Ave Verum Corpus

It's was one of those Sundays where I walked in late for Mass, which in my small parish, can sometimes mean not being able to find a place to sit. That's okay, though. Sometimes I prefer to stand in the back. I find that standing often helps me be more attentive. I meander to the back of the parish and take my position at once of my favorite spots: over a very old, iron grate atop a vent connected to the parish's ancient furnace. It's a chilly fall day, so when the deep rumbling from the basement signifies the heat is turning on, atop this vent is a very nice place to be standing.

The Mass itself is not very memorable. To be honest, my mind is not where it needs to be. Five minutes after the readings, I can't remember what they were. The homily seeps into my head and just as easily drains back out. My responses are mouthed coldly and thoughtlessly. The prayers of the Eucharistic liturgy all blur together. I try to focus and prepare my soul for Communion the best I can, but my soul feels dreary.

After the Agnus Dei and the communication of the priest, the congregation begins filing up to receive Holy Communion. I am kneeling over the grate, my legs super-heated from the furnace. The playing of the organ commences, and a familiar melody flows out of the choir loft. "Ah, Mozart's Ave Verum Corpus," I think. A feeling of warm, pious nostalgia settles over me as I watch the lines of people slowly processing to the front of the church to receive the Body and Blood of Christ. The soft glow of the candles, heat blowing up from the grate beneath my feet, the sweet melody wafting on the air—they all seem to bathe the scene in golden warmth. My heart begins to be deeply moved, not only from the melody of Mozart's timeless piece, but by old memories stirring in my breast.

* * * * *

It was a warm, spring day in 1998. The kind of day where the Mr. Bushey, the choir director, would prop the doors to the choir room open to let in the sweet, fresh air outside. I am Tenor 2, seated in the third row of the center. There's not very many of us Tenor 2's in the high school's Acapella Choir, so if I am not up to par on my parts, it becomes very evident. I'm not very good at sight-reading though. At 17 years old, I'd only begun my formal musical instruction a year earlier. I still rely on the few superstar singers in the choir to orient myself; I often "copy" the other tenors without understanding what I'm doing. I'm sure some time I am singing Tenor 1, sometimes Baritone depending on whose voice talent I am siphoning off of.

Even so, choir is a fun class. We'd been preparing for our spring concert all morning, and Mr. Bushey was attempting the impossible task of keeping several sections of the choir hushed while he worked with the sopranos and altos on their parts; it seemed like the soprano section always got the most attention. Most of the songs were banal and forgettable: sappy Barbara Streisand sort of stuff, or old Rogers and Hammerstein show tunes from musicals most of the students had never watched. I probably devoted only a third of my energy to concentrating on the music; the rest of the time I was fooling around with my buddies or completely daydreaming. That's why most high schoolers signed up for choir anyway. 

After a few moments Mr. Bushey ends his work with the girls and announces he is introducing a new piece to the spring concert. We all groan. It's already late in the year, and we all know that introducing a new piece this late will mean lots of very intensive rehearsals. He passes out the sheet music. Ave Verum Corpus. Arranged by W.A. Mozart it says atop the music. Now, I knew nothing of Latin at the time, but I knew enough to at leas recognize this as a Latin title and to know who Mozart was. It was not entirely surprising we were singing a religious text; yes, it was a public school, but because so much musical heritage of the West is religious in nature, the educational guidelines dictated by the government allowed for a certain percentage of religious music to be sung in school choirs, otherwise public school choir programs would have little to sing; such was the vast size of the religious musical patrimony of the west! This song piqued my attention; though not religious, I definitely preferred singing a Baroque religious melody to a 1960's musical show-tune.

Mr. Bushey got our attention and gave us some introductory remarks on the piece. As he spoke, I flipped through the little booklet. The Latin was not translated; it was simply there on the page, asking neither to be translated nor understood but merely sung. I was intrigued by these words and phrases. De Maria virgine...pregustatum...in cruce pro homine...in mortis examine. The words meant nothing to me, but the very look of them, the structure, the sounds...they had an almost mystical quality, like some kind of ancient runes or sigils.

Then Mr. Bushey got to explaining the meaning of the text. He said he'd been down to visit one of the literature teachers who had a working knowledge of Latin and got a rudimentary translation (this was before most people were using the Internet). He then gave us a clause by clause translation. I was enthralled by these strange words. "Hail, true body, born of the Virgin Mary, having truly suffered, etc." Everything was so matter-of-fact. He offered only the translation of the words, no context or meaning—and indeed, how could he? He was just a choir teacher who had found a good piece of music, not a theologian nor even a Catholic. The most interesting phrase for me was the last: "Be to us a sweet foretaste of life everlasting in the hour of death." I jotted the translation down with a pencil in the margins of the sheet music while Mr. Bushey read it.

Then came the first run through. He gave the music to the pianist and selected a few students who were excellent sight readers to preview the tune for everybody. There, for the first time in my life, on the rustic piano in my high school choir room, I heard the beautiful, iconic introduction to the famous Ave Verum Corpus of Mozart.

Though the rudimentary run through I heard sung to me that day was far from perfect, it was enough for me to be moved deeply by the melody and the words. I did not understand what I was hearing; the aesthetics alone were responsible for softening my heart. It was absolutely beautiful. As the choir director began teaching us our respective parts, I really had a strong desire to do this piece well. It's very beauty demanded it.

I remember taking the sheet music home and reading those mysterious Latin words and their penciled in translation to myself in my bedroom alone. "Be to us a sweet foretaste of life everlasting"; these words were cryptic and beautiful, but what could they possibly refer to?

* * * * *

I remember that spring our choir went on a little tour. The school chartered a bus and we drove down to Pittsburgh to sing in some of the historic theaters around the city. The bus ride down was a big gaggle. Just a bunch of seniors laughing and messing around and throwing things, all of us at that peculiar age when one is old enough to take on adult responsibilities but still enjoy acting like a child whenever possible.

The ruckus in the back was getting a little out of hand. Mr. Bushey, who was seated in the front, got up and shuffled his way to back of the bus. He did not scold us; rather, he tried to divert our energy to something more productive. "C'mon gang," he said, taking a seat, "let's rehearse a little bit. How about we run through the Ave Verum Corpus?" The choir began to settle down and compose ourselves in preparation. Mr. Bushey stood up and assumed his directorial manner, though hunched over to avoid bumping his head on the ceiling of the bus. He took out a pitch pipe and sounded the notes for each section, then waving his hand to set the tempo, we began the song.

"Ave, ave...verum corpus...natum, de Maria Virgine," we all began. The acoustics inside the school bus were actually perfect. There's something surreal about such lovely music arising suddenly in such an unlikely venue. I didn't know what this piece really meant, but I do know that there was something so very moving about a group of high schoolers sitting around in the back of a bus going down I-80 towards Pittsburgh singing this beautiful hymn. The splendor of the song brought out something, made us come together...made us get a glimpse—even if in an imperfect manner—of a whole realm of goodness and truth and beauty and culture beyond what we would normally experience in our small town high school in southern Michigan.

In later years, I have often thought about how far away from Mozart's intentions we were when singing that song. Mozart composed that music for solemn use in the Catholic liturgy; that a bunch of sloppily dressed, rambunctious high school students in the United States should ever be rehearsing it in the back of a school bus for a secular concert tour was never something Mozart ever would have contemplated. But then again, in another way we were fulfilling his intentions perfectly. For in composing such a piece, Mozart undoubtedly wanted to show forth the beauty and deep mystery of the Incarnation. And while I could not have understood it in such explicit terms, there is no doubt that I, that all of us, were deeply, profoundly moved by the beauty of the piece. And in experiencing such beauty, even on the back of a school bus, I was in a sense experiencing a foretaste God Himself. The eruption of the divinely beautiful into the ordinary world is what the Incarnation is all about, and as such it is a true manner of coming to know and appreciate God. And surely that experience would have been well within Mozart's intentions, for what composer does not wish his music to be found beautiful?

* * * * *

It was early June, 1998, the week of the spring concert. I was mulling around backstage in my long, choir robes—green and yellow, the color of my school, the school district I had attended for thirteen years. It was a bittersweet time. This was the the last time I would ever walk out onto this stage, the last time I'd ever sing with these people, most of whom I'd attended school with since the very beginning. Graduation was only a few days away. A whole new epoch of life was about to begin even as the only one I'd ever known was closing.

We were all milling about backstage waiting for our cue to go on. The high school had many different choirs, of which Acapella was only one and by no means the best. It was a very emotional moment, waiting to take my place on the choir stands the last time. I had not always taken choir very seriously, but in this moment, as my time here was about to end, I found myself wishing I had.

As I walked about backstage I ran into a fellow classmate, a girl name Jamie. I had known Jamie a long time. Way back when I started 1st Grade, I remember the students all had to share lockers in my tiny elementary school. Jamie was my locker partner back then. We both stood there momentarily in our green robes backstage, looking at each other silently. My mind raced back to the first day of 1st grade in 1986; I remembered my teacher introducing me to Jamie outside my locker. "This is Jamie. She's going to be your locker partner." We shared our locker all that year, but after 1st grade I never talked with her much. Ah, how much time had elapsed between that first day of 1st grade and now, when graduation was only a few short days away! Was it all over already!? How much had happened in those intervening twelve years, but then again, how brief it had all seemed. And there Jamie was again, like a punctuation mark at the end of my public school career.

I don't know what she was thinking, but I imagine similar thoughts must have went through her mind. Her eyes got blurry with tears. And at the sight of her my lip began to twitch and quiver and my eyes welled up, too. We both began balling simultaneously and embraced each other in a hug of sincere affection and esteem. I hadn't talked to Jamie in a long, long time. I had no idea where she was in life nor did she know much about where I was. It didn't matter. We knew this was a special moment. We hugged for a long time, then looked at each other with tears in our eyes and big dumb smiles and said nothing.

Our hug was broken by the sound of applause from the crowd. "Acapella, you're on!" called someone. We all rushed out onto the stage and took our places on the stands. On a stage like this, you can't see the crowd. You have no idea who is out there or how many. All you see is the blinding stage lights beaming their heated brightness down upon you—and beyond them, just a black void. That's probably a good thing for the performer.

Mr. Bushey came out, dressed in his black suit with tails and white bow tie. The pianist was before us, elegantly robed in a long, flowing green dress. The choir director smiled and composed us, focusing our attention on him and only him. "We're starting with the Ave Verum," he whispered. We were ready. We'd spent several weeks intensively learning the piece and every one of us knew every note intuitively.

The pianist's hands fell upon the keys gently, playing the introduction to the piece we had all come to recognize. Mr. Bushey raised his hands and drew the music out of our open mouths.

Ave, ave...verum corpus...

The music did not seem to be sung...it seemed to simply, emerge or arise from us; emanating from our mouths. It was so soft, but so beautiful. We always sung better on concert nights. It was as if the pressure compelled us to polish our skill to a level we didn't know we possessed.

The basses and baritones droned their low notes:

...Natum, de Maria Virgine...

By God, it was powerful. Women the world over search, often in vain, for that elusive man who is both powerful and gentle—tender but strong, for that is the essence of true masculinity. I tell you, there is nothing that so perfectly exemplifies this curious balance of power and gentleness than men's voices singing bass and baritone with great skill. There was something so moving about these deep, masculine voices singing of the Incarnation in the womb of Mary.

...vere passum, immolatum in cruce pro homine...

The little crescendo on immolatum makes you feel like you are approaching the climax of the song, but Mozart doesn't take you there yet. He resolves the crescendo in beautiful harmony on the word homine. How perfect. The tension on the word "sacrificed" ends with harmonious balance on the word "mankind."

...cuius latus perforatum fluixit aqua et sanguine...

The way the melody shifts to a minor on the word sanguine tells you something is about to change. The music regroups, preparing for the high point of the song. We all took deep breaths; long hours of practice had taught us to know that we would need a lot of air for the next lines.

...esto nobis praegustatum in mortis examine...

When we all closed our mouths on the last syllable of examine, Mr. Bushey raised his hand aloft, calling forth the power of the altos and sopranos to exalt the mystery of Christ's redemptive power in the face of the mystery of human death.

In....morrrrrrrrrrrrr...

Ah! That moment is always so chilling, so beautiful. The sopranos stand alone, their voices piercing the darkness. As I reflected on this years later, it reminds me of the light of Christ piercing the darkness of death as He goes down to the dead to bring the faithful souls into beatitude. But I didn't know that in 1998. All I knew was that this moment was the most important moment of the song, when its beauty reached highest, when everything seemed to be hanging on a knife's edge. I took a deep breath.

Mr. Bushey held out his hand in an agonized, clenched pose, and looked at the men. His hand reached down, forward towards us, as if he wanted to grab us by our guts and rip the power out of us—force us to put our soul in to it ad give this moment the sheer power it deserved. We knew it was time.

In morrrrrr...

We followed the sopranos, our voices ascending higher, chasing theirs. This was the absolute climax of the song, the crescendo towards which everything else was building. And it is the climax of every person's life, as well. The moment of death. In final trial at the hour of death. In mortis examine. It is fitting that Mozart chose to focus his crescendo on this phrase.

Mr. Bushey's clenched hand trembled as he raised it aloft. Our voices followed, almost magnetically. I could see the sweat beading upon his brow and feel it on my own.

Then, the resolution. The completion. The parts of the girls and the men (which had diverged for one, beautiful, tense moment) resolved themselves into an elegant, simple harmony on the last syllable of mortis and then brought everything back to harmony on the word examine. Stretched out into five syllables, the choir's stepped us down singing of examine takes us from the heights of that crescendo and brings us back to the world of human concerns, the place where our lives actually exist and where God's grace is operative mysteriously.

Mr. Bushey closed his hands. Our lips fell silent and we stared out into the dark in a moment of silence before the crowd erupted in applause.

* * * * *

All this memory and richness has passed through my heart in a matter of moments. I am again in my parish church, kneeling alone in the back atop the vent. My eyes are full of tears. The parish choir is in the middle of the Ave Verum Corpus. I hear the familiar lines, "esto nobis praegustatum..." I know what is coming. I take a deep breath. The sopranos launch their notes up into the heavens, and then, following behind momentarily, my own wavering voice takes up the part I learned so long ago. "In morrrrrrrrrrtis, examine." I remember the part as if it was yesterday, though some twenty-years have passed. My heart is on fire, my soul deeply stirred. Nostalgia, piety, the richness of the Christian mystery and just...the sheer aesthetic beauty of the music all overwhelm me.

I make my way up the line, blinking away my tears. I throw myself upon the kneeler before the old Neo-Gothic wooden altar rail and receive the Body of Christ, which is truly that sweet foretaste of life everlasting. I am deeply conscious, much more so than usual, or the working of grace in my life and the imperceptible ways God had been nudging me, always nudging me, towards His truth for my entire life.

God, when my hour comes, let me die in that grace. And let me always be cognizant of your providence. And let every moment of truth, or goodness, or beauty be to me a sweet foretaste of life everlasting. Amen.

Faber's Hymn Disfigured

On our Unam Sanctam Catholicam Facebook page, I recently shared a story about a Catholic school in California that had decided to remove images of Jesus and Mary in order to be more inclusive. It made me remember G.K. Chesterton's definition of a liberal as someone who is so open minded their brains have fallen out. The virus of "inclusiveness" and "tolerance" has infected the Catholic soul to a degree unfathomable a few decades ago. In the wake of the events of Charlottesville, this insanity seems to have reached a fever pitch. For example, the sportscaster being pulled from an event for being named Robert Lee, or the Memphis movie theater that withdrew a planned showing of Gone With the Wind.

I was taking these thoughts with me to Mass this morning. We were singing "Faith of Our Fathers" by Frederick W. Faber. I couldn't help notice a new verse smooshed into the middle of the song. The annotation at the bottom of the hymn page noted it was a new alternate verse added in 1994 by progressive liturgist Mike Hay. The verse said:

Our mothers, too, oppressed and wronged
Still lived their faith with dignity;
Their brave example gives us strength
To work for justice ceaselessly

The only way this verse could have been added is because Hay thought the song as written by Faber was unjustly excluding women from the roster of the Church's faithful. It was irking to see how the value of women's example is found, not in the salvation of souls or the glory of God, but in the "strength to work for justice ceaselessly." Women in the Church are social justice warriors, in Hay's vision.

Given this, I wonder in what manner they were "oppressed and wronged" in Hay's vision. The context of the song as a whole is about the oppression of the Church by her persecutors. But since the value of the women's suffering is in inspiring us to work for social justice, I can't help wondering if there is a secondary meaning implicit in Hay's lyric - that the "oppression" is the oppression of "patriarchy", and the admonition to "work for justice" also refers to pushing for alleged "women's equality" within the Church (in terms of female ordination, etc).

Of course referring to our "Fathers" doesn't mean to exclude women. The entire first centuries of the Church are called the "Patristic" era, but obviously that's not meant to deny the role of many holy women in establishing Christianity - women like the Blessed Virgin Mary, St. Agnes, or St. Monica, whose feast we celebrate today. More generally, in English referring to the "days of our fathers" or "the faith of our fathers" and similar such sentiments simply means "the past." As if when we sing about the faith of our fathers we are some how meaning to exclude the possibility that any female also had faith! It's ridiculous. But of course, liberals have never been able to stomach the male universal to refer  to humanity as such.

"Everything's political," says the obnoxious Marxist character Perchik from Fiddler on the Roof. This is real sad thing about progressive ideology. Everything is only political all the time. It's always about power struggle. Not even the martyrdoms of Catholic history can be considered without inserting a political narrative about women's oppression and social justice. In the liberal mindset, there is no refuge from political interpretation; no "safe space", to use a popular progressive phrase. Social justice (rather than the glory of God and salvation of souls) becomes an interpretive meta-principle - a filter through which everything else must pass.

As an aside, it's interesting that this would not be the first time this hymn was added to or redacted. The original third verse of the hymn invoked the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary for the conversion of England:

Faith of our fathers, Mary’s prayers
Shall win our country back to Thee;
And through the truth that comes from God,
England shall then indeed be free.

It was the Protestants who altered this verse, such that "Mary's prayers" became "faith and prayer", "our country" became "all nations", and "England" replace with "mankind" or "we all" or something similar. The result is that an impassioned plea to the Blessed Mother for the conversion of a particular country becomes a very generic prayer for the conversion of the world. Hmm...that reminds me of something else...

At any rate, it's not surprising Protestants would have edited the hymn in this regard, but what is astonishing to me is that Catholic hymnals have adopted the Protestantized version of verse 3. I have never encountered a Catholic hymnal that actually used the original Catholic version of the song as penned by Faber. I'm willing to bet many of these Catholic hymnal and missalette producers are not even aware that the version of the song they are printing is Protestantized.

+Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam+
Email: uscatholicam@gmail.com

Chris Cornell - 1964-2017

Back in 2010 I profiled the life and death of gothic-metal singer Peter Steele. The article was of purely personal interest to me, as I used to listen to Steele's band Type-O-Negative back in my past life. I was surprised how much traction the article got; in fact, it became one of my highest read articles of all time and continues to attract a fair amount of traffic to this day.

Today I am again profiling the death of a musician that meant a lot to me when I was younger, Chris Cornell of Soundgarden, who passed away in Detroit earlier this month in what is apparently being ruled a suicide, although his wife and others who knew him are contesting this.

Musicians come and go, of course, but Chris Cornell's death struck me in a very personal way. Perhaps it's essentially nostalgia; I can vividly remember two decades ago, rumbling down country roads in my buddy's old pickup truck in the summers with windows down, sun baking our arms, blaring Soundgarden while we enjoyed our youth. Some of the earliest songs I learned on guitar were Soundgarden riffs, although I must admit they were a bit too complex for me to master at the time.

Even Cornell's death had a personal element to it. He died in Detroit, right in my backyard, after a final performance at the Fox Theater. I know the Fox Theater well. My mother was an usher there when I was a boy. She used to be able to get us seats for free and I remember heading down there with my brother to see David Copperfield or other acts.

At any rate, I don't mean to go too much into my own background, except as a way to say that this musician was tied up with some very nostalgic memories for me.

As far as I know, Chris Cornell was the only major Grunge-era icon who had a Catholic upbringing. He attended a Catholic school in Seattle, although he finished out his education in a public high school. I've read stories that he was almost kicked out of his Catholic school for "asking too many questions", but this seems apocryphal. I mean, he went to Catholic school in the 1970's; you can't convince me that people were legit reprimanded for challenging Catholic doctrine in American Catholic schools in the 1970's. If anything, such doctrinal non-conformists were probably praised.

At any rate, Cornell seems to have rejected his Catholic upbringing while simultaneously being enamored of the powerful symbols of the faith. This was a similar phenomenon I noted in my article about Peter Steele and Gothic metal; while rejecting the substance of the faith, they retain evocative Catholic imagery in their songs. In the case of Peter Steele, as well as other fans of the Gothic genre, admiration for the symbols and images of Catholicism ended up becoming a back door back to the actual practice of the faith.

Cornell's songs were the same. While he clearly had a skeptical attitude towards the tenets of Christianity, he could not get away from Christian images in his music. As a man who always struggled with addiction and depression, it even seems that sometimes he returns to a kind of consoling Catholic piety when his lyrics are plunging the depths of depression. Even to this day, I am moved by Cornell's opening lines to his 1991 "Say Hello to Heaven":

Please, mother of mercy
Take me from this place
and the long winded curses
I keep here in my head

It's a very Catholic sentiment. When the darkness closes in and all seems hopeless, call out to the Blessed Mother.

I was always particularly partial to his 1999 solo track "Sunshower", which like many of his songs deals with the struggle to find happiness in the midst of pain - to discover redemptive value in suffering. The chorus balances suffering and redemption, promising that all the adversity that pours down like rain will cause grace to blossom and flower:

When you're caught in pain
And you feel the rain come down
It's all right
When you find you way
Then you see it disappear
It's all right
Though your garden's gray
I know all your graces
Someday will flower
In a sweet sunshower

After Soundgarden broke up, Cornell's lyrics became more explicitly religious with his second band, Audioslave. For example, this lyric from "Show Me How to Live":

Nail in my hand from my creator
You gave me life, now show me how to live.

Or this lyric from "Light My Way":

In my hour of need, on a sea of gray
On my knees I pray to you
Help me find the dawn of the dying day
Won't you light my way?

Cornell said the increasingly religious lyrics of Audioslave were evoked by the responsibilities of fatherhood, and the realization that one must live for something beyond oneself.

I'm not suggesting Cornell's music is "Christian" or that the few head nods to a Creator compensate for the religious skepticism evident in much of his music; rather, I am noting how Catholic imagery becomes a pivot around which his creative vision turns, even when he is more or less turning away from it.

In a 2008 interview Cornell identified himself as a "freethinker" who did not prefer to consider life in terms of right and wrong and said he preferred to stay away from specific denominations or religious schools of thought. Jesus's message perverted..."be really nice to each other."

However, around the same time he formally entered the Greek Orthodox communion as a result of his second wife, Vicky Karayiannis. How sincere his conversion was, I could not say. In an interview with The Inquirer, he was asked why he converted to Greek Orthodoxy. He responded:

I wanted to be married in the Greek Church. I was baptized Catholic and went to a Catholic school. There was something about the Greek Orthodox Church that resonated with my childhood—there was something fresh and exciting about it.

Again, it's as if there is a kind fascination with the nostalgia and symbolism of the historic Christian faith that continues exert its influence, even if the substance of faith itself is lacking or imperfect.

At least externally, Cornell appears to have been a practicing Orthodox in his latter days. There are lovely pictures of his child's baptism - with Chris and his wife singing the traditional Greek chants that accompany the rite:

One final thought: I think one thing that was so disturbing about Chris Cornell's death for me personally was that I thought he was "safe." He had outlived many of his musical peers and made it to age 52, not the age we typically associate with rock star suicide. Whether Cornell killed himself intentionally or not - the Ativans he took for anxiety had a side effect of making one suicidal - it is a reminder that one does not outgrow depression. It is something that one must be constantly vigilant against. I was a child of the early 90's, and the one great gift the 90's bequeathed to the world was depression - with all the attendant pharmaceutical treatments and their equally horrific side effects. For me personally, Cornell's death was a stark reminder of these realities.

I don't know to what degree Cornell eventually found faith or what his faith was in; he seems like a man who at one time vehemently rejected the Christian faith but also viewed his personal struggles in a fundamentally religious-existentialist terms, with a vocabulary bequeathed to him by his Catholic upbringing. It seems he started to meander back to faith in the years before his death.

Whatever Chris Cornell's mistakes or weaknesses, the man was a baptized Catholic and it's questionable whether he was in his right mind when he took his life or not. So I'm going to say a little prayer for his soul today. Won't you do the same?

Papal Rock: Milestone of Enculturation

Since the pontificate of John Paul II, we have witnessed the strange phenomenon of the "pop-star popes": a cult of personality surrounding the Roman Pontiff that has little to do with his office as successor or St. Peter and more to do with him being someone "important" and getting treated like a kind of celebrity. Some of this is natural and unavoidable when dealing with any truly important world figure - but much of it is fed by the popes themselves, who in their globe-trotting adventures, massive outdoor Masses, concerts at World Youth Day, and other grandiose events allow an aura of media celebrity to form about them.

Perhaps it will get worse. Maybe what was once described so optimistically at Vatican II as "enculturation" of society to the Gospel will become full blown descent of the Gospel to the culture - even more so than today. Maybe the popes will descend into the pop-entertainment milieu and describe it as a means of "evangelization." Perhaps some day the popes will record their own pop albums in hopes that such a medium will be more "relevant" to the youth of today.

Well, the future is here, because Pope Francis has recorded and released his first pop-rock album.

Or, to be more specific, Pope Francis has signed off on the release of an 11 track album called Wake Up! Go! Go! Forward! The album features what the U.K. Telegraph calls his "wise homilies and moving speeches" set to Indy rock music. Tony Pagliuca, who worked on the album, said the pope's rhythmic voice gave the tracks a feel of "slow rap."

The senior producer was Father Giulio Neroni, the director of St. Paul's Multimedia who is best remembered for compiling a Vatican playlist for MySpace that included a song by Tupac Shakur, who Fr. Neroni described as an artist who merely wanted to" aim to reach the heart of good minded people." Fr. Neroni released a sample track of the Wake Up! that has apparently been downloaded a billion times. The sample track is from a papal homily in South Korea. The pope's voice comes in around 2:00:

To what degree is the pope involved in this project? He signed off on the concept and was presented with a copy of the finished album by Fr. Neroni in August. The pope himself has not commented on the album.

John Paul II was the first to allow such a project to be recorded with his "Abba Pater" album. Pope Benedict XVI also had a similar album released, although in his case the album consisted of Gregorian chants and polyphony interspersed with papal homilies. Like World Youth Day, it looks like this papal album thing is just becoming something all popes do now, a real milestone ofThe mixing of enculturation.

I present this here merely "for the record" and will offer no further comment - though you are encouraged to! Or follow this blog on Facebook.

Contact: uscatholical[at]gmail.com

Anybody can chant

This beautiful rendition of Ave Maris Stella was performed by the choir of St. Mary Star of the Sea in Jackson, MI. The choir is directed by a good friend of mine. Before you continue reading, take a moment to listen to this lovely piece. It was actually recorded during Mass, so you will hear pew noises and people moving around for Holy Communion.

A wonderful example of polyphony, yes? Most of the singers are just amateurs...people who thought it would be nice to serve in the choir and volunteered. This is what they are capable of with just a little bit of training.

But here is the most amazing part - the choir director is also an amateur. Until he assumed leadership of this choir, he had never directed a singing group in his life; zero experience as a choir director. He was just an amateur singer who had cantored a few Tridentine Masses; eventually a few friends started cantoring with him and an impromptu choir sort of developed. He took charge of it about a year ago and this is where they are today. Zero experience leading a choir.

People who say chant is "too hard" are simply wrong. Anyone can chant. Any one can learn to teach others to chant. It is not insurmountable. All one needs is the will. The disappearance of chant from Catholic parishes has nothing to do with chant being inaccessible or too challenging; it is simply that people have decided they do not want chant.

Related: Our eBook "The Gregorian Schola for Beginners" by Ben Perry

Popular Carols in Latin

Looking for some new Christmas music to brighten your Advent season? I'm sure we're all tired of the same old nonsense that is played ad nauseam every year. Why not introduce something new into the holiday repertoire, promote the Latin language, and obnoxiously show off to your non-Latin speaking friends at the same time?

That's right - Latin versions of popular Christmas classics!

Rudolphus Rubro Naso (to the tune of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer")

Reno erat Rudolphus
Nasum rubrum habebat
Si quando hic videbas
Hunc candere tu dicas.

Omnes renores alii
Semper hunc deridebant;
Cum misero Rudolpho
In iudis non iudebant.

Santus Nicholas dixit
Nocte nebulae
"Rudolphe, naso claro
Nonne carrum tu duces?"

Tum renores clamabant,
"Rudolphe, delectus es!
Cum naso rubro claro
Historia descendes!

Aquafolia Ornatis (to the tune of "Deck the Halls")

Aquafolia ornatis
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Tempus hoc hilaritatis
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Vestes claras induamus;
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
Cantilenas nunc promamus
Fa la la la la, la la la la

Procul in Praesaepi ("Away in a Manger")

1. Procul in praesaepi et sine lecto,/ en, parvulus Iesus dormit in faeno
stellaeque micantes despectant eum/ tranquillo in somno, nostrum Domino

2. Dum mugiunt boves, expergiscitur;/ nec tamen ex illo auditur murmur.
Amo te, mi Iesu! De caelo specta/ et usque ad lucem, precor, mi adsta.

3. Es, Domine, mecum, te rogo; mane/ me iuxta aeterno, et dilige me.
Pueruli omnes in cura tua/ fac uti fruantur aeterna vita.

Silens Nox ("Silent Night")

1.Silens nox, sancta nox,/ Placida, lucida,
Virginem et puerum/ Dulcem atque tenerum,
Somno opprime,/ Somno opprime.

2.Silens nox, sancta nox,/ Angeli nitidi
"Alleluia" concinunt;/ Nunc pastores metuunt;
Christus natus est,/ Christus natus est.

3. Silens nox, sancta nox,/ Candida, splendida
Fili Dei facies/ Nobis praebet novas spes;
Christus natus est,/ Christus natus est

Angels We Have Heard on High

1. Lapsi caelo super gentes/ properate, angeli,
nuntiate nunc gaudentes/ natum nostri Domini.
Gloria in excelsis Deo!/ Gloria in excelsis Deo!

2. Salve, rex concordiae,/ Salve, sol iustitiae,
Lumen, vitam afferens,/ Salutaris oriens.
Gloria in excelsis Deo!/ Gloria in excelsis Deo!

O Viri Este Hilaries ("God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen")

1. O viri, este hilares/ Et bono animo;
Salvator Christus natus est/ Hoc tempore festo
Ut nos errantes liberet/ Summo periculo.
Refrain: O laetissimum nuntium, laetissimum,
O laetissimum nuntiu

2. De caelo Pater misit/ In terram angelum,
Qui quosdam ad pastores/ Afferret nuntium,
In Bethlehem natus esse/ Ipsius filium.

3. Quo cognito pastores,/ Completi gaudio,
Relictis statim gregibus/ In imbre et in vento,
Approperant in urbem/ Visendi studio.

4. Eo cum pervenissent,/ Viderunt parvulum
Cubantem in praesaepio/ In faeno pecorum,
Dum mater nixa genibus/ Adorat Dominum.

5. Nunc collaudemus Dominum/ Omnes qui adsumus,
Amore vero inter nos/ Dilecti penitus;
Nam omnium dierum/ Hic est faustissimu.

In Dulci Iubilo

In dulci iubilo/ Cantate domino!
Nostri cordis gaudium/ Est in praesaepio
Et fulget ut lux solis/ In matris gremio.
Alpha est et O,/ Alpha est et O.

O Iesu Parvule,/ Requiro solum Te:
Meumque sis solamen,/ O puer optime!
Commune per levamen,/ O princeps gloriae!
Trahe me post Te! Trahe me post Te!

Joy to The World

Laetissimus, Accipiat
Iam mundus Dominum
Dum omnia, In corda nos
Accipimus illum, Accipimus illum.
Accipimus illum.

En canentes angeli ("Hark the Herald Angels Sing")

1. En canentes angeli:/ "Gloria Regi infanti;
Pax in terra, et Deus/ Concors cum mortalibus."
Laeti, omnes populi,/ Cum caelestibus iuncti,
Praedicate "Nunc Christus/ Est in Bethlehem natus."
En canentes angeli:/ "Gloria Regi infanti."

2. Adoratus caelitus,/ Christus, semper Dominus,
Serius advenit spe,/ Genitus e virgine;
Carne tamquam obsitus,/ Homo ex Deo factus,
Volens ut par sit honos,/ Commoratur inter nos.
En canentes angeli:/ "Gloria Regi infanti."

3. Salve, rex concordiae,/ Salve, sol iustitiae,
Lumen, vitam afferens,/ Salutaris oriens;
Gloriam deposuit,/ Humilesque extuli,
Immortales reddens nos,/ Denuo regenitos.
En canentes angeli:/ "Gloria Regi infanti."

We Three Kings of Orient Are

Reges: 1. Orientis reges tres/ Procul dona portantes
Per campos et montes imus,/ Stellam illam sequentes.

Chorus: O stella potens et mira/ Stella regalis pulchra,
Semper movens ad occasum/ Duc nos ad claram lucem.

Melchior: 2. Infans nate Bethlehem,/ Portamus hanc coronam,
Rex aeterne, sempiterne,/ Domine terrarum.

Caspar: 3. Tu Sabaeum Tibi fero,/ Tus dignum magno Deo;
Te laudantes et orantes/ Colimus in caelo.

Balthazar: 4. Myrrhum amaram defero;/ Circum te fumat caligo,
Te languentem et gementem, Conditum in tumulo.

Reges: 5. Clarus surgit, O specta!/ Deus, rex, et victima.
Alleluia, Alleluia,/ Canunt caelum et terra

Transplanting Tradition

So where did this liturgical custom come from? Does it mean anything to Catholics?

I have been reflecting lately on why certain customs flourish in one religious setting but those same customs utterly fail to produce fruit when transplanted to another. By custom I mean those outward expressions of religious faith common to humankind - certain types of song and musical instruments, manner of prayer, bodily gestures, architectural and artistic creations, and every other expression of culture that usually accompanies religious belief. Religious setting in the broadest sense could mean different religions, but in the context of this discussion, I mean it more with reference to different ecclesial traditions within Christianity itself (Lutheranism, Baptist, Calvinist, and of course, Catholic).

A very large assumption we find in the mindset of the post-Conciliar Church is that a custom one one religious setting can be transplanted into the Catholic Church. It was assumed that because a style of music, or vestment or dance had proved vibrant in one religious setting that it would be equally vibrant and "fruit-bearing" within the Catholic Church. An easy example is the style of hymn known as the "Negro Spiritual," a sort of song composed by enslaved African Americans in the South and associated with varieties of the Baptist tradition. Modern Catholic hymnals typically feature many of these Negro Spirituals; the Spiritual has been "transplanted" from the Baptist to the Catholic tradition.

There are several aspects of this idea of "transplanting" of custom that need to be examined:

(A) The true vitality of these customs within their original religious setting

(B) The assumption of "transplanting" the custom into another tradition

(C) Explanation for the failure of such efforts

First, it is necessary to assert the vitality of a custom within the context of its own tradition. A Negro Spiritual is extremely edifying to African Americans or anyone else raised in that tradition. The dull, austere architecture of a Mennonite gathering hall is pleasing to the sensibilities of Mennonites. Certain types of high-tempo Christian rock music are edifying to Pentecostal Christians, for whom that sort of music is an integral part of their tradition. These customs are all truly vital within their own religious setting.

Now, please note than when I speak of the vitality of these customs, I am not speaking of any supernatural ordering or any merit before God, and this is a rather important point in this discussion. I say not that bare Mennonite gathering halls are pleasing to God, only that they are pleasing to Mennonites. We could have a great discussion about whether God likes Pentecostal rock music; it is undeniable that Pentecostals like Pentecostal rock music. Every individual is edified on a natural level by those elements native to their own tradition. People like that which comes naturally.

But beyond "liking" these customs, we could go further to say that, because these customs have sprung up organically out of these religious communities, there is a certain naturalness to them from a cultural standpoint. It is natural for a black Protestant congregation in rural Mississippi to sing Negro Spirituals just as it is natural for Muslims to pray in Arabic or Catholics to genuflect. Because these customs are natural to these traditions, they form a positive link between the believer and those who have come before him; they serve to build a bond rooting that person to his tradition, edifying him within the context of that tradition. They keep the tradition alive. Thus, on a strictly natural level, we can rightly say that a custom has a true vitality within its own religious setting.

The next part of this discussion is looking at the assumption that these customs can be transplanted into another religious setting other than that of their origin. In the Catholic Church, this is where Negro Spirituals are put into liturgical hymnals, or Protestant praise and worship music is performed at Mass, or Protestant architectural principles are incorporated into parish design, or Eastern meditation is incorporated into Catholic spirituality. The assumption is that these customs will bear fruit in a Catholic setting because they have borne fruit in their natural setting; that the Catholic's experience of the Faith will be enriched by these customs that have enriched other cultures. This implies several problematic things.

For one, it implies that the Faith is somehow lacking and must be enriched by elements brought into it from the outside; I have already written about this elsewhere in the context of the Charismatic Renewal.

But more relevant to this discussion is that it is often forgotten that these customs possess vitality not by virtue of the customs themselves, but because of the context in which they occur, and that this vitality is of a natural, not supernatural, character. There is nothing meritorious before God about clapping hands during a song; it is a purely natural act that the worshiper finds edifying because it is organically part of the tradition to which he belongs. To the degree that, say, Protestant worshipers obtain some grace through their worship, it is because their hearts are more properly disposed towards God, not because there is anything better about clapping hands or singing a Negro Spiritual. If the worshiper does experience more grace through these acts, it is because participating in worship according to their own tradition is what puts them in that disposition.

This is not like the liturgy of the Mass, where the ritual comes from the Apostles and is intrinsically pleasing to God because in the Mass the Son of God is offered to the Father (this is why the Mass is still objectively pleasing to God even if the priest is sinful or the Mass is said privately without a congregation). The problem is that we assume that these other customs (Negro Spirituals) that have vitality within their own religious setting will produce the same results when transferred to Catholic worship. This ignores the fact that the inner vitality of these customs within their own tradition is due to their cultural context, not the merit of the act itself. It also presumes that the Mass, which has a supernatural origin and is ordered towards God, needs the inclusion of these foreign customs that have only a natural goodness, even within their own tradition. These are the problems with transplanting customs from one religious setting to another.

Are these transplants successful? I think anyone who objectively evaluates this question will unequivocally say that these cultural transplants have been a miserable failure. Our worst parishes are the ones where this cross-cultural pollination happens most. By the way, since these cultural transplants are such failures, those who support them can only claim they are successful by changing the definition of success. Instead of success as measured by holiness, increased participation in the sacraments, growth in knowledge, private devotions, etc., the proponent of this ideal has to make the transplant itself a kind of measure of success. Thus, the success of incorporating Negro Spirituals is the simple fact that Catholics are now singing Negro Spirituals. The cultural cross-pollination goes from being a means to an end in and of itself; a "mutual enrichment" as Cardinal Dulles used to call it.

But to anybody who cares about sanctity, love of the truth, or knowledge of the faith, these attempts to inject foreign customs into Catholicism are utter failures. Why is this? Because of the basic premise enunciated above - a custom has vitality within its tradition only because of its cultural context. Remember, the custom builds a bond between a worshiper and his own tradition. But what sort of bond can be established by Catholics singing a Negro Spiritual? How does a lay person taking classes in yoga thereby become more firmly rooted in Catholic spirituality? What does a person clapping hands to Pentecostal rock music at Mass learn about the Catholic liturgy?

A custom is vital when it builds bonds between a believer and his tradition. We could summarize the whole essence of this post in one statement: A custom that does not reflect the tradition of the believer is of no value to the believer. It's "bond building" function is effectively cancelled out. At best it can function only as a sort of novelty that holds the believer's interest briefly before becoming meaningless. The spirituality becomes crassly individualistic - if a custom cannot "plug" us into a greater tradition, its only value is in whatever "interest" it can arouse in the individual, and it cannot hold that interest for long. At that point we can only continue to maintain that such experiments have meaning by asserting that the inclusion of foreign elements in our tradition is itself a positive good.

We would not expect a Negro Spiritual to mean anything in a Catholic liturgy any more than we would expect the Salve Regina to mean anything in a black church is rural Mississippi. We understand this when we talk about other traditions or religions; anyone would acknowledge that Gregorian chant would be out of place in a Mennonite gathering hall or that a genuflection inside a Mosque would be highly improper; why are Catholics alone not able to exercise this same sort of reasoning when it comes to foreign customs transplanted into our own tradition?

Traditions cannot be transplanted. Just because a Protestant church finds great vibrancy and edification in Pentecostal rock music does not mean that a Catholic parish will likewise be edified. A salt water fish can't live in fresh water. The crops that thrive in Cuba wither in Norway because the environment is different. The only difference between these examples and what we have today in the Catholic Church is that it only takes the green-thumb farmer one trial and one error to realize that tropical crops cannot flourish in cold climates; how many decades will it take for our liturgists to learn the same simple lesson?

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas to all of you, wherever you are! Here is an original composition a good friend of mine wrote. Some of you won't like it because it has drums; most of you will be able to get past that. In any case, Merry Christmas!

Speeding Up to Slow Down

Something interesting is going on in my diocese in preparation for the implementation of the new translation of the Roman Missal this Advent. In an attempt to make the Mass more standard from parish to parish, and in order to bring things more into conformity with the original Latin prayers, our Bishop desires that all new musical settings for the Gloria be faithful to the new English translation. To ensure this, he has, as of last week, mandated that every parish use a specific arrangement for the Gloria in English, the "Mass for a Servant Church" by Michael Guimont. You can listen to this Gloria here.

On the one hand, it is admirable that our bishop wants to promote a liturgical standard in the Diocese of Lansing, and even more so that he desires this standard to be based on texts that are completely faithful to the original Latin. I applaud these directives.

On the other hand, this mandate introduces several problems. First, what of parishes, like my own, that have already been accustomed to singing the Latin Gloria at our Ordinary Form Masses? As the directive stands (at least as it was explained to me), even parishes already using a Latin Gloria now have to use this English Gloria. This does not make sense. The goal of the directive is to ensure greater fidelity to the original Latin - you can't get much more faithful to the original Latin than actually using the original Latin.

Secondarily, we have the problem that this music is a bit awkward. One of the reasons for the dissimilarity between the Latin and the older English Gloria settings was the desire to make the Gloria more rhythmic and singable for an English audience. The new Gloria, literally translated from the Latin, does not fit well in an English musical setting. For example, take the old Gloria:

Glory to God in the highest
And peace to His people on earth

Each phrase has 8 syllables, making is easy to fit into the kind of structured, "hymnal" setting that most English speaking congregations are used to. But, if we are taking a translation directly from the Latin (which is meant to be chanted), we get something different:

Glory to God in the highest

And on earth peace to people of good will

Here the first phrase has 8 syllables, but the second has 10, meaning that it is more difficult to fit it together in a hymnal arrangement. To be sure it can be done, as Michael Guimont's arrangement demonstrates, but the manner in which the new phrases are shoved together makes it that much more difficult for the average parishioner to sing this piece. In my parish we are having difficulty with it, not just because it is new, but because in some places the only way it can get all the text into a measure is by moving extremely fast. Some parts move slowly, some quickly and the timing almost changes in every "verse" (the Gloria is not supposed to be set up in a verse/refrain structure, but I digress), making it extremely difficult to follow along with.

My point is that the new English translation of the Gloria does not lend itself as easily to a hymnal musical structure; nor should it. It is a literal translation of a prayer that is supposed to be chanted. If we want to promote fidelity to the original Latin, how about we encourage parishes to use the original Latin?  Duh.

Our parish is already ahead of most parishes in this country in that we were using all of the fixed Mass parts in Latin well before the new translation. We were where the pope wants the Church to be going; and now, in an effort to more fully implement the pope's thinking, the bishop is actually slowing our parish down. It's like we did all the speeding up just to be slowed down - in the name of speeding up!

I personally think this directive may in fact be uncanonical, though I am not sure, as a bishop's authority over the liturgy is complex. I do know that a bishop's discretion is only applicable in areas not regulated by the Holy See. How it applies to areas where there are not clear regulations but preferences, I'm not at all certain. Liturgically, Gregorian chant in Latin remains the number one preference of the Church and has pride of place, as Sacrosanctum Concilium states. If a parish is using the Church's traditional, preferred option, in keeping with the documents of Vatican II, does a bishop have the authority to mandate an equally valid but lesser liturgical option? Could he, say, mandate that every priest use Eucharistic Prayer 2 or a certain option for the Penitential Rite? I personally don't think so; I can see an argument for mandating the norms, but I don't see how he can mandate one of the lesser options when the Church asks for the norm; how can one mandate an exception and exclude the rule?

Here is how this problem could be solved: rework the directive so that it says all parishes must use the Guimont version of the English Gloria, unless they are already using the Latin. After all, the Latin is the measure by which we are judging the English. All problems relating to fidelity to the original prayers become moot if we just use the original prayers.

It seems tragic to compel a parish that has already made tremendous strides in introducing Latin to go back to vernacular, especially in the name of returning standardization to the liturgy.

Therefore, I earnestly petition and pray that our good bishop, who has done so much for tradition in our diocese, will relent in this matter and grant an exception allowing for the use of the Gloria in Latin. Or, if I am misunderstanding this directive and arguing against a straw-man, may somebody show me the truth and correct me.

Other posts on liturgical music:

"Our of the Mouths of Babes": A group of elementary school students learns the Our Father in Latin in three days, disproving forever the argument that the Latin prayers are "too hard" for the laity to learn.

"Singing Satan's Parts": Many object to singing God's words in liturgical music; what about when we sing Satan's parts?

"More Rock Music at Mass": When I take my kids to another parish where they play rock music, my kids start dancing in the pews.

"Contemporary Music Isolates the Elderly": The elderly suffer most from bizarre liturgical music.

The Holly and the Ivy

It has become my custom each year during Advent to do a posting on Christmas music; I am happy this year that I am finally able to share one of my favorite Christmas songs of all time, The Holly and the Ivy. I'm sure all of you are familiar with this tune, but I am not referring to the popular version of the song as heard here. There is another version of the song, one that is much more festive and upbeat, and much rarer. I have only heard this version in one place - on an English Christmas CD that I picked up nearly ten years ago. It was sung by the Norwich Cathedral Choir, though there was no mention on the CD of who had written the arrangement.

I searched for years to find a YouTube version of this song so I could share it with you. After almost four years, I finally decided to make a video on my own - so, I went through my old CD pile, dug up the disc, ripped the song and stayed up till midnight last night putting some pictures to it. So, enjoy this rare version of The Holly and the Ivy. If anybody knows the composer or who arranged this, please let me know:

Here are some of my previous posts on Christmas music:

"The Christmas Canon" (2009)
"Five Underrated Christmas Songs" (2008)
"Melancholy Christmas" (2007)

And two other Christmas posts:

"Santa Claus and Vicarious Faith" (2009)
"This time of year is so depressing" (2008)

Out of the mouths of babes...

Among the critics of a further return to the Church's traditional language in the liturgy, there are always those who say that an expansion of Latin would be impractical because nobody would be able to learn or understand it. It is too difficult, they say, to take people who only know English and try to educate them in the meaning and pronunciation of a different language. Nobody would understand what they were saying and, even if they were willing to try to pick up the Latin, it would take way too much time for them to master the phrases. Latin might be fine for those who have taken years of it in college, the say, but for the vast bulk of the laity who have not, this is just a kind of liturgical elitism, a practice that is beyond the ability of most people to find any meaning in. The laity simply does not have the endurance or competency for such an undertaking (a rehash of the old "ignorant laity" argument).

 At my parish we recently did an experiment that blew this argument out of the water. Last week we had about 60 kids from many surrounding parishes participate in our yearly Catholic Vacation Bible School program. Instead of singing a lot of insipid, Protestant-inspired songs, the music director decided to teach the kids to sing the Our Father in Latin. The majority of the kids (I'd say 80%) had never heard it before; I know this because we took a "show of hands" poll to see who had prior exposure to the Pater Noster - very, very few did.

 The student guinea pigs were from grades 3 to 6 and spent 45 minutes with the music director each day (though perhaps only ten or fifteen minutes were devoted to the Our Father specifically). On day one they were introduced to the prayer, were taught why we use Latin, were taught the prayer in its entirety, worked on pronunciation and had an opportunity to listen to the director singing the melody. At the end of the class, they fuddled their way through it once, too.

On day two they practiced singing through the song themselves, working out bumps in the timing and tweaked the pronounciation a little more. 

On the third day they were able to sing through the whole thing, guided by the Music Director, and sounded pretty good. By this time a good number of the phrases were committed to memory.

On day four they rehearsed the whole thing several times - I also reviewed it with them in class, explaining little points about the Latin and how it related to English words they already knew. On the evening of day four, they performed a concert for their parents and sung the entire Pater Noster, reading music off of provided sheets. Was it as perfect as it could have been? Not at all - it could always be better. But the success story here is that we took a group of 7 to 11 year olds who had by and large never heard the Our Father sung in Latin and in the span of four days taught it to them with enough proficiency so that they were able to perform it at a concert.

Our excellent Music Director hit it on the head when, in a little talk to the kids, she said, "You guys are amazing. A lot of adults think what you are doing is too hard, but it's not is it?" The kids laughed and jested at the idea that adults could not do what they themselves were doing with relative ease.

So, are adults too stupid to learn Latin? Are they too busy? Will it take too long to get them proficient? I'd say my Music Director invested maybe two or three hours total time with these kids on this particular song over four days and that was plenty good enough. Next time somebody tells you that a switch to Latin would be too laborious and time consuming, remember that a group of 3rd-6th graders did it in four days. It's really not that big a deal. The obstacles are ideological, not practical.

"From the mouths of babes and sucklings thou hast perfected praise" (Matt. 21:16).

Apologia pro Christian Rock: Syncopation & Sexualization (part 4)

After a long delay, it is time for the fourth installment of everybody's least favorite series! This time, I will dealing with the issue of syncopation directly and addressing the claims that syncopated rhythms (a) cause one to become "sexualized", (b) are contrary to natural law and (c) are from the devil. In this post we will only have time to look at question A, whether syncopated beats cause a person to become sexualized.

For many who oppose rock music as intrinsically disordered, the focus is on the syncopated rhythm of the music. Before proceeding any further, we ought to define syncopation, since it can be a difficult concept to grasp for those who do not have a musical background.

Syncopation occurs when a typically unstressed beat is stressed, i.e., an "offbeat." A standard textbook in music theory, the Benward and Saker's Music: In Theory and Practice states that "If a part of the measure that is usually unstressed is accented, the rhythm is considered to be syncopated." Basically, it is the placement of stresses or accents where one wouldn't "normally" occur. If this makes any sense, a traditional rhythm might have the following accent: ONE two ONE two ONE, whereas a syncopated rhythm might go one TWO one TWO one TWO. If we imagine the one's as the bass drum and the two's as a snare drum, then we can see that syncopated rhythms form the "backbeat" to almost all contemporary rock, but also reggae, blues and other forms of music, as we shall see later.

So for the most part, rock music is heavily syncopated. Although, we ought to point out right away that rock music does not consist solely of syncopation - syncopation is one type of rhythm and rock can contain a variety of rhythms. Furthermore, syncopation did not begin with rock. It was used in traditional classical compositions, especially those of a martial nature (march music). Syncopation was used in compositions of the Middle Ages, and such masters as Bach, Mozart, Beethoven and Tchaikovsky have also made extensive use of it (source). So in our discussion of syncopation we ought not to view it as some bizarre novelty invented by the depraved minds of modernity; rather, it is one musical tool among many that composers have always used in assembling their compositions.
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Now, let's look at these three objections to syncopation in music - that it causes one to become sexualized, that it is intrinsically disordered and contrary to natural law, and that it is from the devil.

The first objection is perhaps the most common, and the point in the argument where objections to syncopation become moral imperatives. If it were true that listening to a certain beat made one sexualized or aroused lust, I suppose it would be morally dangerous to listen to music with that beat, regardless of whether it were a secular rap song or a Christian praise and worship tune. Remember, according to proponents of this theory, the precise style of music or lyrics do not matter - all that matters is the presence of the syncopated rhythm. But does syncopation in fact make one sexualized?

Fr. Basil Nortz of the Opus Sanctorum Angelorum in his talk "Music and Morality" states that (and I paraphrase) syncopated rhythms cause the body to "channel energy" from the upper body down into the pelvic region, giving the listener a desire to thrust or move their hips in sexually suggestive motions. So for Nortz, the connection here is a very physical, biological one: the music actually channels physical energy from the rest of the body to the pelvis, presumably getting one sexually aroused.

Andrew Pudewa, though not making this sweeping of a claim, states that a syncopated rhythm arouses the "lower passions" of man and therefore makes it more likely that the sexual passion or appetite will be awakened by listening to such rhythms. While there is nothing wrong with the sexual appetite, Pudewa states that it is nevertheless dangerous to risk awakening this passion, especially since syncopated rhythms seem to grant it a dominant role in modern music. Pudewa says that rhythm is dominant in modern music based on the fact that "if you turn the volume down very low, the instrument you can still hear is the dominant one." Since in most instances a drum beat can be perceived at much lower amplitudes, therefore music that uses syncopated rhythms is dominated by this beat which sexualizes the listener. This is what Pudewa and Fr. Nortz refer to as rock music's use of "relentless" and "driving" rhythms.

Regarding Fr. Nortz's claims that syncopated beats channel energy to the pelvis, I think we can regard this as pseudo-science. If energy is indeed channeled to the pelvis, then what I want to know is what energy? How is it "channeled"? Does it flow through veins or arteries? Intestines? If you are saying that "energy" is "channeled" then you are making a biological claim about the functioning of the human body and its systems. Unless you can tell me specifically what kind of "energy" this is and how it gets "channeled", then this claim becomes as foolish as the claims of those who say they can "channel energy" from crystals. Therefore, to those who say that a syncopated rhythm channels energy to the pelvis, either explain biologically what exactly it is you are saying gets channeled and how or else refrain from using these meaningless phrases of pseudo-science; it's as worthless as saying that a dog moves by virtue of an "inherent locomotive principle." Frankly, I'm surprised how many people buy this argument about channeling energy, but if you think about it biologically it makes little sense.

What about the argument that rhythm has an especially dominant role in rock music (of whatever variety) and that the dominant place of this rhythm "arouses" the lower appetites?

Again, what is the biological connection between the rhythm and how one gets "aroused" sexually? Do not most of these arguments make use of the unwarranted assumption that a syncopated rhythm arouses one's sexual appetites? Pudewa and Fr. Nortz seem to take this for granted. As a musician of twenty years, I can say this is not the case, but we'll come back to this.

Is rhythm dominant in modern music? Rhythm in fact is dominant in all music, of whatever variety. You cannot have music that is not dominated by rhythm. Classical music is dominated by rhythm. Ancient Greek music is dominated by rhythm. Mozart is dominated by rhythm. So how can Pudewa say that modern rock music is dominated by rhythm? Here we have to make a subtle distinction - when it is said that modern music is dominated by rhythm, what is meant is that modern music makes extensive use of percussive instruments. This is the difference between modern and pre-modern music: while all music is dominated by rhythm (which is just the timing of the music), classical or pre-modern musical forms were written in such a way that the rhythm was not expressed as percussively (note the lack of "drums" in classical compositions, which keep rhythm without them). In modern music, percussive instruments are used for the purpose of keeping rhythm. But in both cases the rhythm dominates the music - it can't be otherwise; without rhythm, there is no music, just minimalism; and however much one dislikes rock music, one cannot accuse it of being minimalist, since most rock music maintains a variety of rhythms, melodies and can be very complex - one might not like the solos of Eddie Van Halen (whose music I can't stand), but one cannot claim that they are minimalist or not complex.

So, it's not rhythm but percussion that allegedly dominates modern music. Andrew Pudewa says that we can prove this by the experiment of turning down the volume when a rock song is playing. If we do this, the last instrument we can still hear as the volume goes down is the drums. This is said to "prove" that the drums dominate the music.

I don't know how scientific this is, but I think what instrument you hear "last" when the volume is turned down has way more to do with tone and pitch that what is "dominant." For example, a lot of classical compositions will have an occasional cymbal crash in them, perhaps only three or four times in the whole piece. Yet, because of the tone and pitch that a cymbal has (as opposed to a violin or cello), you can be sure that if you turned the volume down, you'd hear that cymbal crash above everything else. Does this mean that classical music is dominated by cymbals? No; it simply means that a cymbal is of such a tone that it can be picked up by the human ear with greater ease than a bass. Similarly in rock music, I don't know that we can say that drums "dominate." Obviously, the music has to have rhythm, either with or without drums. I would say that drums don't dominate - they coordinate, as without drums it is very difficult for the guitarists to keep their own rhythm, depending on their degree of expertise.

One more thing to harp on here, and that is the use of this deceptive vocabulary about "relentless" beats and "driving" rhythms. Both Pudewa and Nortz use this language, and I hear it mimicked by many who criticize Christian rock music. What do these adjectives actually mean? Nothing at all. By saying "relentless," isn't this just a more negative way of saying that the beats are constant? Well, so what? Most musical compositions have an instrument that is constantly present. Or when we say that the beat is "driving," don't we really just mean that the beat sets the pace of the music, which is precisely what percussion is supposed to do? These adjectives "relentless" and "driving" are not helpful and are somewhat deceptive- couldn't we just as easily say that compositions by Bach are made up of "relentless piano playing" or that  the 1812 Overture features the use of relentless, driving use of horns; we could even say that Canon in D makes use of that one, "relentless" chord progression. In any of these case the use of the adjectives "relentless" and "driving" would be technically true; yet these adjectives are reserved for reference to rock beats alone because they carry with them obvious, loaded connotation that is negative. Heck, most classical music consists of relentless, driving violins.

But we have strayed from our original question - does any of this have anything to do with people getting sexualized from these beats?

That some music is associated with sexuality is unmistakable, but we have to be clear about what is causing what. For example, rap music and hip hop are more associated with sexuality than most other sorts of music, which is easily proven by a look at their music videos, lyrics and the life-styles engaged in by those who listen to such music. But does the music cause this sexualization? Could the sexuality associated with hip hop and rap perhaps have more to do with culture and socioeconomic status? That is, could not the emphasis of the hip hop "culture" on sex and promiscuity be more about the lack of positive male role models, inverted values that see promiscuous men and loose women as the norm and grinding poverty that leads to a focus on immediate gratification rather than fortitude and temperance? Doesn't this make more sense than saying the beats did it? When we factor in the way this music is marketed and advertised, this reinforces the sexual images associated with the music. The music is marketed using sex, but the rhythms in the music don't cause sexualization. If you remove the cultural background to a lot of this music, I think it is rendered quite innocuous, as in the case of Christian rock music.

And by the way, if the beats really do cause sexualization in hip hop music, then every single person who listens to hip hop should become sexualized and promiscuous, whether they are an African-American youth from Chicago or a dopey, middle-aged white Yuppie professor from Berkley.  Remember, if its about beats then its about beats, and every syncopated rhythm is equally dangerous and sexual - Barry White becomes just as sexual as the Mr. Lunt's "Cheeseburger" song in Veggietales, which is absurd. Yes, syncopation is used in rock n' roll and hip hop, but it also occurs everything from country and blue grass to the Muzak you hear in the department store and the innocent little tunes your kids pick up from Veggietales and Dora the Explorer. Yet sexuality is only associated with a few genres of music, not everything that uses syncopation. Here we have a fallacy of attributing the cultural trappings of a few genres to the whole. That this is a fallacious attribution is easily provable by the fact that (a) it is very easy to separate the musical style from the cultural baggage, and (b) the existence of a vast numbers of musicians and fans of other forms of syncopated music who are not sexual deviants.

I am a musician. I play Christian rock and write Christian rock songs about Jesus but using modern instruments, rock beats and syncopation. If everything was true about syncopation that some assert, then I should be a sexual deviant, not living chastely in a monogamous marriage. It is easy to pick out a few secular rock stars who are sexual deviants, but to focus exclusively on Ozzy Osbourne and the like ignores the throngs upon throngs of other musicians, many Christian but also many secular, who are not deviants, not sexually promiscuous and who are likewise (and most importantly) not famous. Therefore, is it not more plausible that it is the fame and fortune of many rock stars that leads them into immoral lifestyles rather than the type of beats they use in their music? It is a well established fact that fame and wealth corrupt; why invoke syncopated rhythms when we have a much more plausible explanation, especially when there exists a vast number of musicians who are not famous and likewise not living immorally?

Now, it could be argued that syncopation does in fact lead to sexualization by invoking the behavior that goes on at rock concerts. Men and women drunk, scantily clad, sometimes dancing and grinding in a sexual manner, sometimes engaging in unchaste activities right at the show. That this goes on is undeniable, and does it not prove that these beats stimulate the body and cause people to become sexualized?

My answer: absolutely not, and for a simple reason of plain logic. If the argument is made that the beats themselves cause all of these behaviors, and then we bring forward the dissolution that happens at rock concerts as evidence, then it follows that it is necessary to isolate the beats from the concert to prove that the rhythms themselves are responsible for this behavior and not the fact of the large gathering or people, alcohol, loud volume, etc. Basically, if the beats really do cause these behaviors, then they should cause these behaviors under all circumstances, not just when at a rock concert. If we see that syncopation does not produce these behaviors under all conditions, then it is clear that the behaviors described do not derive from the rhythms but arise instead out of the conditions/circumstances in which the music is being performed.

That this is the case is proven by the simple fact that the lewd behaviors described above are associated mainly with rock concerts - i.e., people do not start taking their shirts off and grinding when they are listening to rock music in their car on the way to work in the morning, much less if it is a Christian artist. Nor do they do these things when listening to rock, say, while working in the garage on a Saturday afternoon. In fact, these behaviors seldom occur at all unless in the context of a large gathering of teenagers with plenty of alcohol and loud music. That is definitely a bad combination, but it doesn't have anything to do with beats or rhythms. If you don't believe me, check out the history of opera: opera was banned in the papal states in the 1700s because of the lewd and dissolute behavior that went on at operas. Operas were the rock concerts of the 1700s. And what was the common factor? Certainly not "syncopated rhythms," but the volatile combination of young people, large gatherings at night, alcohol and the latest faddish entertainment.

I apologize for the length of this post - next time I will examine whether syncopation is "against natural law" and whether or not syncopated rhythms are "demonic" in origin.

"God is Love"

As many of you know, besides being a blogger, Youth Director and professional loser, I am also an amateur musician. A few months ago, before my surgery, I started recording a song I wrote at my friend's studio. We got most of the song completed, but a few weeks ago his hard drive crashed and the song was lost. Luckily I had  a rough mix of the track that he had made for me sometime prior. Seeing that the song would probably not getting finished, I threw some images up over it and turned it into a little music video, which I now present here for your listening enjoyment. The only thing is, since it was a rough mix, there are some parts where there are no backing vocals (where there ought to be) and a lot of the levels aren't mixed right, but other than that it's pretty okay, except for that my singing is awful.

By the way, I will be away hosting a conference for our parish's Youth Group for the weekend, so I won't be back posting until probably Monday night.

Guitars, vocals, bass are by me; song is an original composition. My friend played the piano and the drums are done by a computer program.

Peter Steele - 1962-2010

Most of you have probably never heard of Peter Steele, (left) who passed away last month at the age of 48 from heart failure. Steele was the bassist and lead singer from the band Type O Negative, a popular group in the 1990's that was at the cutting edge of the emerging "gothic" music scene and culture - you know, all those whiny, self-pitying teens who dye their hair black and try to look like vampires? Though Type O Negative, as a niche band, never attained a real popular mass market appeal, they did sustain a strong underground following throughout the 90's and into the new millennium. Steele set the group apart by his haunting, baritone vocals in an age when most goth/metal bands looked for male singers who could do alto or soprano. Attempting to sound as "gothic" as possible, the band's music often featured church organs and choirs, as well as slow, creepy rhythms (think of the Addam's Family theme song).

Steele had a typical rock-star lifestyle - struggles with depression, drug abuse and alcoholism that eventually derailed his music career and made him a has-been by the mid 2000's. Last month he passed away of a sudden heart attack at the age of 48.

So why is this news? A rock-star dies before his age? Is this surprising for someone who dallied in the occult (and professed atheism), exulted vampires as role models and sung about sacrilege, fornication and demonology? I recall listening to Type O Negative when I was 14, and this music definitely got me interested and involved in occult spirituality (I even had a brief vampire phase that thankfully proved very temporary). How many other young people were lured into the occult through this sort of music that exalts vampires and everything dark? And why am I bringing this up on my blog?

Because shortly before his death, Peter Steele converted to Christianity and even claimed to be a Roman Catholic. He went on talk shows speaking about how God has a plan for everybody and stated that one thing that helped bring him to Christianity was the conviction that there had to be some justice in life beyond this world; in his own words, that "someone like Stalin or Hitler just couldn't wind up in the same place as Mother Teresa." This sudden change appalled his fans (who thought he had sold out) and amazed Christians, who were once again reminded that nobody is beyond God's grace. His was definitely the most unexpected conversion since the 2005 conversion of Korn guitarist Brian "Head" Welch. Unfortunately, unlike Welch, Steele died very soon after announcing his conversion.

I do not know whether or not Peter Steele ever got himself baptized, nor how true was his union with the Church when he claimed to be a Roman Catholic. Perhaps he was in the process of formal membership, perhaps he had not yet reached that stage. I do not know.But it is not surprising to me that someone into the "gothic" scene should have converted to Catholicism rather than Calvinism or some non-denominational Protestantism.

One thing interesting about the "gothic", vampiric culture among the youth is the degree to which it makes use of Catholic religious symbols and sacramentals. Obviously this use is in a sacrilegious or illicit way, but it is still present. When one makes role models out of vampires, there is a kind of negative sacramental economy that comes into play - Holy Water, for the vampire, as something that is harmful rather than blessed; a cross, which serves the same function (though goth kids will sometimes wear decorative "gothic" crosses); even a perverted form of the Lord's Supper, in which the feasting on God's Body and Blood for supernatural life is substituted for the sucking of human blood for physical life. Some even exhibit a predilection for Latin; one of Type O Negative's most popular hits was entitled "Corpus Christi." All these are of course used out of their proper place, but they are nonetheless part of the vampire/goth lore.

As was the case with Type O Negative and Peter Steele's lyrics, there was almost an obsession with Christianity and themes from Christian theology that can be equated to Flannery O' Connor's "Christ-haunted" character of Hazel Motes in Wise Blood: even as Christianity is rejected, the vehemence of the rejection still ensures that, in a negative way, Christianity is still the driving force of the story. Similarly, Type O Negative, and a lot of "goth" music, keeps Christianity in the fore of its symbolism and content even as it inverts this symbolism.

But at some point I wonder whether the dallying around with the symbols of Christianity leads one on to discover the substance - it is odd that Steele should go from goth right to Roman Catholicism, but it makes sense sort of if perhaps through the gothic cultural symbolism he was acquainted (in a perverse way) with Catholic concepts (sacramentals, etc). Unlike rationalist atheists, many goths are very interested in spiritual matters and even in Christianity in a perverted sort of way. I remember this from my own teenage years - listening to dark metal but being very interested in spirituality, occult and Christian. I doodled pictures of demons and devils, which of course eventually got me thinking about the real devil and brought me into the realm of Christianity. When I first started reading the Bible at age 14, it was as "the enemy's book;" by the time I finished I was a believer. At least in my own personal case, the gothic scene (though I was never that involved in it) served as a kind of preparatio evangelica insofar as it got me familiar with certain concepts that I later learned were native to the Church.

I have mentioned before that there is an obsession with inverted forms of Christian worship in occult rites (see here), which are obviously meant to insult or blaspheme our Lord. We warn people about fooling around with occultism, but I wonder if occultists warn their members against "fooling" around with Catholicism. After all, the Faith is like a lion; if you let it out, even in its aesthetic or purely cultural incarnations, it is possible that one will be drawn by the inherent beauty to reject to seek the Truth.The Lion that is Catholicism has eaten many who set out to disprove or discredit it. I myself am one. Steele is another.

Am I saying that gothic metal or the gothic scene is good and will lead people to Christ? Absolutely, positively one-hundred percent not. I am remarking on the marvelous grace of God that He can take people, like myself or Peter Steele, who were completely immersed in darkness and even in the midst of that darkness draw us out ever so slowly by miniscule rays of truth that grow broader and more powerful the further one follows them, leading eventually into Catholic fullness. I don't know to what degree Peter Steele was able to partake of this fullness before his death last month, but I thank God for His grace in my life that I was brought from darkness into His glorious light.