuming you can find one with a good sacred choral section) is usually a headache-inducing exercise in trying to judge a book by its cover. Those nice choral subscription packets from the major publishers are about as informative as a politician’s press release. So what do you do? Most people end up doing stuff they already know, and (by complete chance) they run across a new worthwhile piece at a conference or convention (inevitably too hard for your home choir), or while visiting another parish.

But the Catholic Choir Book has made that whole process a breeze. Noel, who seems to know every piece of church music ever written, has chosen some of the best choral pieces from the Roman and Anglican traditions and made them available in a superbly edited series of collections (plus an anthology). The music has been vetted for use in NORMAL parish choirs. It is musically solid and theologically sound. There are a handful of feast-day-specific pieces, but the majority of the music is general purpose texts of Praise, Eucharistic Adoration, or Marian devotional. This makes the collection an excellent resource when you just need something appropriate and easy to learn. Some pieces are a bit of a challenge, but not outside the realm of possibility for a hard-working director and a team of committed amateurs. There are a variety of scorings, from solo to double-mixed, with a healthy dose of standard SATB and SSA. (Public note to Noel: more SAB would be very useful. I’m sure I’m not the only choir director short on men.)

You can buy your copy, or download it for free, here.

I expect to see more and more of this kind of sacred music curatorship happening in the near future. If the secular world is any indication, we’ll eventually need curators for the curators. CC Watershed, for example, will be releasing a new hymnal vey shortly. And the Musica Sacra forums act as a sort of curatorship-on-the-run clearinghouse as musicians from across the English (and sometimes Spanish) speaking world share literature, reasearch, and new material.

I remember thinking when I was a teenager that movies today should be the best in all time, because movie-makers are able to do all the things they did in the past (when the best movies were made) plus all sorts of new things, either because of new technology or because of a relaxation of censorship. Alas, there will never be a movie as perfect as Casablanca. Just because something should be the case, doesn’t mean it is.

We have a similar situation in church music. We have access to EVERYTHING, from the riches of the Renaissance to the gems of contemproary writing. For the first time in the history of Western Sacred music, anything is truly possible.

With the help of curators, our music programming can be a small taste of the Kingdom of God, as we bring out of our storehouse treasures both old and new.

• I have changed the name to Mass of the Blessed Fire.
• I have set up a website for the Mass. It’s a little plain right now, but it will get more exciting when the setting is finished.
• There is now a mailing list for the Mass setting. If you subscribe, you will get updates about it- like finding out when I finish it.