Holy Week, Easter, plainsong, and indulgences

Over the last several weeks, there has been some good liturgy and music, and some bad. Some thoughts in review:

At one time, I had hoped that the adult choir could sing Bruckner's setting of Christus factus est for Passion Sunday. It became clear that they couldn't. Instead, we sang the proper plainsong gradual with the same text, using the English-language version in Bruce Ford's excellent American Gradual (available as a PDF download, for those who might be interested in it).

The youth choir was scheduled to sing at the contemporary service. I could not find a suitable anthem, and I wanted them to experience plainsong, so they ended up also singing one of the Passion Sunday propers from the American Gradual, the Offertory (Improperium, based on verses from Psalm 69).

Both of these plainsong propers were challenging. To their credit, both choirs took them seriously. The youth choir knew it well enough, but they could have sung it louder. We were missing almost half the choir, including some strong singers, but that is no excuse. Nonetheless, I remain convinced that it was the right choice for them, proper for their spiritual and musical development -- mine, too, for I learned a lot from teaching it to them.

As it transpired, the Improperium came at a point in the service when it was what needed to be said. We had heard St. Luke's passion narrative, but that had been followed by fifteen minutes of announcements, all having to do with the sale of this and that for various fundraising projects, ending with someone saying that she thought we should sell indulgences: a great way to raise some money. And, to our shame, certain people thought it was a terrific idea and we are doing exactly that; we heard another invitation to buy them in today's services. "Lighten up; it's just a joke?" Martin Luther did not think so, nor did the Magisterium that opposed him. Nor do I. But that day, people were laughing, in high spirits. Forget about Christ on the cross. Who cares about that when you come to church to see your friends and have a few laughs?

Immediately after, the youth choir sang their anthem. It was as if it were from a different universe from what we had just been hearing:

"Shame and reproach have broken my heart, and it cannot be healed. I looked for sympathy, but there was none, for comforters, but I found no one. They gave me gall to eat, and when I was thirsty they gave me vinegar to drink."

Upon several weeks of reflection, I am increasingly convinced that, quiet as it was, it may have been the "still, small voice" for those who had ears to hear. One of the jazz musicians in the congregation complimented us on it after the service, though many other people, including the Rector, complained about not being able to hear it. I think I will leave it at that.

The adults did a fine job with their Christus factus est, and the traditional congregation appreciated it. The choir did excellent work throughout the busy week, highlighted by a heartfelt rendition of Mozart's Ave verum corpus on Maundy Thursday, and "My dancing day" at the Great Vigil. We had a newly composed prelude for brass and organ on Easter Day at the traditional service, and as is the custom, we finished with the congregation singing the Hallelujah Chorus. Unfortunately, I followed that with a sloppy rendition of Gigout's "Grand Choir Dialogue."

Not to be outdone, I gave an equally sloppy reading of Vierne's "Carillon" from the Twenty-Four Pieces on the following Sunday. At least the Messiaen at the end of the Great Vigil went well enough, a movement from the Book of the Blessed Sacrament, "The resurrection of Christ." It was, again, what needed to be said at that point in the liturgy and the week, a vision of angels and light: "Why do you seek the living among the dead?"

Our principal liturgies through the period were badly conducted, with Passion Sunday, the Great Vigil, and Easter Day being the worst. One of our teenage acolytes characterized the Vigil as a "major liturgical fail." He was right. I made my contributions to these failures with slipshod work on the bulletins and errors at the organ, to say nothing of my failure to elicit a stronger sound from the youth choir. But, as I said to someone after one of the services, "Christ is still risen."

Life goes on. We had excellent liturgy and music (except for my postlude) the following Sunday and a good jazz Eucharist this morning. The choirs are working hard and determined to do their best; I am, too. This week gave me a lot of time for organ practice, and I have used it. The lesson for me at the organ is that it is not enough to know the music well; one must know it so well that when something goes wrong (a muffed page turn and a missed stop change, respectively), one can carry on without trashing several measures of music. More Messiaen is on the way -- for the Sunday (May 9) when we hear from the end of Revelation about the "pure river of water of life, clear as crystal" and trees whose leaves are for the healing of the nations, the "Serene Alleluias" from the Ascension suite, on which I spent about six hours this week, and Bach: the C major prelude and fugue in 9/8 time for the Sunday after the Ascension, and the Kyrie Gott Vater, Christe aller Welt Trost, and Kyrie Gott heiliger Geist from the Clavierübung for Trinity Sunday. I hope I can do these things in a worthy manner.

We all have much to do.