The Profane and the Sacred
I'm starting with the profane, because I'm a sucker for happy endings, so I want to end on a happier note. So, first, The Crap.
THE PROFANE
Sometime in the past 12 months, my church got a new liturgist. Sister Magdalene was replaced by Sister. . .somebody. I can't remember her name, but it may be because I've now got an instictive mental block. But the dear sister has been instituting certain changes in the Mass that invlove me, as I'm a cantor, and they've been irritating, but recently crossed the line.
Now, y'all know I'm not really that conservative when it comes to religio-spiritual matters. I mean, really, I can't be, considering. . . well, considering. But that doesn't mean I don't take my faith very seriously, and due to certain aspects of my background, I have a deep appreciation for ritual. Which means that if one is going to muck about with ritual, they better damned well know what they're doing--and sister does not.
The first thing that happened was that in the cantor book have been inserted these little speeches to be recited before Mass. It used to be the cantor went up, and said something like "Good Morning! Welcome to St. John the Baptist. Today is the __th Sunday in ordinary time. Our presider this morning is ______. Please rise and join in singing number _____, __(insert title here)_, number ________." And then all would rise, the music would start, and that's the way it would start.
Now, it's some thing like "Good morning. In today's gospel, Jesus says _________something________ and reminds us that __________. (Insert a series of "thought provoking" questions. Let us take a few moments to think in the silence of _____________blah blah blah."
Silence.
"Now more talking that won't really enlighten you any more anyway, but blah blah blah, yadda yadda yadda anyway, okay, Let's Sing!"
Okay, so irritating, but I went along with it because . . . because I didn't want to cause a fuss, and if the pastor approved it, well, I didn't want to rock the boat.
Then, she decides that the psalm will be sung from the lectern, not from the ambo. Ok, good enough, because the psalm is a scripture reading and I can see why you'd want to re-enforce that idea. But there's this choreography involved with the first reader and the second reader. No, not dance, but there is timing and such and why can't I just move around through the hall behind the alter during the first reading, and back after the psalm? This staged movement brings too much attention to the reader and the cantor, when the focus should be what is read and what is sung, not the person/ people doing it.
But fine, okay, the readers were doing it, and all the other cantors, and the pastor wasn't scowling (and man, he can scowl when he chooses), so I took a deep breath and went along with it, to my distaste.
But, I swear by all the princes of Heaven and Hell, sister has crossed the line, and my bullshit-tolerance just ran out.
Now, before the stupid introduction "reflection", and after the choir's prelude, the cantor is supposed to lead everyone in a little thing that's supposed to be a song but. . . [Yes, this means an order of: Prelude, stupid thing, "reflection", opening hymn, and then the beginning of Mass]. This song is Christopher Walker's "We are the Church." [*gags*]
First of all, the "music" to this thing sucks. And I don't just mean "I'm a music snob, and this isn't Mozart." I mean that William Hung couldn't make this sound any worse, nor Placido Domingo make it sound any better. It sucks like a bilge pump on steroids. A troop pf Brownies sitting around a campfire would be embarrassed to sing something with this "melody", and would probably try to roast anyone who attempted to make them.
But, the "melody" pales in comparison to the masturbatory words. Yes, masturbatory. The words to this thing are all about how great, how fan-fucking-tastic and friggin fabulous we are. Us, We, yeah baby, work it! God is a side mention, part of what makes us so great! We are the Chuch, the people of God! We are the something something, God's holy people, something something, the people of God! The entire focus of the song is Us. God is a side mention, sort of in the way one might mention a award when introducing someone. . . you know, "emmy award winning John Stewart!. . ."Here they are, God's holy people, The Church!" (and the crowd goes wild. Or is supposed to. The congregation wasn't that into it, from the sound last Sunday. . .)
So, I'm supposed to cantor this Sunday. I think I'm supposed to lead this song. Not gonna happen. I said after church last Sunday, quite loudly and within the pastor's hearing, that I would rather shove my knitting needles through my eyes than lead that. My father, impressed by my vehemence, felt need to inform the choir director that he might need to take my extreme distaste into consideration. Actually, what he wrote was:
Also, you should know that Christine, who is scheduled to cantor Sunday, absolutely will NOT lead the congregation in "We are the Church." If Sister wants to do what she did this past Sunday, fine. Chris would love to cantor the rest, but that piece just triggers an aesthetic and spiritual gag reflex. If that is going to cause a problem, you may want to switch cantors.
I had nothing to do with her decision, but I definitely have the same reaction. This should be retitled "Hymn to Self-Absorbed Baby Boomers." I do not come to church to celebrate myself.
I felt I should also speak for myself on this matter, so Stephen knows how I really feel, so I followed up dad's email with one of my own:
Stephen,
Dad has it right. I'm perfectly okay and willing to do everything else (including the annoying little speech before the beginning of Mass), but my tolerance for self-worship runs out right here. If asked about my refusal, you can tell whoever that I say "There's something obscene about communal musical masturbation, and I refuse to have any part of it anywhere, much less in a church where we're supposed to be worshipping God, not ourselves."
Yes, I feel pretty strongly about this. I don't really consider myself very conservative when it comes to religious matters, but that doesn't mean I don't take my faith seriously. This . . . drivel is insulting enough as a "song", without the lyrics. Kum-ba-yah is literally more sacred, since it's at least supposed to be a sorta-prayer.
Hell, I know Linkin Park and Korn lyrics that are more reverent.
And that's saying something. [Especially when it's a soprano complaining about something being too self-centered. I mean, really. . . ]
Now, here's to hoping that I misunderstood Sister's intent regarding this . . . thing. . .
I'm not sure how Stephen will respond to this. I know he's not fond of the thing himself, but I also know that I've never responded this way to something, and I'm sure he'll be a bit taken aback by my vehemence. But the fact is, I find this thing to be insulting to the congregation, and downright sacriligeous. I find it horribly offensive to sing in front of the Blessed Sacrament, and I refuse to have a part of something in a church that takes the focus away from the Reason we're there.
So, enough of that, on to
THE SACRED
The good news regarding my church is that the Series on Christian Mystics started up again for some fall sessions, and we started out last Sunday afternoon with readings from Mechthild of Magdeburg: The Flowing Light of the Godhead book 1.44, "The Sevenfold Path of Love, The Three Garments of the Bride, and the Dance." Good stuff. This is why I love the mystics, especially writers like Mechthild and St. John of the Cross. Reading their work is like reading a Spiritual Bodice-ripper. To wit:
"Then the bride of all delights goes to the Fairest of lovers in the secret chamber of the invisible Godhead. There she finds the bed and the abode of love prepared by God in a manner beyond what is human. Our Lord speaks:
"Stay, Lady Soul."
"What do you bid of me, Lord?"
"Take off your clothes." [*My, my!* fans self, swoons!]
"Lord, what will happen to me then?"
"Lady Soul, you are so utterly formed to my nature
That not the slightest thing can be between you and me.
Never was an angel so glorious
That to him was granted for one hour
What is given to you for eternity. . . "
There's a lot more, but that's just a small sample. So good. . . *sighs*. I have to say, when we got to that passage, the lady who was reading (who was not familiar with the fact that many mystics experience God in terms of a marriage, and all that that entails. . .) stopped dead and gasped when she got to the "Take off your clothes" line, and I nearly laughed out loud. Before the session (she hadn't been to one before) she had been talking about how she was having trouble finding something in the church that was relevant to her, and so she had come on the off chance that maybe the mystics would possibly have something though she didn't know what. And then she got to read the passage wherein Our Lord says to the Soul, "Strip!"
Heh heh. Niiice. . .
Anyway, I'd never read any of Mechthild before, though I'd certainly heard of her. I think I'll be looking for a copy of her book myself, since that would make a fine addition with the John of the Cross, Bernard of Clairvaux and the Theresa of Avila.
THE PROFANE
Sometime in the past 12 months, my church got a new liturgist. Sister Magdalene was replaced by Sister. . .somebody. I can't remember her name, but it may be because I've now got an instictive mental block. But the dear sister has been instituting certain changes in the Mass that invlove me, as I'm a cantor, and they've been irritating, but recently crossed the line.
Now, y'all know I'm not really that conservative when it comes to religio-spiritual matters. I mean, really, I can't be, considering. . . well, considering. But that doesn't mean I don't take my faith very seriously, and due to certain aspects of my background, I have a deep appreciation for ritual. Which means that if one is going to muck about with ritual, they better damned well know what they're doing--and sister does not.
The first thing that happened was that in the cantor book have been inserted these little speeches to be recited before Mass. It used to be the cantor went up, and said something like "Good Morning! Welcome to St. John the Baptist. Today is the __th Sunday in ordinary time. Our presider this morning is ______. Please rise and join in singing number _____, __(insert title here)_, number ________." And then all would rise, the music would start, and that's the way it would start.
Now, it's some thing like "Good morning. In today's gospel, Jesus says _________something________ and reminds us that __________. (Insert a series of "thought provoking" questions. Let us take a few moments to think in the silence of _____________blah blah blah."
Silence.
"Now more talking that won't really enlighten you any more anyway, but blah blah blah, yadda yadda yadda anyway, okay, Let's Sing!"
Okay, so irritating, but I went along with it because . . . because I didn't want to cause a fuss, and if the pastor approved it, well, I didn't want to rock the boat.
Then, she decides that the psalm will be sung from the lectern, not from the ambo. Ok, good enough, because the psalm is a scripture reading and I can see why you'd want to re-enforce that idea. But there's this choreography involved with the first reader and the second reader. No, not dance, but there is timing and such and why can't I just move around through the hall behind the alter during the first reading, and back after the psalm? This staged movement brings too much attention to the reader and the cantor, when the focus should be what is read and what is sung, not the person/ people doing it.
But fine, okay, the readers were doing it, and all the other cantors, and the pastor wasn't scowling (and man, he can scowl when he chooses), so I took a deep breath and went along with it, to my distaste.
But, I swear by all the princes of Heaven and Hell, sister has crossed the line, and my bullshit-tolerance just ran out.
Now, before the stupid introduction "reflection", and after the choir's prelude, the cantor is supposed to lead everyone in a little thing that's supposed to be a song but. . . [Yes, this means an order of: Prelude, stupid thing, "reflection", opening hymn, and then the beginning of Mass]. This song is Christopher Walker's "We are the Church." [*gags*]
First of all, the "music" to this thing sucks. And I don't just mean "I'm a music snob, and this isn't Mozart." I mean that William Hung couldn't make this sound any worse, nor Placido Domingo make it sound any better. It sucks like a bilge pump on steroids. A troop pf Brownies sitting around a campfire would be embarrassed to sing something with this "melody", and would probably try to roast anyone who attempted to make them.
But, the "melody" pales in comparison to the masturbatory words. Yes, masturbatory. The words to this thing are all about how great, how fan-fucking-tastic and friggin fabulous we are. Us, We, yeah baby, work it! God is a side mention, part of what makes us so great! We are the Chuch, the people of God! We are the something something, God's holy people, something something, the people of God! The entire focus of the song is Us. God is a side mention, sort of in the way one might mention a award when introducing someone. . . you know, "emmy award winning John Stewart!. . ."Here they are, God's holy people, The Church!" (and the crowd goes wild. Or is supposed to. The congregation wasn't that into it, from the sound last Sunday. . .)
So, I'm supposed to cantor this Sunday. I think I'm supposed to lead this song. Not gonna happen. I said after church last Sunday, quite loudly and within the pastor's hearing, that I would rather shove my knitting needles through my eyes than lead that. My father, impressed by my vehemence, felt need to inform the choir director that he might need to take my extreme distaste into consideration. Actually, what he wrote was:
Also, you should know that Christine, who is scheduled to cantor Sunday, absolutely will NOT lead the congregation in "We are the Church." If Sister wants to do what she did this past Sunday, fine. Chris would love to cantor the rest, but that piece just triggers an aesthetic and spiritual gag reflex. If that is going to cause a problem, you may want to switch cantors.
I had nothing to do with her decision, but I definitely have the same reaction. This should be retitled "Hymn to Self-Absorbed Baby Boomers." I do not come to church to celebrate myself.
I felt I should also speak for myself on this matter, so Stephen knows how I really feel, so I followed up dad's email with one of my own:
Stephen,
Dad has it right. I'm perfectly okay and willing to do everything else (including the annoying little speech before the beginning of Mass), but my tolerance for self-worship runs out right here. If asked about my refusal, you can tell whoever that I say "There's something obscene about communal musical masturbation, and I refuse to have any part of it anywhere, much less in a church where we're supposed to be worshipping God, not ourselves."
Yes, I feel pretty strongly about this. I don't really consider myself very conservative when it comes to religious matters, but that doesn't mean I don't take my faith seriously. This . . . drivel is insulting enough as a "song", without the lyrics. Kum-ba-yah is literally more sacred, since it's at least supposed to be a sorta-prayer.
Hell, I know Linkin Park and Korn lyrics that are more reverent.
And that's saying something. [Especially when it's a soprano complaining about something being too self-centered. I mean, really. . . ]
Now, here's to hoping that I misunderstood Sister's intent regarding this . . . thing. . .
I'm not sure how Stephen will respond to this. I know he's not fond of the thing himself, but I also know that I've never responded this way to something, and I'm sure he'll be a bit taken aback by my vehemence. But the fact is, I find this thing to be insulting to the congregation, and downright sacriligeous. I find it horribly offensive to sing in front of the Blessed Sacrament, and I refuse to have a part of something in a church that takes the focus away from the Reason we're there.
So, enough of that, on to
THE SACRED
The good news regarding my church is that the Series on Christian Mystics started up again for some fall sessions, and we started out last Sunday afternoon with readings from Mechthild of Magdeburg: The Flowing Light of the Godhead book 1.44, "The Sevenfold Path of Love, The Three Garments of the Bride, and the Dance." Good stuff. This is why I love the mystics, especially writers like Mechthild and St. John of the Cross. Reading their work is like reading a Spiritual Bodice-ripper. To wit:
"Then the bride of all delights goes to the Fairest of lovers in the secret chamber of the invisible Godhead. There she finds the bed and the abode of love prepared by God in a manner beyond what is human. Our Lord speaks:
"Stay, Lady Soul."
"What do you bid of me, Lord?"
"Take off your clothes." [*My, my!* fans self, swoons!]
"Lord, what will happen to me then?"
"Lady Soul, you are so utterly formed to my nature
That not the slightest thing can be between you and me.
Never was an angel so glorious
That to him was granted for one hour
What is given to you for eternity. . . "
There's a lot more, but that's just a small sample. So good. . . *sighs*. I have to say, when we got to that passage, the lady who was reading (who was not familiar with the fact that many mystics experience God in terms of a marriage, and all that that entails. . .) stopped dead and gasped when she got to the "Take off your clothes" line, and I nearly laughed out loud. Before the session (she hadn't been to one before) she had been talking about how she was having trouble finding something in the church that was relevant to her, and so she had come on the off chance that maybe the mystics would possibly have something though she didn't know what. And then she got to read the passage wherein Our Lord says to the Soul, "Strip!"
Heh heh. Niiice. . .
Anyway, I'd never read any of Mechthild before, though I'd certainly heard of her. I think I'll be looking for a copy of her book myself, since that would make a fine addition with the John of the Cross, Bernard of Clairvaux and the Theresa of Avila.