Sing to the Lord, the new incarnation of "Music in Catholic Worship" (only much longer and more thorough!) is up on the USCCB website:
http://www.usccb.org/liturgy/SingToTheLord.pdf
I have printed it and started to read the final draft, but I haven't gotten far yet. It's Advent, after all...
peace,
Jennifer
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Soul of Genius
Neither a lofty degree of intelligence
nor imagination nor both together
go to the making of genius.
Love, love, love, that is the soul of genius.
--W. A. Mozart
Clearly my attempts at a weekly blog about why and how music is planned fell by the wayside right about at the moment the choral/liturgical season got busy. But I will keep trying, at least in little bits...
The 10:45 choir will be leading a Lessons and Carols service for Advent, this coming Sunday evening at 7pm. For the first time, although this is our third or fourth year, we've actually had adequate publicity and announcements and such, so I actually have hope in a decent crowd...
Advent Lessons and Carols
Sunday, December 9, 2007 7:00pm
Processional: Prepare the Way of the Lord (Taizé) (Gather Comp. 330)
Greeting
Opening Prayer (chanted) (All are seated)
First Lesson: Genesis 3:8-15
Choir: Lo, How a Rose (Gather Comp. 373) (2 verses)
My mother, fifty-odd years out of Catholic school, can still sing the alto part to this piece...I know there are tons of different arrangements of it out there, but I can't imagine ever moving from this one.
Carol: Creator of the Stars of Night (Gather Comp. 334) (4 verses)
Second Lesson: Isaiah 9:1-6
Choir: Crown Him King of Kings (Bach)
Our old noisy Bach friend--huge, happy, unapologetic, and the choir sounds great on it.
Carol: O Come, Divine Messiah (Gather Comp. 333)
Third Lesson: Isaiah 40:1-11
Choir: Prepare Ye (Robinson)
Awesome little piece, sort of jazzy-gospel-but-still-definitely-white-folks-singing in character, at least the way we do it--but it sounds Right this way. I heard it first at Ascension, and I loved it enough to order it 5 years later for this group. Sort of a lazy but implacable groove, with a kick-tail tenor solo on which Jeff completely wails...
Fourth Lesson: Haggai 2:6-9
Choir: Like those who watch for midnight’s hour (Bach) (Seven Lenten Chorales, “Out of the Depths,” vs 2)
Carol: The King Shall Come (Gather Comp. 347) (all verses)
Fifth Lesson: Isaiah 7:10-15
Carol: Maranatha, Lord Messiah (GC 324) (verses 1, 5, 6, 7)
Sixth Lesson: Baruch 4:36-5:9
Choir: Come, O Just One (Trapp)
My old friend Lynn Trapp--he's a man, by the way--did this lovely setting. Far more "Cathedral" than we usually are, very formal and Grand-sounding, but the choir's really rising to the occasion. Great fun.
Carol: People, Look East! (Gather Comp. 337) (all verses)
Gospel Acclamation: Advent Gospel Acclamations (verse for Advent IV Cycle A)
Seventh Lesson (The Gospel): Luke 1:26-35, 38 (chanted by Fr. Ken)
Choir: No Wind at the Window (Bell/Breedlove)
I seldom get to compose any more; I started this setting 2 years ago and finally actually completed it this year. It's a really nice strophic text about the Annunciation--vintage John Bell in style and syntax, which I happen to love--set to a haunting Gaelic (Scottish?) melody. I set it for SATB choir, and it's going well, although we've barely rehearsed it and we have to "perform" it this Sunday...I'm slightly petrified.
Intercessions: GC 277 (cantor and choir)
Closing Prayer
Closing Hymn: O Come, Emmanuel (Gather Comp. 323) (verses 1-4)
Y'all come on Sunday, hear?
peace,
Jennifer
nor imagination nor both together
go to the making of genius.
Love, love, love, that is the soul of genius.
--W. A. Mozart
Clearly my attempts at a weekly blog about why and how music is planned fell by the wayside right about at the moment the choral/liturgical season got busy. But I will keep trying, at least in little bits...
The 10:45 choir will be leading a Lessons and Carols service for Advent, this coming Sunday evening at 7pm. For the first time, although this is our third or fourth year, we've actually had adequate publicity and announcements and such, so I actually have hope in a decent crowd...
Advent Lessons and Carols
Sunday, December 9, 2007 7:00pm
Processional: Prepare the Way of the Lord (Taizé) (Gather Comp. 330)
Greeting
Opening Prayer (chanted) (All are seated)
First Lesson: Genesis 3:8-15
Choir: Lo, How a Rose (Gather Comp. 373) (2 verses)
My mother, fifty-odd years out of Catholic school, can still sing the alto part to this piece...I know there are tons of different arrangements of it out there, but I can't imagine ever moving from this one.
Carol: Creator of the Stars of Night (Gather Comp. 334) (4 verses)
Second Lesson: Isaiah 9:1-6
Choir: Crown Him King of Kings (Bach)
Our old noisy Bach friend--huge, happy, unapologetic, and the choir sounds great on it.
Carol: O Come, Divine Messiah (Gather Comp. 333)
Third Lesson: Isaiah 40:1-11
Choir: Prepare Ye (Robinson)
Awesome little piece, sort of jazzy-gospel-but-still-definitely-white-folks-singing in character, at least the way we do it--but it sounds Right this way. I heard it first at Ascension, and I loved it enough to order it 5 years later for this group. Sort of a lazy but implacable groove, with a kick-tail tenor solo on which Jeff completely wails...
Fourth Lesson: Haggai 2:6-9
Choir: Like those who watch for midnight’s hour (Bach) (Seven Lenten Chorales, “Out of the Depths,” vs 2)
Carol: The King Shall Come (Gather Comp. 347) (all verses)
Fifth Lesson: Isaiah 7:10-15
Carol: Maranatha, Lord Messiah (GC 324) (verses 1, 5, 6, 7)
Sixth Lesson: Baruch 4:36-5:9
Choir: Come, O Just One (Trapp)
My old friend Lynn Trapp--he's a man, by the way--did this lovely setting. Far more "Cathedral" than we usually are, very formal and Grand-sounding, but the choir's really rising to the occasion. Great fun.
Carol: People, Look East! (Gather Comp. 337) (all verses)
Gospel Acclamation: Advent Gospel Acclamations (verse for Advent IV Cycle A)
Seventh Lesson (The Gospel): Luke 1:26-35, 38 (chanted by Fr. Ken)
Choir: No Wind at the Window (Bell/Breedlove)
I seldom get to compose any more; I started this setting 2 years ago and finally actually completed it this year. It's a really nice strophic text about the Annunciation--vintage John Bell in style and syntax, which I happen to love--set to a haunting Gaelic (Scottish?) melody. I set it for SATB choir, and it's going well, although we've barely rehearsed it and we have to "perform" it this Sunday...I'm slightly petrified.
Intercessions: GC 277 (cantor and choir)
Closing Prayer
Closing Hymn: O Come, Emmanuel (Gather Comp. 323) (verses 1-4)
Y'all come on Sunday, hear?
peace,
Jennifer
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Choir Director Humor
I love this little piece...if it is under copyright or anyone who reads this knows its source, I'd love to know...
A CHORISTER'S GUIDE TO KEEPING CONDUCTORS IN LINE
1. Never be satisfied with the starting pitch. If the conductor uses a pitch-pipe, make known your preference for pitches from the piano, and vice-versa.
2. Complain about the temperature of the rehearsal room, the lighting, crowded space, or a draft. It is best to do this when the conductor is under pressure.
3. Bury your head into the music just before the cues.
4. Ask for a re-audition or seating change. Ask often. Give the impression you are about to quit. Let the conductor know your are there as a personal favor.
5. Loudly clear your throat during pauses. (Tenors are trained to do this from birth.) Quiet instrumental interludes are a good chance to blow your nose.
6. Wait until well into a rehearsal before letting the conductor know that you do not have the music.
7. Look at your watch frequently. Shake it in disbelief occasionally.
8. Find an excuse to leave the rehearsal fifteen minutes early so that others will become restless and start to fidget.
9. Tell the conductor, "I can't find the beat." Conductors are always sensitive about their "stick technique," so challenge it frequently.
10. If your articulation differs from that of others, stick to your guns. Do not ask the conductor which is correct until backstage just before the concert.
(In other words, make every effort to take the attention away from the podium and put it on you, where it belongs.)
A CHORISTER'S GUIDE TO KEEPING CONDUCTORS IN LINE
1. Never be satisfied with the starting pitch. If the conductor uses a pitch-pipe, make known your preference for pitches from the piano, and vice-versa.
2. Complain about the temperature of the rehearsal room, the lighting, crowded space, or a draft. It is best to do this when the conductor is under pressure.
3. Bury your head into the music just before the cues.
4. Ask for a re-audition or seating change. Ask often. Give the impression you are about to quit. Let the conductor know your are there as a personal favor.
5. Loudly clear your throat during pauses. (Tenors are trained to do this from birth.) Quiet instrumental interludes are a good chance to blow your nose.
6. Wait until well into a rehearsal before letting the conductor know that you do not have the music.
7. Look at your watch frequently. Shake it in disbelief occasionally.
8. Find an excuse to leave the rehearsal fifteen minutes early so that others will become restless and start to fidget.
9. Tell the conductor, "I can't find the beat." Conductors are always sensitive about their "stick technique," so challenge it frequently.
10. If your articulation differs from that of others, stick to your guns. Do not ask the conductor which is correct until backstage just before the concert.
(In other words, make every effort to take the attention away from the podium and put it on you, where it belongs.)
Thursday, November 1, 2007
O Death, where is thy sting?
The other day my son came home from school, excited because that day his class had gotten to paint “sugar skulls.” Though I was already familiar with the custom, I asked him why they were painting these skulls: “For the Day of the Dead,” he said. “What is the Day of the Dead?” I asked him: “It’s the day when we can remember all our loving ones [sic] who have died and feel them close to us again.”
A child’s simplicity. The celebration of All Saints and All Souls, through the understanding of a five-year-old.
Our family lives in Berwyn, a suburb where the Latino population is abundant and thriving. "El Dia de los Muertos,” the Day of the Dead, is a Mexican cultural celebration which takes place each year from the Eve of All Saints (or All Hallows, i.e. Halloween) through All Souls’ Day. Though it focuses on our memories of those who have died, the focus is on joy and celebration—gifts are given, small holy places with trinkets and photos of the deceased are erected in homes, and images of skeletons and deaths-heads abound—in toys, in candy, in bread, in bright colors, in odd and paradoxical places.
To many of us from a Western European cultural background, this may seem inappropriate, almost morbid...but some years ago I spoke with some deeply faithful Mexican friends about this subject, and their answer was simple and profound: to make a piece of sugar candy or sweet bread in the shape of a skull and eat it, or to tell jokes and make silly toys out of the symbols of death, is to strip death of its power and mock its hold over us: “Death, where is your victory? Death, where is your sting?”
Which quote, of course, takes me directly to the Brahms German Requiem, in my opinion probably the single most glorious piece of choral music ever written, an exquisite melding of music and text and subliminal theology...I just adore it. The 6th movement starts out sort of tentatively and solemnly, and eventually bursts out into this glorious in-your-face challenge to death and hell--a grand and joyous explosion of excessive musical abundance crying out, "Tod! Tod! Wo ist dein Sieg?"...and then it dances off into a fugue that's at once merry and solemn, although a lot of conductors tend to skip the merry and take what is in my opinion a rather lugubrious approach to what I believe should be an extension of the wild cannot-be-denied-or-silenced joyful "giving of the (musical) bird" to all that we once feared and dreaded... a holy bacchanal, praising the God who strips even death of its strength, in which the participants become drunk not on bad tequila or cheap watery American beer but on the very essence of Life and its incredible joyous power...
Amazing music. St. Johannes, pray for us.
And while we're at it...St. Johann Sebastian, pray for us. St. Wolfgang Amadeus, pray for us. St. Thomas Stearns Eliot, pray for us. St. Joseph Bernadin, pray for us. St. Madeleine of Crosswicks, pray for us...
All holy men and women, pray for us.
peace,
Jennifer
A child’s simplicity. The celebration of All Saints and All Souls, through the understanding of a five-year-old.
Our family lives in Berwyn, a suburb where the Latino population is abundant and thriving. "El Dia de los Muertos,” the Day of the Dead, is a Mexican cultural celebration which takes place each year from the Eve of All Saints (or All Hallows, i.e. Halloween) through All Souls’ Day. Though it focuses on our memories of those who have died, the focus is on joy and celebration—gifts are given, small holy places with trinkets and photos of the deceased are erected in homes, and images of skeletons and deaths-heads abound—in toys, in candy, in bread, in bright colors, in odd and paradoxical places.
To many of us from a Western European cultural background, this may seem inappropriate, almost morbid...but some years ago I spoke with some deeply faithful Mexican friends about this subject, and their answer was simple and profound: to make a piece of sugar candy or sweet bread in the shape of a skull and eat it, or to tell jokes and make silly toys out of the symbols of death, is to strip death of its power and mock its hold over us: “Death, where is your victory? Death, where is your sting?”
Which quote, of course, takes me directly to the Brahms German Requiem, in my opinion probably the single most glorious piece of choral music ever written, an exquisite melding of music and text and subliminal theology...I just adore it. The 6th movement starts out sort of tentatively and solemnly, and eventually bursts out into this glorious in-your-face challenge to death and hell--a grand and joyous explosion of excessive musical abundance crying out, "Tod! Tod! Wo ist dein Sieg?"...and then it dances off into a fugue that's at once merry and solemn, although a lot of conductors tend to skip the merry and take what is in my opinion a rather lugubrious approach to what I believe should be an extension of the wild cannot-be-denied-or-silenced joyful "giving of the (musical) bird" to all that we once feared and dreaded... a holy bacchanal, praising the God who strips even death of its strength, in which the participants become drunk not on bad tequila or cheap watery American beer but on the very essence of Life and its incredible joyous power...
Amazing music. St. Johannes, pray for us.
And while we're at it...St. Johann Sebastian, pray for us. St. Wolfgang Amadeus, pray for us. St. Thomas Stearns Eliot, pray for us. St. Joseph Bernadin, pray for us. St. Madeleine of Crosswicks, pray for us...
All holy men and women, pray for us.
peace,
Jennifer
Friday, October 26, 2007
October 28th, 30th Sunday in Ordinary Time
How I blush! My good friend Rory Cooney quoted and invoked this blog in his own blog (a good one! Check it out-- http://web.mac.com/stannerory/iWeb/bloggage/New_Blog/New_Blog.html), inviting people to come over here and see what I'm doing...and I have missed the past two Sundays! Sigh...I look down and see the good intentions paving the road I'm on, and it makes me wonder where the road is headed...
I do have some small excuse...we've just been through the flurry of birthdays at my house, especially my little Bear's turning 5. One weekend we had the "actual" birthday (cupcakes for school, homemade cake for family, frenzied cleaning so that in-laws think my house is always that clean), the next we had the 15 screaming kids My Gym party (keeping track of RSVP's, ordering cake, buying party favors, overseeing thank you notes)...I don't know why I thought the mom gig would get easier as the kids got bigger.
But thanks to Rory's kind kick in the rear, I'll try to get back on track. So:
In contrast with the readings in the weeks before and after this one (I think next week we get the martyrdom of the woman and her seven sons...that's a joy to plan music for, NOT), I love this week. It's one of those lovely sets of readings where it all speaks to the same reality of faith and life as children of Christ: Sirach's promise that God will hear the prayer of the lowly, Paul's open trust in the uncertainty to come and gratitude for what has been, and especially the gloriously abject humility of the poor sad tax collector whom Jesus promises will be heard and exalted by God...it remindes me of Marguerite of Porete's vision of the soul so cast down and annihilated in her own reality that she becomes nothing more than the empty vessel and reflection of all that God is, with sorrow so deep that it is no longer sorrow, and joy so exalted that it transcends joy, and is it all simply God.
From this perspective, the music almost chooses itself:
October 28, 30th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Prelude (9:00--Youth Choir): A Place at the Table
The Ensemble sang this a few weeks ago; I think it will have a different impact as a prelude than at Prep or Communion as we usually use it: a call to everyone, young and old, just and unjust, and of the delight God takes in our efforts to look beyond ourselves and become "creators of justice and joy."
Opening: O Christ, the Great Foundation (at 9:00: Gathered as One)
I chose this one as much for verse 3 as for any of it, although the whole hymn is apt. It speaks of the oppression in the world and calls upon the church to "awaken" and strive to right the imbalances.
When the children's choir sings, we generally try to stay away from the very "wordy" strophic hymns, although they could probably have handled this one. "Gathered as one" is a really lovely contemporary Paul Tate song--I hate to use the word "generic," because nothing we do should be generic, but it's one of those songs that's almost always works.
Psalm: 34--The Cry of the Poor
This is where I'd definitely say go read Rory's blog for this week! I found his comments on Conry's comments about this song very interesting, but I don't know that I quite agree. For me, the very power in this song lies in the juxtaposition of what's essentially a very joyful and victorious text with a melody that's wistful or even outright sad. This psalm setting almost personifies this hopeful/sorrowful ambiguity in the readings for the Sunday, and the need to sing praise while owning our sadness that the vision is stil woefully incomplete, and musically it feels almost like the linchpin on which the whole liturgy's music depends.
Presentation: (at 9:00--Youth Choir: Bring Forth the Kingdom)
A joyful Beatitudes-based justics song--lots of fun, and the kids will be singing in canon, if enough of them show up to make it work!
other liturgies: Only This I Want
Okay, maybe not so joyful, but it's so gorgeous, and right out of the second reading. One of the "Glory and Praise" generation songs that well deserves to stick around for a few more decades at least! It's also one of the many songs I wish all these bloody liturgical tenor composers would take down a whole step or so. It's just too stinkin' high. Makes people stop singing. That's never a good thing. Put it in the same category as We have been Told, All who Hunger, We are Called, etc.
Communion: (at 5:00 Saturday--Ensemble: In You, O Lord, Ed Bolduc)
Another of Ed's more gorgeous offerings, incredibly simple, very effective. One of those comforting songs that sort of combs out one's tangles whether one wants it to happen or not.
Draw Near (Janco)
A parish favorite, in many ways also one of our more "all-purpose" Communion songs, but the whole invitation to "draw near, draw near" is very appropriate to this week and season--it speaks to the disgraced tax collector in all of us, the part that wants to hide in back and stay away, to hide the parts of us we think God shouldn't see...and yet we still are called to draw near, draw close, warts and all. (I find this very comforting; I'm feeling very spiritually warty this week.)
Closing: How can I Keep From Singing
I kind of feel like if anyone's read this far, they won't need me to say much about this song and why we're singing it!
It's been a rough couple of weeks, though I'm not really sure why. I haven't been sleeping enough, which is nothing new, but I can't bounce back from it the way I used to when I was younger. I had a birthday last weekend myself, and I'll go ahead and post it right here in black and white: I'm 39 years old. For some reason I find the "liminal" ages more threatening than the actual milestone years themselves--29 was hard, 30 was great. 20 was hard, 21 was great. Probably 40 will be absolutely fine, but 39 I'm finding somewhat traumatic.:-)
And I'll say it here for the record: when I turn 40 I want a cake big enough that it can have 40 candles, which I intend to blow out in one puff. That all may know I'm not even remotely decrepit. Yet.
peace,
Jennifer
I do have some small excuse...we've just been through the flurry of birthdays at my house, especially my little Bear's turning 5. One weekend we had the "actual" birthday (cupcakes for school, homemade cake for family, frenzied cleaning so that in-laws think my house is always that clean), the next we had the 15 screaming kids My Gym party (keeping track of RSVP's, ordering cake, buying party favors, overseeing thank you notes)...I don't know why I thought the mom gig would get easier as the kids got bigger.
But thanks to Rory's kind kick in the rear, I'll try to get back on track. So:
In contrast with the readings in the weeks before and after this one (I think next week we get the martyrdom of the woman and her seven sons...that's a joy to plan music for, NOT), I love this week. It's one of those lovely sets of readings where it all speaks to the same reality of faith and life as children of Christ: Sirach's promise that God will hear the prayer of the lowly, Paul's open trust in the uncertainty to come and gratitude for what has been, and especially the gloriously abject humility of the poor sad tax collector whom Jesus promises will be heard and exalted by God...it remindes me of Marguerite of Porete's vision of the soul so cast down and annihilated in her own reality that she becomes nothing more than the empty vessel and reflection of all that God is, with sorrow so deep that it is no longer sorrow, and joy so exalted that it transcends joy, and is it all simply God.
From this perspective, the music almost chooses itself:
October 28, 30th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Prelude (9:00--Youth Choir): A Place at the Table
The Ensemble sang this a few weeks ago; I think it will have a different impact as a prelude than at Prep or Communion as we usually use it: a call to everyone, young and old, just and unjust, and of the delight God takes in our efforts to look beyond ourselves and become "creators of justice and joy."
Opening: O Christ, the Great Foundation (at 9:00: Gathered as One)
I chose this one as much for verse 3 as for any of it, although the whole hymn is apt. It speaks of the oppression in the world and calls upon the church to "awaken" and strive to right the imbalances.
When the children's choir sings, we generally try to stay away from the very "wordy" strophic hymns, although they could probably have handled this one. "Gathered as one" is a really lovely contemporary Paul Tate song--I hate to use the word "generic," because nothing we do should be generic, but it's one of those songs that's almost always works.
Psalm: 34--The Cry of the Poor
This is where I'd definitely say go read Rory's blog for this week! I found his comments on Conry's comments about this song very interesting, but I don't know that I quite agree. For me, the very power in this song lies in the juxtaposition of what's essentially a very joyful and victorious text with a melody that's wistful or even outright sad. This psalm setting almost personifies this hopeful/sorrowful ambiguity in the readings for the Sunday, and the need to sing praise while owning our sadness that the vision is stil woefully incomplete, and musically it feels almost like the linchpin on which the whole liturgy's music depends.
Presentation: (at 9:00--Youth Choir: Bring Forth the Kingdom)
A joyful Beatitudes-based justics song--lots of fun, and the kids will be singing in canon, if enough of them show up to make it work!
other liturgies: Only This I Want
Okay, maybe not so joyful, but it's so gorgeous, and right out of the second reading. One of the "Glory and Praise" generation songs that well deserves to stick around for a few more decades at least! It's also one of the many songs I wish all these bloody liturgical tenor composers would take down a whole step or so. It's just too stinkin' high. Makes people stop singing. That's never a good thing. Put it in the same category as We have been Told, All who Hunger, We are Called, etc.
Communion: (at 5:00 Saturday--Ensemble: In You, O Lord, Ed Bolduc)
Another of Ed's more gorgeous offerings, incredibly simple, very effective. One of those comforting songs that sort of combs out one's tangles whether one wants it to happen or not.
Draw Near (Janco)
A parish favorite, in many ways also one of our more "all-purpose" Communion songs, but the whole invitation to "draw near, draw near" is very appropriate to this week and season--it speaks to the disgraced tax collector in all of us, the part that wants to hide in back and stay away, to hide the parts of us we think God shouldn't see...and yet we still are called to draw near, draw close, warts and all. (I find this very comforting; I'm feeling very spiritually warty this week.)
Closing: How can I Keep From Singing
I kind of feel like if anyone's read this far, they won't need me to say much about this song and why we're singing it!
It's been a rough couple of weeks, though I'm not really sure why. I haven't been sleeping enough, which is nothing new, but I can't bounce back from it the way I used to when I was younger. I had a birthday last weekend myself, and I'll go ahead and post it right here in black and white: I'm 39 years old. For some reason I find the "liminal" ages more threatening than the actual milestone years themselves--29 was hard, 30 was great. 20 was hard, 21 was great. Probably 40 will be absolutely fine, but 39 I'm finding somewhat traumatic.:-)
And I'll say it here for the record: when I turn 40 I want a cake big enough that it can have 40 candles, which I intend to blow out in one puff. That all may know I'm not even remotely decrepit. Yet.
peace,
Jennifer
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
October 7, 27th Sunday in Ordinary Time
October 7, 27th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Prelude (Saturday 5pm): One is the Body
Opening: This is a day of new beginnings (GC 453)
Psalm: 95—If Today you hear his voice (PRM C97)
Presentation: Lord, whose love in humble service (WS 674)
At 10:45: The Love of Christ compels us
Communion:
At 5pm Saturday (Ensemble): Come and let us worship God! (Uganda)
At 10:45 Sunday (choir): This is the Body of Christ (Bell)
All liturgies: Christ, be our light (GC 512)
Closing: Come, Holy Spirit, wind and fire (WS 531)
Another difficult week for which to select music! I tried to stress the themes of hope, faith, and humility in the music selections. The general aura of patience and trust that comes through in the readings, the admonition to wait for the promise’s fulfillment and trust that even though we are not able to see and touch it it is there for us at the right moment…the reminder that this is simply what we are called to do, humbly and without question…(in hindsight, “Eye has not Seen” would have been a good song for this Sunday as well…)
The prelude at the Saturday 5pm, Rory’s lovely “One is the Body,” is not so much tied to the readings themselves as it is a reminder that we are all one (as well as a very brief not to Respect Life Sunday, which by the way really gets my goat when people assume it’s about nothing but abortion and stem cell research and forget that respecting life includes taking care of those babies after they are born and working to eliminate the structures of oppression and poverty that lead women into this cycle of death, often not by their own “choice” at all…but that’s a rant for another day…) and responsible to one another. It’s a beautiful song, but Rory probably wins the “could this refrain be any longer” award on this song, J, which is probably why it’s not in the Gather II any longer…too bad, it’s a lovely lovely song.
“This is a day of new beginnings” is another of those “we know it but we haven’t sung it in a while” songs, honestly not particularly connected to the readings of the day either—but it never hurts to re-remind ourselves and each other that every Sunday is its own little Easter celebration, that Jesus is alive and risen amidst all the painful Stuff of life. “Lord, whose love” is another song which reminds us that it is our responsibility to serve and heal one another in the “hands-on” stuff of life, not in order to be thought of as wonderful and holy, but because that’s simply what we are “obliged to do” (as the Gospel, Luke 17:10, puts it.) The 10:45 choir is singing Jeff Honore’s “The love of Christ compels us” at the same liturgical moment; a great and fun piece, one of those ones where the SATB parts make the group sound larger than it is—and its message of how the “love of Christ urges us on” is very apt for this week.
At Communion we are singing “Christ, be our light” at all the liturgies, but at the 10:45 I’m trying something a little different: John Bell has a pretty little refrain, “This is the body of Christ,” which I love. We’ll sing it twice before Communion, then sing “Christ, be our light,” and then repeat the little Bell refrain at the end. We’ll see how it works! (Got that idea from Ed Foley years ago, but haven’t ever tried it per se…) The Ensemble's "pre-Communion" piece is the little Uganda song we learned last October...a charming little piece, great fun to sing.
And the closing, “Come, Holy Spirit, wind and fire” is another call for God to come into our midst, this time as Spirit, to inspire our Church into faith and action. It’s to the same melody as “Faith of our Fathers,” a gorgeous tune which I honestly have trouble programming today—it’s much too male-dominant, yes, but my bigger problem with it is the whole “Soldiers of Christ” (in the literal sense) perspective it comes from—not to impugn the loving sacrifice of our martyrs throughout history, but in a world of religious fanatic suicide bombers I have difficulty with lines like, “How blest would be thy children’s fate if they, like them, should die for thee!” and such…
Anyway, this new text is lovely and wonderful and the parish sings it well, so there we are!
On a personal note: this coming Sunday is also my son’s 5th birthday, which is both exciting and bittersweet—he’s getting so big! And I never forget that my time here in this parish is closely related to his birth: I was 6 months pregnant with him when I started in the parish a little over 5 years ago, and he was born literally the day of our first choir Sunday of my first season here.
Life changes a lot, doesn’t it? And it’s all so very, very good…
Peace,
Jennifer
Prelude (Saturday 5pm): One is the Body
Opening: This is a day of new beginnings (GC 453)
Psalm: 95—If Today you hear his voice (PRM C97)
Presentation: Lord, whose love in humble service (WS 674)
At 10:45: The Love of Christ compels us
Communion:
At 5pm Saturday (Ensemble): Come and let us worship God! (Uganda)
At 10:45 Sunday (choir): This is the Body of Christ (Bell)
All liturgies: Christ, be our light (GC 512)
Closing: Come, Holy Spirit, wind and fire (WS 531)
Another difficult week for which to select music! I tried to stress the themes of hope, faith, and humility in the music selections. The general aura of patience and trust that comes through in the readings, the admonition to wait for the promise’s fulfillment and trust that even though we are not able to see and touch it it is there for us at the right moment…the reminder that this is simply what we are called to do, humbly and without question…(in hindsight, “Eye has not Seen” would have been a good song for this Sunday as well…)
The prelude at the Saturday 5pm, Rory’s lovely “One is the Body,” is not so much tied to the readings themselves as it is a reminder that we are all one (as well as a very brief not to Respect Life Sunday, which by the way really gets my goat when people assume it’s about nothing but abortion and stem cell research and forget that respecting life includes taking care of those babies after they are born and working to eliminate the structures of oppression and poverty that lead women into this cycle of death, often not by their own “choice” at all…but that’s a rant for another day…) and responsible to one another. It’s a beautiful song, but Rory probably wins the “could this refrain be any longer” award on this song, J, which is probably why it’s not in the Gather II any longer…too bad, it’s a lovely lovely song.
“This is a day of new beginnings” is another of those “we know it but we haven’t sung it in a while” songs, honestly not particularly connected to the readings of the day either—but it never hurts to re-remind ourselves and each other that every Sunday is its own little Easter celebration, that Jesus is alive and risen amidst all the painful Stuff of life. “Lord, whose love” is another song which reminds us that it is our responsibility to serve and heal one another in the “hands-on” stuff of life, not in order to be thought of as wonderful and holy, but because that’s simply what we are “obliged to do” (as the Gospel, Luke 17:10, puts it.) The 10:45 choir is singing Jeff Honore’s “The love of Christ compels us” at the same liturgical moment; a great and fun piece, one of those ones where the SATB parts make the group sound larger than it is—and its message of how the “love of Christ urges us on” is very apt for this week.
At Communion we are singing “Christ, be our light” at all the liturgies, but at the 10:45 I’m trying something a little different: John Bell has a pretty little refrain, “This is the body of Christ,” which I love. We’ll sing it twice before Communion, then sing “Christ, be our light,” and then repeat the little Bell refrain at the end. We’ll see how it works! (Got that idea from Ed Foley years ago, but haven’t ever tried it per se…) The Ensemble's "pre-Communion" piece is the little Uganda song we learned last October...a charming little piece, great fun to sing.
And the closing, “Come, Holy Spirit, wind and fire” is another call for God to come into our midst, this time as Spirit, to inspire our Church into faith and action. It’s to the same melody as “Faith of our Fathers,” a gorgeous tune which I honestly have trouble programming today—it’s much too male-dominant, yes, but my bigger problem with it is the whole “Soldiers of Christ” (in the literal sense) perspective it comes from—not to impugn the loving sacrifice of our martyrs throughout history, but in a world of religious fanatic suicide bombers I have difficulty with lines like, “How blest would be thy children’s fate if they, like them, should die for thee!” and such…
Anyway, this new text is lovely and wonderful and the parish sings it well, so there we are!
On a personal note: this coming Sunday is also my son’s 5th birthday, which is both exciting and bittersweet—he’s getting so big! And I never forget that my time here in this parish is closely related to his birth: I was 6 months pregnant with him when I started in the parish a little over 5 years ago, and he was born literally the day of our first choir Sunday of my first season here.
Life changes a lot, doesn’t it? And it’s all so very, very good…
Peace,
Jennifer
Thursday, September 27, 2007
September 30, 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time
September 30, 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Prelude (10:45): Halleluya, we sing your praises
Opening: Lord, whose love in humble service (WS 674)
(at 9:00: We are Called)
Psalm: 146—Praise the Lord, my soul (PRM C96)
Presentation: The Cry of the Poor (GC 33)
(at Saturday 5:00: Lord, bring me home, Paul Tate)
(at 9:00: Within the Reign of God)
Communion: (at 10:45: Out of the Depths, J.S. Bach)
(at 9:00: Here am I)
All liturgies: A New Commandment (WS 592)
at Saturday 5:00: Canticle of the Turning)
Closing: We are Called (GC 710)
(at 9:00: Go out in the world, Bolduc)
With the onset of multiple choirs and a parish that at last has a fairly consistent across-the-board repertoire, the lineups for the different weekend liturgies are starting to shift more and more…this weekend the Youth Choir, our grade 5-8 group, sings for the first time. They sounded lovely in rehearsal, so I’m really looking forward to it…
Honestly, there’s not much to say about the scriptures for this week I didn’t say last week…not to oversimplify, but it’s very much a “more of the same” kind of Sunday: First reading, woe to the rich. Psalm, praise God who raises up the lowly. Second reading, pursue the way of Christ. Gospel, the rich man and Lazarus: earthly wealth is meaningless when it comes to eternity. Sort of "same old, same old" at this point :-)
So, music choices:
Halleluya, we sing your praises (choir at 10:45): this prelude is there primarily for two not-too deep reasons: 1. Kelly, our organist, is helping Rory in Barrington this weekend and I don’t have time to prepare a decent prelude. And 2. amidst these dire readings, we need a reminder to rejoice and be glad. The other choir piece at this liturgy is very sad and lamenting, so I wanted a contrast.
Lord, whose love in humble service: set to the American folk hymn tune BEACH SPRING, this is a none-too subtle reminder, a homily-in-verse, really, of our obligation to serve others as Christ served us. It’s a little too wordy for the children’s choir to pull off, and the 9:00 liturgy is more likely to be populated by parents whose total number of arms is exceeded by the number of children they are corralling, so I tend to program hymnal-free music as much as possible at this liturgy.
Cry of the Poor, at the Presentation, is a lovely setting of Psalm 34 from the “Glory and Praise” days—one of the ones that thankfully survived the liturgy wars and is still part of the standard Catholic repertoire today. The only reason we are not doing it at 5:00 and 9:00 is because the choir has pieces which fit best in that spot: Paul Tate’s lovely “Lord, bring me home to your temple” is a nod to Lazarus and the rich man, expressing our longing to dwell in God’s house. I first heard this lovely setting probably 15 years ago, before anyone had ever heard of Paul Tate, and it has stuck with me ever since. I was delighted to see that it is finally in publication. At the 9:00, Marty Haugen’s charming “Within the Reign of God” is one I have loved for children’s choirs for years: “Blessed are they who are least in the reign of God; they shall rejoice at the feast of life!” It sings so beautifully and clearly…I doubt if I’d be inclined to use it for adult groups, but it’s great for kids.
At Communion time this week, I have two choirs doing “pre-Communion” choral pieces, and one doing a “post-Communion” song of praise. The children at 9:00 are singing this heart-wrenchingly sad little piece called “Here am I,” about Christ being amid the homeless and cold children, asking us, “where are you?”…the kids are complaining about how sad it is and attempting to draw me into deep theological conversations at practice to avoid actually practicing, but I think it’ll be wonderfully effective. And the 10:45 choir is singing a Bach chorale based on Psalm 130: “Out of the Depths I cry to you, O God.” Another nod to the rich man and Lazarus, this time from the perspective of the rich man, sunk in the depths and crying out for relief.
On Saturday, the Ensemble is singing “Canticle of the Turning,” Rory’s rather revolutionary version of the Magnificat; they love it and pretty much sing the stuffing out of it, and as I said last week, the Magnificat is perfect for any weeks when we’re focusing on how God puts down the rich and raises up the lowly.
For all the liturgies we selected music for the closing which reflects this sense of sending and mission: We are Called at most liturgies, which the parish loves and sings really well, and “Go out in the world” with the children at 9:00, since they love it and I already used We are Called as their opening!
So…we shall see! Lots of good singing will be happening this weekend…
Peace,
Jennifer
Prelude (10:45): Halleluya, we sing your praises
Opening: Lord, whose love in humble service (WS 674)
(at 9:00: We are Called)
Psalm: 146—Praise the Lord, my soul (PRM C96)
Presentation: The Cry of the Poor (GC 33)
(at Saturday 5:00: Lord, bring me home, Paul Tate)
(at 9:00: Within the Reign of God)
Communion: (at 10:45: Out of the Depths, J.S. Bach)
(at 9:00: Here am I)
All liturgies: A New Commandment (WS 592)
at Saturday 5:00: Canticle of the Turning)
Closing: We are Called (GC 710)
(at 9:00: Go out in the world, Bolduc)
With the onset of multiple choirs and a parish that at last has a fairly consistent across-the-board repertoire, the lineups for the different weekend liturgies are starting to shift more and more…this weekend the Youth Choir, our grade 5-8 group, sings for the first time. They sounded lovely in rehearsal, so I’m really looking forward to it…
Honestly, there’s not much to say about the scriptures for this week I didn’t say last week…not to oversimplify, but it’s very much a “more of the same” kind of Sunday: First reading, woe to the rich. Psalm, praise God who raises up the lowly. Second reading, pursue the way of Christ. Gospel, the rich man and Lazarus: earthly wealth is meaningless when it comes to eternity. Sort of "same old, same old" at this point :-)
So, music choices:
Halleluya, we sing your praises (choir at 10:45): this prelude is there primarily for two not-too deep reasons: 1. Kelly, our organist, is helping Rory in Barrington this weekend and I don’t have time to prepare a decent prelude. And 2. amidst these dire readings, we need a reminder to rejoice and be glad. The other choir piece at this liturgy is very sad and lamenting, so I wanted a contrast.
Lord, whose love in humble service: set to the American folk hymn tune BEACH SPRING, this is a none-too subtle reminder, a homily-in-verse, really, of our obligation to serve others as Christ served us. It’s a little too wordy for the children’s choir to pull off, and the 9:00 liturgy is more likely to be populated by parents whose total number of arms is exceeded by the number of children they are corralling, so I tend to program hymnal-free music as much as possible at this liturgy.
Cry of the Poor, at the Presentation, is a lovely setting of Psalm 34 from the “Glory and Praise” days—one of the ones that thankfully survived the liturgy wars and is still part of the standard Catholic repertoire today. The only reason we are not doing it at 5:00 and 9:00 is because the choir has pieces which fit best in that spot: Paul Tate’s lovely “Lord, bring me home to your temple” is a nod to Lazarus and the rich man, expressing our longing to dwell in God’s house. I first heard this lovely setting probably 15 years ago, before anyone had ever heard of Paul Tate, and it has stuck with me ever since. I was delighted to see that it is finally in publication. At the 9:00, Marty Haugen’s charming “Within the Reign of God” is one I have loved for children’s choirs for years: “Blessed are they who are least in the reign of God; they shall rejoice at the feast of life!” It sings so beautifully and clearly…I doubt if I’d be inclined to use it for adult groups, but it’s great for kids.
At Communion time this week, I have two choirs doing “pre-Communion” choral pieces, and one doing a “post-Communion” song of praise. The children at 9:00 are singing this heart-wrenchingly sad little piece called “Here am I,” about Christ being amid the homeless and cold children, asking us, “where are you?”…the kids are complaining about how sad it is and attempting to draw me into deep theological conversations at practice to avoid actually practicing, but I think it’ll be wonderfully effective. And the 10:45 choir is singing a Bach chorale based on Psalm 130: “Out of the Depths I cry to you, O God.” Another nod to the rich man and Lazarus, this time from the perspective of the rich man, sunk in the depths and crying out for relief.
On Saturday, the Ensemble is singing “Canticle of the Turning,” Rory’s rather revolutionary version of the Magnificat; they love it and pretty much sing the stuffing out of it, and as I said last week, the Magnificat is perfect for any weeks when we’re focusing on how God puts down the rich and raises up the lowly.
For all the liturgies we selected music for the closing which reflects this sense of sending and mission: We are Called at most liturgies, which the parish loves and sings really well, and “Go out in the world” with the children at 9:00, since they love it and I already used We are Called as their opening!
So…we shall see! Lots of good singing will be happening this weekend…
Peace,
Jennifer
Monday, September 24, 2007
September 23--What I learned
This week I learned that I am, after all, not immune to embarrassment. Anyone who was at the 10:45: remember that annoying little boy who was waggling his ears and making faces through the whole Eucharistic Prayer up on the altar? Yup, that was my son. My sweet boy. He makes his mama so proud...
Sigh.
It was his second time up there--last week he was good as gold, listened, paid attention, and was still as could be. Yesterday, he was the Klass Klown.
I told a few people that I want to get him a t-shirt that says, "No, I am not the Music Director's kid."
This week I also learned, once again, that I Love My Job!!
The Saturday choir sang for the first time, and they did a gorgeous job...and the people sang too. It was such a wonderful blend of sound, full of such heart and happiness and commitment, the kind of sound that really just drew one into worship and prayer and song. And I know that I, who (okay, I admit it!) from time to time occasionally slip into auto-pilot (not very often, really!)--even in the general course of things, I need to remain more consciously "in the present" and alert, and can't usually let myself relax into a spiritual experience--but Saturday I was moved into prayer in a way I don't get to be very often. It was just lovely. I was really happy to be back.
Sunday was just as good, but different, more familiar, since I've been directing the 10:45 choir every year without hiatus. It was like stepping into a familiar and comfortable home, one that's beautiful and warm and decorated just the way it ought to be, filled with family and laughter and music. The Willan motet was as flawless as I've ever heard it, and consummately musical...and just having the added vocal fullness and harmony to the rest of the liturgy was so nice. I was really happy to be back.
It's good to work in a place where, every Sunday when I leave work, I can't wait to go back to work again. Admittedly, I'm exhausted, I'm overloaded, I'm overscheduled, I'm quite honestly barely hanging on sometimes...but put me in front of a choir and suddenly there's enough energy for days. I love my work.
peace,
Jennifer
Sigh.
It was his second time up there--last week he was good as gold, listened, paid attention, and was still as could be. Yesterday, he was the Klass Klown.
I told a few people that I want to get him a t-shirt that says, "No, I am not the Music Director's kid."
This week I also learned, once again, that I Love My Job!!
The Saturday choir sang for the first time, and they did a gorgeous job...and the people sang too. It was such a wonderful blend of sound, full of such heart and happiness and commitment, the kind of sound that really just drew one into worship and prayer and song. And I know that I, who (okay, I admit it!) from time to time occasionally slip into auto-pilot (not very often, really!)--even in the general course of things, I need to remain more consciously "in the present" and alert, and can't usually let myself relax into a spiritual experience--but Saturday I was moved into prayer in a way I don't get to be very often. It was just lovely. I was really happy to be back.
Sunday was just as good, but different, more familiar, since I've been directing the 10:45 choir every year without hiatus. It was like stepping into a familiar and comfortable home, one that's beautiful and warm and decorated just the way it ought to be, filled with family and laughter and music. The Willan motet was as flawless as I've ever heard it, and consummately musical...and just having the added vocal fullness and harmony to the rest of the liturgy was so nice. I was really happy to be back.
It's good to work in a place where, every Sunday when I leave work, I can't wait to go back to work again. Admittedly, I'm exhausted, I'm overloaded, I'm overscheduled, I'm quite honestly barely hanging on sometimes...but put me in front of a choir and suddenly there's enough energy for days. I love my work.
peace,
Jennifer
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
September 23, 25th Sunday in Ordinary Time
September 23, 25th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Opening: The Summons (GC 687)
Psalm: 113—Praise the Lord who lifts up the poor (PRM C95)
Presentation: Holy is your Name (GC 83)
Communion: A New Commandment (WS 592)
Closing: You are the Voice (GC 538)
Choir: O How Sweet, O Lord (Healy Willan)--sung at the beginning of Communion
--this is a beautiful little motet I discovered probably in college, while I was singing at the National Shrine. Very short, very lovely, not too difficult but musically very expressive...it's a great "first" anthem for the choir season, and it's Magnificat-like themes fit the Sunday perfectly. For some weird reason it's out of print...
Ensemble: A Place at the Table (Murray/True)--sung at the Preparation, with Holy is your Name replacing The Summons at the opening
--another lovely one; combines lyricism with a comfortably syncopated melody, and the Ensemble likes it a lot. The syncopation would make it a little difficult for a congregation, but it makes a perfect contemporary choral piece. I will also probably have the Ensemble do a little prelude of "Halleluya, we sing your praises"--I'm not sure I'll be up for doing choral preludes every single Sunday; it just feels sort of odd to me. I'd rather mix choral with instrumental week by week. But if the assembly keeps singing, and if having the choir "present" something before the liturgy begins can be done in a way that helps people move into their prayer, and encourages rather than stifles singing, I certainly won't object to it, and it seems to be something they really want! We'll see...
(much of the below is taken from my Staff Notes for this week's bulletin, but music stuff comes at the bottom...)
Praise, you servants of the Lord!
Throughout this autumn season, as we move toward the end of our liturgical year, the readings we hear on Sundays will become more and more challenging. In the first reading on this 25th Sunday in Ordinary Time we hear the prophet Amos crying out against those whose greed and desire for worldly treasure cause them to abandon their worship and tread upon the poor and needy. The passage is harsh and condemning, fierce and relentless...
And the psalm that follows it cries out, “Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord who lifts up the poor!”
Often we think of the psalm as merely a “response” to the first reading; actually, its title as the “Responsorial Psalm” comes not from its purpose as a “response” to a reading but simply from its form of singing: “responsorial” singing, as far back as Gregorian Chant, has involved a dialogue between a leader (or cantor) and the larger assembly. The Psalm holds its place as part of the proclamation of the Word—it is a reading from Scripture which happens to be sung rather than spoken. That is why the Psalm is always proclaimed from the ambo, where the readings are heard, rather than from the microphone from which the cantor leads the rest of the singing.
Still, the psalms for each Sunday were chosen to link with the Gospel and Old Testament readings for each week, and this one is a glorious “response” to the cry of Amos: he calls out a message of doom and anguish, and amidst the anger and injustice perpetrated by those who care nothing for God, the psalmist still finds a voice of praise: “Praise the Lord who lifts up the poor! God raises the lowly from the dust...he lifts up the poor to seat them with princes...blessed be the name of the Lord, now and forever!”
This is a powerful reminder, and one which any of us who love music and singing should hold to heart: when the road is difficult, sing! When everything is falling apart, sing praise for what will always hold firm! In the face of injustice, sing! In the place of darkness, sing! There is always room, even in our darkest times, to find something for which to praise our gracious and loving God!
This week's song choices: The Summons is a parish favorite, naming the different kinds of people and personally risky actions one must approach to be a follower of Jesus; it's not unlike "A Place at the Table," which the Ensemble will be singing at the Preparation. The Magnificat text is perfect for any Sunday when the scriptures speak about God's putting down of the proud and raising up the poor and lowly; plus I just love "Holy is your Name," even if it is based upon a non-sacred Irish folk tune. Perhaps just because I'd never heard the tune before I heard it set to these words, it seems incredibly prayerful to me. We used it as our closing prayer for the choir at tonight's rehearsal, and it was so lovely...
"A New Commandment" for Communion sort of pulls together all of these calls to live in prayer and reaching out to those we might not otherwise touch, calling us to "love one another" as Christ has loved us. Hard to beat that...and at the 10:45 we'll do it coming right out of "O How Sweet," the little English motet the choir will sing at the beginning of Communion: "O, how sweet, O Lord, is thy spirit, for thou hast shown thy sweetness unto thy children. Thou hast given them most wondrous bread from heaven; thou fillest the hungry with good things, and the rich thou sendest empty away." And then we move into, "I give you a new commandment: love one another as I have loved you." Sort of mirrors the "sending" action of the Mass--we gather, we share the Word, we gather at the Table, and we are sent out to be Christ for the world.
You are the Voice, our closing, is a rousing and fun one the parish loves; for the first time we're having the choir and ensemble learn the harmony parts for the last refrain, which should sort of fill out the sound a bit. Again, it's a song of sending: "You are the voice of the living God, calling us now to live in your love, to be children of God once again." Theologically, I guess it's sort of ambiguous regarding who the voice of the living God is...are we singing to God? to one another? do we really need to know?:-)
Anyway, THIS is the voice of one tired choir director who needs to get up tomorrow to take her kid to school, and really doesn't need to still be in the office at 11:00pm. So...signing off...
peace,
Jennifer
—Jennifer Kerr Budziak
Opening: The Summons (GC 687)
Psalm: 113—Praise the Lord who lifts up the poor (PRM C95)
Presentation: Holy is your Name (GC 83)
Communion: A New Commandment (WS 592)
Closing: You are the Voice (GC 538)
Choir: O How Sweet, O Lord (Healy Willan)--sung at the beginning of Communion
--this is a beautiful little motet I discovered probably in college, while I was singing at the National Shrine. Very short, very lovely, not too difficult but musically very expressive...it's a great "first" anthem for the choir season, and it's Magnificat-like themes fit the Sunday perfectly. For some weird reason it's out of print...
Ensemble: A Place at the Table (Murray/True)--sung at the Preparation, with Holy is your Name replacing The Summons at the opening
--another lovely one; combines lyricism with a comfortably syncopated melody, and the Ensemble likes it a lot. The syncopation would make it a little difficult for a congregation, but it makes a perfect contemporary choral piece. I will also probably have the Ensemble do a little prelude of "Halleluya, we sing your praises"--I'm not sure I'll be up for doing choral preludes every single Sunday; it just feels sort of odd to me. I'd rather mix choral with instrumental week by week. But if the assembly keeps singing, and if having the choir "present" something before the liturgy begins can be done in a way that helps people move into their prayer, and encourages rather than stifles singing, I certainly won't object to it, and it seems to be something they really want! We'll see...
(much of the below is taken from my Staff Notes for this week's bulletin, but music stuff comes at the bottom...)
Praise, you servants of the Lord!
Throughout this autumn season, as we move toward the end of our liturgical year, the readings we hear on Sundays will become more and more challenging. In the first reading on this 25th Sunday in Ordinary Time we hear the prophet Amos crying out against those whose greed and desire for worldly treasure cause them to abandon their worship and tread upon the poor and needy. The passage is harsh and condemning, fierce and relentless...
And the psalm that follows it cries out, “Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord who lifts up the poor!”
Often we think of the psalm as merely a “response” to the first reading; actually, its title as the “Responsorial Psalm” comes not from its purpose as a “response” to a reading but simply from its form of singing: “responsorial” singing, as far back as Gregorian Chant, has involved a dialogue between a leader (or cantor) and the larger assembly. The Psalm holds its place as part of the proclamation of the Word—it is a reading from Scripture which happens to be sung rather than spoken. That is why the Psalm is always proclaimed from the ambo, where the readings are heard, rather than from the microphone from which the cantor leads the rest of the singing.
Still, the psalms for each Sunday were chosen to link with the Gospel and Old Testament readings for each week, and this one is a glorious “response” to the cry of Amos: he calls out a message of doom and anguish, and amidst the anger and injustice perpetrated by those who care nothing for God, the psalmist still finds a voice of praise: “Praise the Lord who lifts up the poor! God raises the lowly from the dust...he lifts up the poor to seat them with princes...blessed be the name of the Lord, now and forever!”
This is a powerful reminder, and one which any of us who love music and singing should hold to heart: when the road is difficult, sing! When everything is falling apart, sing praise for what will always hold firm! In the face of injustice, sing! In the place of darkness, sing! There is always room, even in our darkest times, to find something for which to praise our gracious and loving God!
This week's song choices: The Summons is a parish favorite, naming the different kinds of people and personally risky actions one must approach to be a follower of Jesus; it's not unlike "A Place at the Table," which the Ensemble will be singing at the Preparation. The Magnificat text is perfect for any Sunday when the scriptures speak about God's putting down of the proud and raising up the poor and lowly; plus I just love "Holy is your Name," even if it is based upon a non-sacred Irish folk tune. Perhaps just because I'd never heard the tune before I heard it set to these words, it seems incredibly prayerful to me. We used it as our closing prayer for the choir at tonight's rehearsal, and it was so lovely...
"A New Commandment" for Communion sort of pulls together all of these calls to live in prayer and reaching out to those we might not otherwise touch, calling us to "love one another" as Christ has loved us. Hard to beat that...and at the 10:45 we'll do it coming right out of "O How Sweet," the little English motet the choir will sing at the beginning of Communion: "O, how sweet, O Lord, is thy spirit, for thou hast shown thy sweetness unto thy children. Thou hast given them most wondrous bread from heaven; thou fillest the hungry with good things, and the rich thou sendest empty away." And then we move into, "I give you a new commandment: love one another as I have loved you." Sort of mirrors the "sending" action of the Mass--we gather, we share the Word, we gather at the Table, and we are sent out to be Christ for the world.
You are the Voice, our closing, is a rousing and fun one the parish loves; for the first time we're having the choir and ensemble learn the harmony parts for the last refrain, which should sort of fill out the sound a bit. Again, it's a song of sending: "You are the voice of the living God, calling us now to live in your love, to be children of God once again." Theologically, I guess it's sort of ambiguous regarding who the voice of the living God is...are we singing to God? to one another? do we really need to know?:-)
Anyway, THIS is the voice of one tired choir director who needs to get up tomorrow to take her kid to school, and really doesn't need to still be in the office at 11:00pm. So...signing off...
peace,
Jennifer
—Jennifer Kerr Budziak
Sunday, September 16, 2007
September 16--What I learned
This week I learned that no matter how well one plans, and no matter if the "short form" of the Gospel has ever been used in the 5 years I've been here, that under Murphy's Law the week you pick all music to totally fit the parable of the Prodigal Son the only priest with two liturgies will decide to use the short form of the Gospel, which--surprise surprise--does not contain the parable of the Prodigal Son.
Sigh.
Fortunately, I also learned that lots of the music for the Prodigal Son also fits for the other readings pretty well.:-)
peace,
Jennifer
Sigh.
Fortunately, I also learned that lots of the music for the Prodigal Son also fits for the other readings pretty well.:-)
peace,
Jennifer
Saturday, September 15, 2007
September 16, 24th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Opening: Amazing Grace (GC 586)
Psalm: 51—PRM C94, “I will rise and go to my father”
Presentation: Our Father, we have wandered (GC 849)
Communion: Draw Near (GC 829)
Closing: This is a day of new beginnings (GC 453)
Does anyone not love the parable of the Prodigal Son? Is there any story that hits closer to home, gives everyone something to identify with, and illustrates the sheer abundant generosity of God?
I remember this now, too--this is that Sunday near the end of Cycle C when the heavy weight of judgment, doom, and gloom in the readings lifts for a minute to remind us that as much as we screw up or ignore or forget the things we know deep in our being (the things "written on our hearts," as Jeremiah said), God's ridiculously generous and abundant love will always open arms to bring us back.
My absolute favorite author in the whole world is (and has been since I was about 9 years old and discovered "A Wrinkle in Time") Madeleine L'Engle; she has written at great length about this great and loving generosity of God, infinite forgiveness, infinite love, and through her writings I have come to understand it far more than I ever could have on my own. And then early this week I discovered that she died last week, on September 6, at age 88. I met her only once, at a talk she gave while I was in college, and yet I feel as though one of my best friends, wisest teachers, a sister, a mother, a shining light has left the world. I cried a lot this week.
But...I have a new name to add to my personal litany of saints (along with St. Johann Sebastian, St. Johannes Brahms, St. Thomas Stearns Eliot, St. Joseph Bernadin, and the like...:-)--St. Madeleine L'Engle can now be added.
The music for this week (right, that was the original purpose of this post, wasn't it?) all but picked itself: Amazing Grace is a hymn everyone knows and loves to sing, and its "I once was lost but now am found" line directly quotes the gospel. The presentation hymn, "Our Father, we have wandered," likewise directly references the Prodigal Son story, but it is set to the familiar "Passion Chorale" tune (usually "O Sacred Head.") The unconscious subtext I've always gotten from this--well, not so unconcious now that I'm naming it--is that every time we do wander away and sqander the incredible gifts given us by our loving God we crucify him again, and again, daily, moment by moment. And he bears it, aches, and yet rises up with even more love than before.
"Draw Near," as a communion song, is sort of intended to pull us into this sacrifice, this sharing of body and blood for our sake--to face the Passion and not pull back, to draw near to this prodigal father who knows all we've done and loves us still.
(Digression: from the movie Dogma--Alanis Morrisette recorded the song that's over the closing credits, and it's called "Still." It names in frightening detail the atrocities of the human race, and each verse ends with "And I love you still...I love you still..." It's heart-wrenching and in my opinion a must-hear.)
(The song, that is. Please only rent the movie if you're pretty difficult to offend and have a very relaxed sense of humor about Catholicism...and don't mind pretty horrible language and lots of violence. I happen to find it pretty funny in terms of some of the plot points and really witty dialogue--put it this way, the movie starts with two angels who once angered God by disobeying a command and were thus exiled, not to Hell, but to Wisconsin for all eternity...and George Carlin plays the Archbishop...but Matt Damon and Ben Affleck are easy on the eyes:-) (Oh, and by the way, its R rating is honestly earned, the language is pretty appalling--I wouldn't in a gajillion years let anyone under probably college age watch it.)
ANYWAY...and the closing song, "This is a day of new beginnings, " is there for twofold reasons: one, we haven't done it in a while and it was new last Easter, and we ought to get it back into people's voices; besides, there's no reason we can't sing about Easter at other times of year--Sunday is a "little Easter" every week, after all. Also, it too fits the flow of the readings and music: God is ever offering us the opportunity to start fresh: "Our God is making all things new! Our God is making all things new!" (I love the way the song says it twice...just to make a point.:-)
This is what we call getting in under the wire...Andrew is probably over there as I type this waiting to rehearse for the Saturday 5pm liturgy, so I'd best get going.
St. Madeleine of Crosswicks, pray for us!
peace,
Jennifer
Opening: Amazing Grace (GC 586)
Psalm: 51—PRM C94, “I will rise and go to my father”
Presentation: Our Father, we have wandered (GC 849)
Communion: Draw Near (GC 829)
Closing: This is a day of new beginnings (GC 453)
Does anyone not love the parable of the Prodigal Son? Is there any story that hits closer to home, gives everyone something to identify with, and illustrates the sheer abundant generosity of God?
I remember this now, too--this is that Sunday near the end of Cycle C when the heavy weight of judgment, doom, and gloom in the readings lifts for a minute to remind us that as much as we screw up or ignore or forget the things we know deep in our being (the things "written on our hearts," as Jeremiah said), God's ridiculously generous and abundant love will always open arms to bring us back.
My absolute favorite author in the whole world is (and has been since I was about 9 years old and discovered "A Wrinkle in Time") Madeleine L'Engle; she has written at great length about this great and loving generosity of God, infinite forgiveness, infinite love, and through her writings I have come to understand it far more than I ever could have on my own. And then early this week I discovered that she died last week, on September 6, at age 88. I met her only once, at a talk she gave while I was in college, and yet I feel as though one of my best friends, wisest teachers, a sister, a mother, a shining light has left the world. I cried a lot this week.
But...I have a new name to add to my personal litany of saints (along with St. Johann Sebastian, St. Johannes Brahms, St. Thomas Stearns Eliot, St. Joseph Bernadin, and the like...:-)--St. Madeleine L'Engle can now be added.
The music for this week (right, that was the original purpose of this post, wasn't it?) all but picked itself: Amazing Grace is a hymn everyone knows and loves to sing, and its "I once was lost but now am found" line directly quotes the gospel. The presentation hymn, "Our Father, we have wandered," likewise directly references the Prodigal Son story, but it is set to the familiar "Passion Chorale" tune (usually "O Sacred Head.") The unconscious subtext I've always gotten from this--well, not so unconcious now that I'm naming it--is that every time we do wander away and sqander the incredible gifts given us by our loving God we crucify him again, and again, daily, moment by moment. And he bears it, aches, and yet rises up with even more love than before.
"Draw Near," as a communion song, is sort of intended to pull us into this sacrifice, this sharing of body and blood for our sake--to face the Passion and not pull back, to draw near to this prodigal father who knows all we've done and loves us still.
(Digression: from the movie Dogma--Alanis Morrisette recorded the song that's over the closing credits, and it's called "Still." It names in frightening detail the atrocities of the human race, and each verse ends with "And I love you still...I love you still..." It's heart-wrenching and in my opinion a must-hear.)
(The song, that is. Please only rent the movie if you're pretty difficult to offend and have a very relaxed sense of humor about Catholicism...and don't mind pretty horrible language and lots of violence. I happen to find it pretty funny in terms of some of the plot points and really witty dialogue--put it this way, the movie starts with two angels who once angered God by disobeying a command and were thus exiled, not to Hell, but to Wisconsin for all eternity...and George Carlin plays the Archbishop...but Matt Damon and Ben Affleck are easy on the eyes:-) (Oh, and by the way, its R rating is honestly earned, the language is pretty appalling--I wouldn't in a gajillion years let anyone under probably college age watch it.)
ANYWAY...and the closing song, "This is a day of new beginnings, " is there for twofold reasons: one, we haven't done it in a while and it was new last Easter, and we ought to get it back into people's voices; besides, there's no reason we can't sing about Easter at other times of year--Sunday is a "little Easter" every week, after all. Also, it too fits the flow of the readings and music: God is ever offering us the opportunity to start fresh: "Our God is making all things new! Our God is making all things new!" (I love the way the song says it twice...just to make a point.:-)
This is what we call getting in under the wire...Andrew is probably over there as I type this waiting to rehearse for the Saturday 5pm liturgy, so I'd best get going.
St. Madeleine of Crosswicks, pray for us!
peace,
Jennifer
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Two down, one to go...
Last night the 10:45 choir had its first rehearsal. As usual, our first rehearsal of the year was sort of a mad sing-through (or touch-through) of all the choral music we'll be singing through the season. It was crazy and fun and chaotic and utterly thrilling. The reading ability of this group is growing by leaps and bounds, and the level of the music we are able not only to handle but to actually master is rising dramatically each season.
And we have 5 new members! That's another great excitement, and it begins to bear out my "bell curve" theory of recruitment with a "new" music director. The first few years one only gets a couple of new folks, then there may even be a year or two when no new members join, and then membership starts to pick up. And the real fun of it is that the larger the choir is, the less threatening it is for new people to join, and membership can eventually settle into a steady increase. We'll see if it works...:-)
The "big" piece we have planned for Christmas is Haydn's gorgeous "The Heavens are Telling" from The Creation. I love the piece; it's so fun and joyous, and it's both challenging and accessible. And while it's not "Christmassy" per se, the image of the heavens proclaiming God's glory on the night we celebrate the star in the heavens is one with which I'm perfectly content!
Tuesday the Youth Choir had its first practice; the numbers are a bit thin, mostly because there are a lot of sports activities in the fall, especially for the 5th graders. This happens every year, actually--there's a huge membership surge in late October sometime. And I have my nice strong junior high folks back, and a group of really solid and fun fourth graders, so when the 5th graders return there'll be plenty of folks!
Tonight is the first rehearsal of the Ensemble; I'm really looking forward to seeing and making music with the group once again...
peace,
Jennifer
And we have 5 new members! That's another great excitement, and it begins to bear out my "bell curve" theory of recruitment with a "new" music director. The first few years one only gets a couple of new folks, then there may even be a year or two when no new members join, and then membership starts to pick up. And the real fun of it is that the larger the choir is, the less threatening it is for new people to join, and membership can eventually settle into a steady increase. We'll see if it works...:-)
The "big" piece we have planned for Christmas is Haydn's gorgeous "The Heavens are Telling" from The Creation. I love the piece; it's so fun and joyous, and it's both challenging and accessible. And while it's not "Christmassy" per se, the image of the heavens proclaiming God's glory on the night we celebrate the star in the heavens is one with which I'm perfectly content!
Tuesday the Youth Choir had its first practice; the numbers are a bit thin, mostly because there are a lot of sports activities in the fall, especially for the 5th graders. This happens every year, actually--there's a huge membership surge in late October sometime. And I have my nice strong junior high folks back, and a group of really solid and fun fourth graders, so when the 5th graders return there'll be plenty of folks!
Tonight is the first rehearsal of the Ensemble; I'm really looking forward to seeing and making music with the group once again...
peace,
Jennifer
Monday, September 10, 2007
Time and psalmody (what I learned)
What I learned this week:
I learned that some weeks, especially early in the season when I'm frantically trying to get 3 choirs ready for their first rehearsals of the year and a particularly thorny cantor schedule out into the world, it is very difficult to get the "music summary" blog postings up. I missed the 23rd Sunday--Sorry!! (to the 4 people who so far read this blog...)
So, somewhat posthumously:
September 9, 23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time
Opening: Take up your cross (GC 690)
Psalm: 90-- PRM C93, “In every age, O Lord”
Presentation: The Summons (GC 687)
Communion: Here I am, Lord (GC 671)
Closing: Canticle of the Sun (GC 495)
The PRM (Psalms and Ritual Music, the 3-cycle psalter books from World Library) psalms do have a tendency to be a bit pedestrian, and are clearly composed so that the words will dominate and the melody will be less memorable and fabulous. (Well, I doubt the composers sit down and say, "Aha! I want to write a pedestrian and non-fabulous melody that people will be able to sing but will immediately forget!"--but the basic priority is fidelity to the text and immediacy of apprehension (I use too many big words...just People Can Sing It Right Away is all I mean there), not deep heart-felt inspiration that will make people go, "Oh, my GOD, that was so BEAUTIFUL, I could just FEEL the wings of the spirit as you sang..." etc. and so forth. These settings exist to highlight the text, to permit the text to shine through a simple setting. (I'm also finding that the more the cantors become comfortable with this mode of proclamation, the more "shining" the text becomes...some of them are really getting the hang of this chanting, and it's lovely.)
Brief digression: as a church, we North-American types (they're even worse in Britain:-) have a tendency to hear "Responsorial Psalm" and think "Response to the first reading." While the psalm was chosen to relate to the first reading, just as the first reading was chosen to relate to the Gospel, it is not so much simply a "response" than an actual proclamation of the Word of God--just a sung proclamation rather than a spoken one, because the Psalms were created as poetry to be chanted or sung. Therefore composers in recent times have put out greater efforts to highlight the difference between the Responsorial Psalm and the other sung music within the liturgy. The word "Responsorial" refers simply to the manner in which it is sung: "responsorial" singing involves a dialogue between cantor and assembly. In an ideal world (or when the psalm of the week is particularly familiar), you may notice that the cantor won't even sing the people's part with them--in a dialogue, which is what the Responsorial Psalm is meant to be, it is important not just for each party to get to speak/sing, but for each party to take turns BEING QUIET and allowing the Other to take their turn. No one wants to be in a dialogue with someone who won't ever shut their mouth, right?:-)
ANYWAY...Steve Janco's setting of Psalm 90, from this week's liturgy, was a particularly beautiful setting of the text--the kind of rare refrain which remains in the head after the liturgy with the words attached so that it keeps on singing after you're done. (Okay, I did get to play/hear/sing it 4 times, which gives me an advantage...) I even used it as my prelude improv this week, and it was lovely on its own even without the text...
This week the Youth Choir, Cherub Choir, Parish Choir, and the Choral/Instrumental Ensemble all have their first rehearsal. I'm going nuts. But excited...this is the best part of the year, in many ways, there's just so much more fun and creative stuff to do than there is time to do it all...
peace,
Jennifer
I learned that some weeks, especially early in the season when I'm frantically trying to get 3 choirs ready for their first rehearsals of the year and a particularly thorny cantor schedule out into the world, it is very difficult to get the "music summary" blog postings up. I missed the 23rd Sunday--Sorry!! (to the 4 people who so far read this blog...)
So, somewhat posthumously:
September 9, 23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time
Opening: Take up your cross (GC 690)
Psalm: 90-- PRM C93, “In every age, O Lord”
Presentation: The Summons (GC 687)
Communion: Here I am, Lord (GC 671)
Closing: Canticle of the Sun (GC 495)
The PRM (Psalms and Ritual Music, the 3-cycle psalter books from World Library) psalms do have a tendency to be a bit pedestrian, and are clearly composed so that the words will dominate and the melody will be less memorable and fabulous. (Well, I doubt the composers sit down and say, "Aha! I want to write a pedestrian and non-fabulous melody that people will be able to sing but will immediately forget!"--but the basic priority is fidelity to the text and immediacy of apprehension (I use too many big words...just People Can Sing It Right Away is all I mean there), not deep heart-felt inspiration that will make people go, "Oh, my GOD, that was so BEAUTIFUL, I could just FEEL the wings of the spirit as you sang..." etc. and so forth. These settings exist to highlight the text, to permit the text to shine through a simple setting. (I'm also finding that the more the cantors become comfortable with this mode of proclamation, the more "shining" the text becomes...some of them are really getting the hang of this chanting, and it's lovely.)
Brief digression: as a church, we North-American types (they're even worse in Britain:-) have a tendency to hear "Responsorial Psalm" and think "Response to the first reading." While the psalm was chosen to relate to the first reading, just as the first reading was chosen to relate to the Gospel, it is not so much simply a "response" than an actual proclamation of the Word of God--just a sung proclamation rather than a spoken one, because the Psalms were created as poetry to be chanted or sung. Therefore composers in recent times have put out greater efforts to highlight the difference between the Responsorial Psalm and the other sung music within the liturgy. The word "Responsorial" refers simply to the manner in which it is sung: "responsorial" singing involves a dialogue between cantor and assembly. In an ideal world (or when the psalm of the week is particularly familiar), you may notice that the cantor won't even sing the people's part with them--in a dialogue, which is what the Responsorial Psalm is meant to be, it is important not just for each party to get to speak/sing, but for each party to take turns BEING QUIET and allowing the Other to take their turn. No one wants to be in a dialogue with someone who won't ever shut their mouth, right?:-)
ANYWAY...Steve Janco's setting of Psalm 90, from this week's liturgy, was a particularly beautiful setting of the text--the kind of rare refrain which remains in the head after the liturgy with the words attached so that it keeps on singing after you're done. (Okay, I did get to play/hear/sing it 4 times, which gives me an advantage...) I even used it as my prelude improv this week, and it was lovely on its own even without the text...
This week the Youth Choir, Cherub Choir, Parish Choir, and the Choral/Instrumental Ensemble all have their first rehearsal. I'm going nuts. But excited...this is the best part of the year, in many ways, there's just so much more fun and creative stuff to do than there is time to do it all...
peace,
Jennifer
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Honor and abundance (what I learned)
This was an interesting Sunday...as it turned out, the preachers didn't head in the direction I expected them to at all, and most of the liturgies had some change of music, mainly at the Preparation.
Fr. Ken addressed the whole idea of banquets and hosting and relationships with those with whom we gather; we did "All are Welcome" at the liturgy he presided at. And Fr. Barron focused on the idea of Jesus calling everyone from every corner of the world to share in the abundant feast together--that there is this table of great abundance set before us, and we have a tendency to become "addicted to honor"--to spend so much time worrying about how we are viewed and where our station is within a social structure that we completely miss the wonder of the great feast and gift...he got "Come to the Banquet." (I confess: I was still pretty sleepy at 7:30 and didn't pay good enough attention to Brendan's homily...sorry, Father!:-)
The rest of the music fit very well--At That First Eucharist was exactly right, Blest are They hit it right on the head, and We are Called was a nice solid ending, shifting the focus from our inward welcoming and abundance to the world outward which calls us to bring that gift of plenty into its barren places.
What I learned...well, I'm not sure there's much of interest to say I learned this week. I learned that it's probably time to give loving and pastoral nudges to those among the cantors who are accustomed to coming in a little later than they should, and invite them to arrive at least 15 minutes before liturgy, not because they necessarily need 12 minutes of rehearsal but because it's good for everyone's blood pressure. And the readings and homilies gave me a lot to reflect on from my own life: I wish I could say "I learned that shouldn't worry so much about being perfect, or about appearing perfect and never making mistakes." I make mistakes, and I feel like I'm making a lot more of them lately than I usually do. And then I beat myself up, and I lie awake at night formulating my list of excuses and hoping the more I repeat them to myself the more valid they will sound. (Doesn't work. Don't waste your time on this one.) So I haven't exactly learned that particular lesson, but it's very kind of the Holy Spirit to give me hopeful refreshers every now and again.
I also learned that Labor Day really neither needs nor wants a patriotic hymn, so the preceding post should probably have waited for next May.:-)
Happy September!
peace,
Jennifer
Fr. Ken addressed the whole idea of banquets and hosting and relationships with those with whom we gather; we did "All are Welcome" at the liturgy he presided at. And Fr. Barron focused on the idea of Jesus calling everyone from every corner of the world to share in the abundant feast together--that there is this table of great abundance set before us, and we have a tendency to become "addicted to honor"--to spend so much time worrying about how we are viewed and where our station is within a social structure that we completely miss the wonder of the great feast and gift...he got "Come to the Banquet." (I confess: I was still pretty sleepy at 7:30 and didn't pay good enough attention to Brendan's homily...sorry, Father!:-)
The rest of the music fit very well--At That First Eucharist was exactly right, Blest are They hit it right on the head, and We are Called was a nice solid ending, shifting the focus from our inward welcoming and abundance to the world outward which calls us to bring that gift of plenty into its barren places.
What I learned...well, I'm not sure there's much of interest to say I learned this week. I learned that it's probably time to give loving and pastoral nudges to those among the cantors who are accustomed to coming in a little later than they should, and invite them to arrive at least 15 minutes before liturgy, not because they necessarily need 12 minutes of rehearsal but because it's good for everyone's blood pressure. And the readings and homilies gave me a lot to reflect on from my own life: I wish I could say "I learned that shouldn't worry so much about being perfect, or about appearing perfect and never making mistakes." I make mistakes, and I feel like I'm making a lot more of them lately than I usually do. And then I beat myself up, and I lie awake at night formulating my list of excuses and hoping the more I repeat them to myself the more valid they will sound. (Doesn't work. Don't waste your time on this one.) So I haven't exactly learned that particular lesson, but it's very kind of the Holy Spirit to give me hopeful refreshers every now and again.
I also learned that Labor Day really neither needs nor wants a patriotic hymn, so the preceding post should probably have waited for next May.:-)
Happy September!
peace,
Jennifer
Friday, August 31, 2007
Labor Day (rants about civil holidays)
Holiday weekends—civil, holidays, I mean—are interesting. Labor Day weekend is especially fun and slightly strange, because on the one hand everyone’s already back at school so we don’t have tons of travelers the way we do at other times, but on the other hand it’s the semi-official signal for the End Of Summer, so anyone who can get away usually tries to. And attendance at liturgy is usually inversely proportional to the relative beauty of the weather: Saturday 5pm is a tomb, Sunday 7:30 has extra bodies, and Sunday 5:00 is heavily populated by all those who know they need to get to Mass but couldn’t bring themselves to give up any part of the beautiful weekend. (Not knocking this in the slightest, by the way! At least they're going to Mass!)
I also often get asked, not so much for Labor Day as for things like Memorial Day and July 4 weekends (July 4 especially perplexes me because it is not necessarily a Monday and can occur on any random weekday) why I don’t program patriotic hymns on the nearest Sunday to the civil holidays.
(So glad you asked!) The reason is very simple: each Sunday of the church year has its own readings and over-arching emphasis (I hesitate to use the word “theme,” since it gets easily distorted), always focusing in the end on the Paschal Mystery of Jesus Christ. We are a universal church, bound in our baptism to every other human being on the planet, gathered in spirit around a single table to share in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
Ever notice that there is no American flag in the sanctuary? Or ever been to the funeral of a military veteran, and noticed that though the casket is brought in covered by the flag, it is removed and replaced with the white pall (reminding us of our baptism) before being brought into the church? It’s the same symbol: once we enter into the Eucharist, all other signs of outward allegiance are removed, and we are all One in Christ Jesus.
The other, more practical, reason as far as I’m concerned is that for every civil holiday we do have a celebratory liturgy. It’s one of the reasons music ministers never actually get a three-day weekend, or any weekend at all, for that matter! Those Mondays off when other families get to pack up the picnic basket and go somewhere fun for the day, or sleep in and have pancakes for breakfast, I have to get up and play 9:00 Mass. (No, I really don’t mind, except after really long weekends when that extra day off would be really nice!) And we always do some kind of patriotic hymn on those days. Labor Day is actually the least obviously “American” of the civil holidays, so sometimes we won’t then (it just doesn’t feel that appropriate, since that’s not really what we’re praying about). But Memorial Day, Independence Day, etc. always get one or more patriotic hymn.
I always get hot under the collar, just a little, when some person comes up to me with righteous indignation that I didn’t select a patriotic hymn for Sunday, June 30 or whatever, because of Independence Day, who then responds with even more righteous indignation that I would suggest they actually come to church on July 4 if singing those hymns is important to them. (“But that’s our Family Time,” they say primly. “What a wonderful opportunity for the family to come to liturgy together,” I reply. At which point they usually shake their heads in frustration and go tell Father how uncooperative the music minister is… J)
Happy Labor Day!
peace,
Jennifer
I also often get asked, not so much for Labor Day as for things like Memorial Day and July 4 weekends (July 4 especially perplexes me because it is not necessarily a Monday and can occur on any random weekday) why I don’t program patriotic hymns on the nearest Sunday to the civil holidays.
(So glad you asked!) The reason is very simple: each Sunday of the church year has its own readings and over-arching emphasis (I hesitate to use the word “theme,” since it gets easily distorted), always focusing in the end on the Paschal Mystery of Jesus Christ. We are a universal church, bound in our baptism to every other human being on the planet, gathered in spirit around a single table to share in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
Ever notice that there is no American flag in the sanctuary? Or ever been to the funeral of a military veteran, and noticed that though the casket is brought in covered by the flag, it is removed and replaced with the white pall (reminding us of our baptism) before being brought into the church? It’s the same symbol: once we enter into the Eucharist, all other signs of outward allegiance are removed, and we are all One in Christ Jesus.
The other, more practical, reason as far as I’m concerned is that for every civil holiday we do have a celebratory liturgy. It’s one of the reasons music ministers never actually get a three-day weekend, or any weekend at all, for that matter! Those Mondays off when other families get to pack up the picnic basket and go somewhere fun for the day, or sleep in and have pancakes for breakfast, I have to get up and play 9:00 Mass. (No, I really don’t mind, except after really long weekends when that extra day off would be really nice!) And we always do some kind of patriotic hymn on those days. Labor Day is actually the least obviously “American” of the civil holidays, so sometimes we won’t then (it just doesn’t feel that appropriate, since that’s not really what we’re praying about). But Memorial Day, Independence Day, etc. always get one or more patriotic hymn.
I always get hot under the collar, just a little, when some person comes up to me with righteous indignation that I didn’t select a patriotic hymn for Sunday, June 30 or whatever, because of Independence Day, who then responds with even more righteous indignation that I would suggest they actually come to church on July 4 if singing those hymns is important to them. (“But that’s our Family Time,” they say primly. “What a wonderful opportunity for the family to come to liturgy together,” I reply. At which point they usually shake their heads in frustration and go tell Father how uncooperative the music minister is… J)
Happy Labor Day!
peace,
Jennifer
September 2, 22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time
September 2, 22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time
Entrance: At that first Eucharist (GC 840)
Psalm: 68—God, in your goodness, you have made a home for the poor (PRM C92)
Presentation: The Cry of the Poor (GC 33)
Communion: Blest are They (GC 636)
Closing: We are Called (GC 710)
We used to have a joke in college (admittedly not a hysterically funny one), where we’d say that most of our prayers seemed to amount to “Oh God, you are so very big. And I am so very small.” That’s ultimately what this Sunday’s readings seem to call us to—they take us deeper into that place of abject humility and trust in God—the place we’ll venture ever more deeply between now and late November when the liturgical year ends. The first reading, from Sirach (incidentally, one of the books of the “Apocrypha,” not found in the biblical tradition of most other Christian denominations) calls us to “humble ourselves the more the greater we are, and we will find favor with God.”
I love verse 5 of the psalm: “Sing to God, praise the divine name; exalt the rider of the clouds.” We have so many beautiful names for God, but “rider of the clouds” isn’t one we see all that often. It reminds me of the praises in psalm 98 which we proclaim at Christmas, when we are told that “the seas clap their hands” to the glory of God: the image of the waves crashing and colliding with each other—all as part of God’s praise—is so powerful…
The second reading is just as full of metaphor and praise—it reminds us that the God we approach is not one of terror and distance, but is approachable and festive, calling us to praise and prayer and closeness. And then the gospel gives us the upside-down kingdom again, calling us to invite the poor, the lame, the lonely, those who could never repay your hospitality—forget what the world tells you about how to celebrate, it says, step outside of your comfort zone and be like Jesus, let your expectations be turned inside-out, free yourself of the expectations of your external life. Remember last Sunday’s “narrow door”? In this Sunday’s readings, we’ve approached it, and Jesus is beckoning to us from the other side. Let go of what you think you know, he says, and recognize that you must love what the world despises, honor what the world ignores, rejoice at what the world mourns.
That, ultimately, is why “Blest are they” is the perfect song for this particular Sunday. (That and the fact that the alternate Communion Antiphon for this Sunday is taken from the Beatitudes as well; despite the single-cycle selection of Antiphons, often they fit beautifully with the readings and other prayers.) The other songs fit the pattern as well: In “At that first Eucharist,” we are reminded that we are called to “one bread, one body be, in this blest Sacrament of unity.” (My hope is that using the hymn as an opening rather than a Communion Hymn might subtly remind us that the “sacrament” it refers to is not necessarily just the reception of Holy Communion but the entire liturgical gathering…) “Cry of the Poor” is a psalm of praise which likewise praises God’s mercy and kindness especially to the lowly and unremarkable, and “We are Called” sends us out with Micah’s call to “do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.”
I have a feeling that if I can remember the focuses of this particular Sunday’s readings and songs, the much harsher-seeming readings of October and November might be easier to take, as this autumn progresses…
peace,
Jennifer
Entrance: At that first Eucharist (GC 840)
Psalm: 68—God, in your goodness, you have made a home for the poor (PRM C92)
Presentation: The Cry of the Poor (GC 33)
Communion: Blest are They (GC 636)
Closing: We are Called (GC 710)
We used to have a joke in college (admittedly not a hysterically funny one), where we’d say that most of our prayers seemed to amount to “Oh God, you are so very big. And I am so very small.” That’s ultimately what this Sunday’s readings seem to call us to—they take us deeper into that place of abject humility and trust in God—the place we’ll venture ever more deeply between now and late November when the liturgical year ends. The first reading, from Sirach (incidentally, one of the books of the “Apocrypha,” not found in the biblical tradition of most other Christian denominations) calls us to “humble ourselves the more the greater we are, and we will find favor with God.”
I love verse 5 of the psalm: “Sing to God, praise the divine name; exalt the rider of the clouds.” We have so many beautiful names for God, but “rider of the clouds” isn’t one we see all that often. It reminds me of the praises in psalm 98 which we proclaim at Christmas, when we are told that “the seas clap their hands” to the glory of God: the image of the waves crashing and colliding with each other—all as part of God’s praise—is so powerful…
The second reading is just as full of metaphor and praise—it reminds us that the God we approach is not one of terror and distance, but is approachable and festive, calling us to praise and prayer and closeness. And then the gospel gives us the upside-down kingdom again, calling us to invite the poor, the lame, the lonely, those who could never repay your hospitality—forget what the world tells you about how to celebrate, it says, step outside of your comfort zone and be like Jesus, let your expectations be turned inside-out, free yourself of the expectations of your external life. Remember last Sunday’s “narrow door”? In this Sunday’s readings, we’ve approached it, and Jesus is beckoning to us from the other side. Let go of what you think you know, he says, and recognize that you must love what the world despises, honor what the world ignores, rejoice at what the world mourns.
That, ultimately, is why “Blest are they” is the perfect song for this particular Sunday. (That and the fact that the alternate Communion Antiphon for this Sunday is taken from the Beatitudes as well; despite the single-cycle selection of Antiphons, often they fit beautifully with the readings and other prayers.) The other songs fit the pattern as well: In “At that first Eucharist,” we are reminded that we are called to “one bread, one body be, in this blest Sacrament of unity.” (My hope is that using the hymn as an opening rather than a Communion Hymn might subtly remind us that the “sacrament” it refers to is not necessarily just the reception of Holy Communion but the entire liturgical gathering…) “Cry of the Poor” is a psalm of praise which likewise praises God’s mercy and kindness especially to the lowly and unremarkable, and “We are Called” sends us out with Micah’s call to “do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.”
I have a feeling that if I can remember the focuses of this particular Sunday’s readings and songs, the much harsher-seeming readings of October and November might be easier to take, as this autumn progresses…
peace,
Jennifer
Monday, August 27, 2007
Of Carpets, Journeys, and Narrow doors (What I learned)
Whether I remember to continue this particular variety of blog entry or not, I think it might be a good idea...to go back and take a look at a given Sunday and consciously think about how the morning went and what happened.
So: yesterday, two main things come to mind:
1. I learned that Marty Haugen's "Come and Journey with a Savior" is a really solid and well-written hymn. We used it through all of Lent a couple of years ago and haven't revisited it much since then. Yesterday we pulled it out as an opening song, and I played it on the organ rather than piano. The people sang it solidly and well, it was easy to adapt for organ, and it felt as well-rooted and solid as any "traditional" hymn. I hope more people discover this piece...the verses are a bit odd (not bad, just odd), but it sings very very well.
2. I learned that carpet which looks dry isn't necessarily dry, so if your church flooded in the wake of a terrible storm and the sewage system backed up and soaked the carpet around the font and music area, it's better to forego receiving Communion if that means you have to walk on the wet carpet in your organ shoes and soak the soles so they don't slip nicely on the pedalboard and your rendition of "Here I am, Lord" sounds about like you used to play it 16 years ago when you were just figuring out this foot thing. (Plus, it's just gross to walk around in sewage-soaked carpet.)
I also heard a new take on the "Narrow Door" theme, something I somehow haven't heard before. (It's not too often at this point that I discover a new metaphor:-). Ken approached the idea sort of from the perspective of "the road less travelled"--that we are given the choice between taking the habitual, expected, path of least resistance, or to deliberately choose to take the path that seems less popular, less anticipated, less expected of us. I liked it.
I love how much the assembly sings during late summer, when people are getting back from vacations and the different liturgies are filling up again. Sometimes it was almost thunderous. I remember how for several months I had to get on the cantors right and left about not singing the people's part of the Alleluia with them, to strengthen the sense of dialogue and the assembly's own role--no reason to "support" people's singing of something they can sing in their sleep. The cantors are starting to forget, or else some of them never quite "got" it to begin with, but the job has been done--the people sing their part so loudly that it no longer even matters, which is the best thing in the world, as far as I'm concerned.
This is a good parish.
peace,
Jennifer
So: yesterday, two main things come to mind:
1. I learned that Marty Haugen's "Come and Journey with a Savior" is a really solid and well-written hymn. We used it through all of Lent a couple of years ago and haven't revisited it much since then. Yesterday we pulled it out as an opening song, and I played it on the organ rather than piano. The people sang it solidly and well, it was easy to adapt for organ, and it felt as well-rooted and solid as any "traditional" hymn. I hope more people discover this piece...the verses are a bit odd (not bad, just odd), but it sings very very well.
2. I learned that carpet which looks dry isn't necessarily dry, so if your church flooded in the wake of a terrible storm and the sewage system backed up and soaked the carpet around the font and music area, it's better to forego receiving Communion if that means you have to walk on the wet carpet in your organ shoes and soak the soles so they don't slip nicely on the pedalboard and your rendition of "Here I am, Lord" sounds about like you used to play it 16 years ago when you were just figuring out this foot thing. (Plus, it's just gross to walk around in sewage-soaked carpet.)
I also heard a new take on the "Narrow Door" theme, something I somehow haven't heard before. (It's not too often at this point that I discover a new metaphor:-). Ken approached the idea sort of from the perspective of "the road less travelled"--that we are given the choice between taking the habitual, expected, path of least resistance, or to deliberately choose to take the path that seems less popular, less anticipated, less expected of us. I liked it.
I love how much the assembly sings during late summer, when people are getting back from vacations and the different liturgies are filling up again. Sometimes it was almost thunderous. I remember how for several months I had to get on the cantors right and left about not singing the people's part of the Alleluia with them, to strengthen the sense of dialogue and the assembly's own role--no reason to "support" people's singing of something they can sing in their sleep. The cantors are starting to forget, or else some of them never quite "got" it to begin with, but the job has been done--the people sing their part so loudly that it no longer even matters, which is the best thing in the world, as far as I'm concerned.
This is a good parish.
peace,
Jennifer
Thursday, August 23, 2007
St. Elvis?
from the popular blog "Whispers in the Loggia":
"On a final note, my resident expert on All Things Elvis said the other day that the King bristled at what's become his most common nickname. So the story goes, seeing a sign while onstage that read "Elvis is the King," Presley pointed it out, saying into the mic 'Jesus is the King -- not me.' "
Well, it made me smile.
So did this:
http://www.allmercifulsavior.com/icons/Icons-Elvis.htm
(copied from THAT website:)
Feast: September 12
When St. Patrick arrived in Ireland, St. Elvis was already an active Bishop. He founded a monastery in Emly. It is said that he implored the King of Cashel to grant the Aran islands to the newly arrived St. Enda of Aran, disciple of St. Ninian of Whithorn. St. Elvis was also one of the earliest Saints of Ireland to sail northwards in search of "white martyrdom" (voluntary exile for Christ's sake). He landed at "farthest Thule," that is, Iceland, where he reposed. On their voyages, St. Brendan and his monks later visited those monks of St. Elvis' community who were still alive, describing their way of life to be so thoroughly centred upon Christ as to approximate the life of those that dwell in Paradise.
I wonder if the good people of St. Ailbe in the city realize their patron is also known as St. Elvis? I wonder how many eighth-grade classes know that Elvis would be a perfectly acceptable Confirmation name?
--Jennifer
"On a final note, my resident expert on All Things Elvis said the other day that the King bristled at what's become his most common nickname. So the story goes, seeing a sign while onstage that read "Elvis is the King," Presley pointed it out, saying into the mic 'Jesus is the King -- not me.' "
Well, it made me smile.
So did this:
http://www.allmercifulsavior.com/icons/Icons-Elvis.htm
(copied from THAT website:)
Feast: September 12
When St. Patrick arrived in Ireland, St. Elvis was already an active Bishop. He founded a monastery in Emly. It is said that he implored the King of Cashel to grant the Aran islands to the newly arrived St. Enda of Aran, disciple of St. Ninian of Whithorn. St. Elvis was also one of the earliest Saints of Ireland to sail northwards in search of "white martyrdom" (voluntary exile for Christ's sake). He landed at "farthest Thule," that is, Iceland, where he reposed. On their voyages, St. Brendan and his monks later visited those monks of St. Elvis' community who were still alive, describing their way of life to be so thoroughly centred upon Christ as to approximate the life of those that dwell in Paradise.
I wonder if the good people of St. Ailbe in the city realize their patron is also known as St. Elvis? I wonder how many eighth-grade classes know that Elvis would be a perfectly acceptable Confirmation name?
--Jennifer
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
August 26, 21st Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C
August 26, 21st Sunday in Ordinary Time
Entrance: Come and journey with a Savior (GC 686, vs. 1, 2, 6)
Psalm: 117—Go out to all the world (C91)
Presentation: The Cloud’s Veil (GC 619)
Communion: I am the Bread of Life (GC 822)
Closing: Here I am, Lord (GC 671)
There are weeks when the music selected for a given set of liturgies is a subtle blending of theological implication, cross-seasonal correspondence, filled with underlying meaning which, though it may not be immediately discernable, nonetheless works upon the unconcious mind of the participant and leads them to deeper understanding of the Paschal Mystery.
This...isn't one of those weeks. :-)
The readings are fairly straightforward: In the first reading, Isaiah proclaims God's glory to all the nations and the return of all nations to Jerusalem. The psalm calls us to "go out to the world and tell the good news." The epistle to the Hebrews implores us to take the discipline of God as a source of strength, and not of sorrow or disdain. And the Gospel is the one about the infamous Narrow Gate (side note: I must have been a senior in college on the 21st Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle C, because I distinctly remember the new chaplain preaching this homily at the orientation liturgy and using the phrase "Narrow Door" about seven hundred times; we joked about it all year. That was the same day I had dinner with Paul Sorvino, whose daughter Amanda was starting at CUA as a freshman, and I was probably the only person there who had never seen any of his movies...what can I say, I was a piano student, I didn't get out much. But I digress.) where Jesus tells many of those who thought they knew him that in fact the last will be first and the first last.
The readings for autumn of Cycle C are exceedingly Doldrummy. Hardest ones to choose music for of the whole Lectionary. Every three years I'm tearing my hair out until blessed Advent.
The opening hymn was chosen for two reasons, one deep, one not: First, it has the element of journeying outward and inward, evoking the journey of the Isaiah reading and the unity in Jerusalem to which it calls us--as well as the calling together of all the nations at the end of the Gospel passage. Second...well, we haven't done it for a while, and I wanted to get it back on the lips of the people. It's a good song, and I tend to forget about it sometimes.
Presentation is actually more of a carry-over from last week, since Cloud's Veil also hasn't been on the lips of the people much lately, for no particular reason, and it's a great song. But it also is intended to echo the Hebrews reading with its call for comfort and trust in the face of difficulty. The choice of "I am the bread of life" for Communion was directly from the Communion Antiphon posed as an alternate for the week: John 6:54, "The Lord says, the one who eats my flesh and drinks my blood will live forever; I shall raise him to life on the last day." This is one of those cases where we happen to have a corresponding hymn in our repertoire, so there it is.
For closing we're doing "Here I am;" In a lot of ways "Go to the world" (SINE NOMINE, the tune from "For all the Saints") would be more directly appropriate for the readings of the week, and I do kind of hope the Sunday 5pm uses Ed Bolduc's "Go out in the world" song for their closing, but there's enough not-quite-familiar music this week that I wanted to close with an also appropriate oldy-moldy that everyone can sing with their eyes shut, and one which also evokes the coming forward of those who were formerly somewhere out in the darkness, and their sending back into the difficulties of the world.
peace,
Jennifer
Entrance: Come and journey with a Savior (GC 686, vs. 1, 2, 6)
Psalm: 117—Go out to all the world (C91)
Presentation: The Cloud’s Veil (GC 619)
Communion: I am the Bread of Life (GC 822)
Closing: Here I am, Lord (GC 671)
There are weeks when the music selected for a given set of liturgies is a subtle blending of theological implication, cross-seasonal correspondence, filled with underlying meaning which, though it may not be immediately discernable, nonetheless works upon the unconcious mind of the participant and leads them to deeper understanding of the Paschal Mystery.
This...isn't one of those weeks. :-)
The readings are fairly straightforward: In the first reading, Isaiah proclaims God's glory to all the nations and the return of all nations to Jerusalem. The psalm calls us to "go out to the world and tell the good news." The epistle to the Hebrews implores us to take the discipline of God as a source of strength, and not of sorrow or disdain. And the Gospel is the one about the infamous Narrow Gate (side note: I must have been a senior in college on the 21st Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle C, because I distinctly remember the new chaplain preaching this homily at the orientation liturgy and using the phrase "Narrow Door" about seven hundred times; we joked about it all year. That was the same day I had dinner with Paul Sorvino, whose daughter Amanda was starting at CUA as a freshman, and I was probably the only person there who had never seen any of his movies...what can I say, I was a piano student, I didn't get out much. But I digress.) where Jesus tells many of those who thought they knew him that in fact the last will be first and the first last.
The readings for autumn of Cycle C are exceedingly Doldrummy. Hardest ones to choose music for of the whole Lectionary. Every three years I'm tearing my hair out until blessed Advent.
The opening hymn was chosen for two reasons, one deep, one not: First, it has the element of journeying outward and inward, evoking the journey of the Isaiah reading and the unity in Jerusalem to which it calls us--as well as the calling together of all the nations at the end of the Gospel passage. Second...well, we haven't done it for a while, and I wanted to get it back on the lips of the people. It's a good song, and I tend to forget about it sometimes.
Presentation is actually more of a carry-over from last week, since Cloud's Veil also hasn't been on the lips of the people much lately, for no particular reason, and it's a great song. But it also is intended to echo the Hebrews reading with its call for comfort and trust in the face of difficulty. The choice of "I am the bread of life" for Communion was directly from the Communion Antiphon posed as an alternate for the week: John 6:54, "The Lord says, the one who eats my flesh and drinks my blood will live forever; I shall raise him to life on the last day." This is one of those cases where we happen to have a corresponding hymn in our repertoire, so there it is.
For closing we're doing "Here I am;" In a lot of ways "Go to the world" (SINE NOMINE, the tune from "For all the Saints") would be more directly appropriate for the readings of the week, and I do kind of hope the Sunday 5pm uses Ed Bolduc's "Go out in the world" song for their closing, but there's enough not-quite-familiar music this week that I wanted to close with an also appropriate oldy-moldy that everyone can sing with their eyes shut, and one which also evokes the coming forward of those who were formerly somewhere out in the darkness, and their sending back into the difficulties of the world.
peace,
Jennifer
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Entrance and Communion Antiphons
My newest step in sketching out what we will sing through the next church year, simply because I was unaware of its existence for many of my years of music ministry, is to go to the Sacramentary and look at the Entrance Antiphons and Communion Antiphons. These long-overlooked little gems are real treasures, and they can root us ever more deeply in our tradition and place in the ever-circling liturgical year.
These are listed in the GIRM (General Instruction on the Roman Missal) as an option (the first listed option, but still just an option, so it's not a requirement or anything) for the Entrance and Communion songs. Debate rages heatedly among liturgical musicians about whether their placement at the beginning of the list of choices means that we should be doing them, and that the other options are there only if we can't pull off this ideal choice. My own sense is that they are valuable, and it might be very worthwhile to look toward them for the future, but that using them exclusively would be to all but wipe out the body of liturgical congregational song and put a large pointy dagger into whatever ecumenical strides have been made in past decades as some of the best of the Protestant hymnody has found its way into our worship. (That some of the hymnody that's found its way in isn't necessarily the "best" is immaterial, though sad:-)
So...while I have neither intent nor desire to replace our customary congregationally embraced singing with the Antiphons from the Missal, I do look at them for direction and guidance in planning. For one thing, they can be used simply to help choose the liturgical song for that moment in the liturgy: For example, the fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time has "Taste and see the goodness of the Lord" as the Communion Antiphon; that week, even though it's not until next June, I can tell you with some surety that we'll be singing Moore's "Taste and See." The Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time, February 3, has "Happy are the poor in spirit; the kingdom of heaven is theirs!" We will very likely sing "Blest are They" at Communion that week. and so on.
Another possibility, for the liturgies with choirs, is to employ a choral "introit," sort of like a final prelude, immediately before the opening hymn. I wrote a setting of the Advent antiphons a few years ago, where the choir hummed "O Come Emmanuel" in harmony under a cantor's solo singing of the introit text. There are books like On Flowing Waters and Psallite (both from liturgical press, www.litpress.org,) with really nice settings of these texts, and we could start using these either as a prelude to Mass or as a "first" Communion song, during that space of time when the Communion Ministers are getting themselves organized (and then maybe repeat it after Communion).
In any case, these are some gorgeous texts which, even if we don't use them weekly (and there are parishes who do, by the way, with great success--the Psallite settings, especially, people seem able to pick up and sing very well very quickly), these antiphons can point the way for music and seasonal planning, and since discovering them some years ago my understanding of music ministry has deepened a great deal.
peace,
Jennifer
These are listed in the GIRM (General Instruction on the Roman Missal) as an option (the first listed option, but still just an option, so it's not a requirement or anything) for the Entrance and Communion songs. Debate rages heatedly among liturgical musicians about whether their placement at the beginning of the list of choices means that we should be doing them, and that the other options are there only if we can't pull off this ideal choice. My own sense is that they are valuable, and it might be very worthwhile to look toward them for the future, but that using them exclusively would be to all but wipe out the body of liturgical congregational song and put a large pointy dagger into whatever ecumenical strides have been made in past decades as some of the best of the Protestant hymnody has found its way into our worship. (That some of the hymnody that's found its way in isn't necessarily the "best" is immaterial, though sad:-)
So...while I have neither intent nor desire to replace our customary congregationally embraced singing with the Antiphons from the Missal, I do look at them for direction and guidance in planning. For one thing, they can be used simply to help choose the liturgical song for that moment in the liturgy: For example, the fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time has "Taste and see the goodness of the Lord" as the Communion Antiphon; that week, even though it's not until next June, I can tell you with some surety that we'll be singing Moore's "Taste and See." The Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time, February 3, has "Happy are the poor in spirit; the kingdom of heaven is theirs!" We will very likely sing "Blest are They" at Communion that week. and so on.
Another possibility, for the liturgies with choirs, is to employ a choral "introit," sort of like a final prelude, immediately before the opening hymn. I wrote a setting of the Advent antiphons a few years ago, where the choir hummed "O Come Emmanuel" in harmony under a cantor's solo singing of the introit text. There are books like On Flowing Waters and Psallite (both from liturgical press, www.litpress.org,) with really nice settings of these texts, and we could start using these either as a prelude to Mass or as a "first" Communion song, during that space of time when the Communion Ministers are getting themselves organized (and then maybe repeat it after Communion).
In any case, these are some gorgeous texts which, even if we don't use them weekly (and there are parishes who do, by the way, with great success--the Psallite settings, especially, people seem able to pick up and sing very well very quickly), these antiphons can point the way for music and seasonal planning, and since discovering them some years ago my understanding of music ministry has deepened a great deal.
peace,
Jennifer
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
The choral year
This is the time of year when I'm trying to look at the big picture, get a general view of the entire liturgical year. I generally sit down with the Lectionary on one side of me and the Sacramentary on the other, moving back and forth Sunday to Sunday and season to season, trying to deliberately notice the forest without getting too hung up on the trees...
At the moment, I'm specifically thinking about the choral music the choir will sing this year, the "anthems," or pieces the choir will sing on their own, without assembly participation. These can be a hit or miss effort, largely depending on which general tack the homilist for that particular Sunday takes. Sometimes we absolutely nail it, other times we're way off base, and there's really no predicting one way or the other which way it will go. That's where we have to trust to the kindness and weird sense of humor of the Holy Spirit.
I like to begin the choir season with all the music for the year at least tentatively chosen. For one thing, it makes it much easier to pace rehearsals and general flow. It's generally a bad idea to have a month of familiar choral music followed by 5 weeks of brand-new and difficult music. My methodology is sort of scattered and imprecise, but it allows for giving all the variables their due weight. (Sort of like an Impressionist painting; lots of little dots that make very little sense at first but which eventually form a coherent and recognizable picture.)
1. Usually first I scan through the year as a whole, and jot down for each Sunday whatever major themes or concepts strike me from the combination of the readings and Sacramentary texts. For some weeks a particular piece we've sung before and really enjoy will just leap to mind ("Christus Paradox," that glorious anthem based on PICARDY, tends to pop up on Christ the King...when the Gospel is the Beatitudes, one way or another it's a given that we'll sing the Orthodox chant of the text.) and get immediately slotted for that week. That gives a good overall sense of how the year will flow.
2. Then I look at my annual summary of what we sang last year, to pull up the anthems we did for the first time but were a bit shaky, and which I want to make sure we repeat, and I see which Sundays they may work for. Sometimes it's a no-brainer; Victoria's O Magnum Mysterium is a Christmas piece however you slice it, so this year we'll do it on Christmas Eve at the Midnight Mass, and then probably again on Holy Family if the whole tenor section isn't on vacation that week or something.
3. I then go to summaries of the previous few years, to see if there's anything really lovely we learned a few years ago that has moved off the radar and been lost by the wayside. (Sometimes, of course, things that moved subliminally off the radar really should stay there--not everything is a Greatest Hit, but we have to try stuff before we know if it'll be a hit or not.) I do the same thing with those, scanning through the year to see if there's a perfect Sunday for it that jumps out at me.
4. Finally, I go to my stack of "new music" collected from choral packets, conventions, reading sessions, and such. I give it another good and fearless examination to see how much of it really seems worth our trouble (honestly, most years I get over a hundred octavos to review, and we're lucky if we can do a dozen in a year--very lucky at that), and look at the Sundays of the year to see what pieces seem perfect for what weeks or seasons.
5. At this point I usually have a pretty good overview of what's possible for the year. Some tweaking is always necessary, of course--like I said, you don't want too many brand new things stacked several weeks in a row, or 2 months of oldy moldies. (They only get moldy when there are too many of them at a stretch.) And there are always Sundays with nothing there, and other Sundays with 3 pieces, so things get moved around. So now I am looking at the specific Sundays with nothing yet chosen, and making specific efforts to find something for that week. Often those are the weeks that end up with something more general (like "We Remember You," a very pretty but general anthem based on "Adoro Te Devote") or seasonal (something basically Lenten or Advent-y on one of the Sundays of that season) instead of a very specific piece.
There are always some weeks that are a bit of a stretch, and it's never fully set in stone until we've actually rehearsed the piece and know whether it's going to work us or not, but at least now I know what needs to be ordered and how to pace the early rehearsals.
And the really nice part of doing it this way is that now, before I even begin looking at the congregational music, I have already spent some time sort of steeping in the flow of the liturgical year. I'll be tangling with trees soon enough, and this is my only chance to really check out the forest before I'm in the thick of it, so it's nice--and worth it--to take the time.
peace,
Jennifer
At the moment, I'm specifically thinking about the choral music the choir will sing this year, the "anthems," or pieces the choir will sing on their own, without assembly participation. These can be a hit or miss effort, largely depending on which general tack the homilist for that particular Sunday takes. Sometimes we absolutely nail it, other times we're way off base, and there's really no predicting one way or the other which way it will go. That's where we have to trust to the kindness and weird sense of humor of the Holy Spirit.
I like to begin the choir season with all the music for the year at least tentatively chosen. For one thing, it makes it much easier to pace rehearsals and general flow. It's generally a bad idea to have a month of familiar choral music followed by 5 weeks of brand-new and difficult music. My methodology is sort of scattered and imprecise, but it allows for giving all the variables their due weight. (Sort of like an Impressionist painting; lots of little dots that make very little sense at first but which eventually form a coherent and recognizable picture.)
1. Usually first I scan through the year as a whole, and jot down for each Sunday whatever major themes or concepts strike me from the combination of the readings and Sacramentary texts. For some weeks a particular piece we've sung before and really enjoy will just leap to mind ("Christus Paradox," that glorious anthem based on PICARDY, tends to pop up on Christ the King...when the Gospel is the Beatitudes, one way or another it's a given that we'll sing the Orthodox chant of the text.) and get immediately slotted for that week. That gives a good overall sense of how the year will flow.
2. Then I look at my annual summary of what we sang last year, to pull up the anthems we did for the first time but were a bit shaky, and which I want to make sure we repeat, and I see which Sundays they may work for. Sometimes it's a no-brainer; Victoria's O Magnum Mysterium is a Christmas piece however you slice it, so this year we'll do it on Christmas Eve at the Midnight Mass, and then probably again on Holy Family if the whole tenor section isn't on vacation that week or something.
3. I then go to summaries of the previous few years, to see if there's anything really lovely we learned a few years ago that has moved off the radar and been lost by the wayside. (Sometimes, of course, things that moved subliminally off the radar really should stay there--not everything is a Greatest Hit, but we have to try stuff before we know if it'll be a hit or not.) I do the same thing with those, scanning through the year to see if there's a perfect Sunday for it that jumps out at me.
4. Finally, I go to my stack of "new music" collected from choral packets, conventions, reading sessions, and such. I give it another good and fearless examination to see how much of it really seems worth our trouble (honestly, most years I get over a hundred octavos to review, and we're lucky if we can do a dozen in a year--very lucky at that), and look at the Sundays of the year to see what pieces seem perfect for what weeks or seasons.
5. At this point I usually have a pretty good overview of what's possible for the year. Some tweaking is always necessary, of course--like I said, you don't want too many brand new things stacked several weeks in a row, or 2 months of oldy moldies. (They only get moldy when there are too many of them at a stretch.) And there are always Sundays with nothing there, and other Sundays with 3 pieces, so things get moved around. So now I am looking at the specific Sundays with nothing yet chosen, and making specific efforts to find something for that week. Often those are the weeks that end up with something more general (like "We Remember You," a very pretty but general anthem based on "Adoro Te Devote") or seasonal (something basically Lenten or Advent-y on one of the Sundays of that season) instead of a very specific piece.
There are always some weeks that are a bit of a stretch, and it's never fully set in stone until we've actually rehearsed the piece and know whether it's going to work us or not, but at least now I know what needs to be ordered and how to pace the early rehearsals.
And the really nice part of doing it this way is that now, before I even begin looking at the congregational music, I have already spent some time sort of steeping in the flow of the liturgical year. I'll be tangling with trees soon enough, and this is my only chance to really check out the forest before I'm in the thick of it, so it's nice--and worth it--to take the time.
peace,
Jennifer
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Blessed the people...
I suppose it is not auspicious that I am beginning this blog on a Sunday when I barely heard the readings and couldn't quite remember why I made any of the choices even while playing them. Maybe it's partly my hope that keeping this blog will increase my own sense of responsibility regarding the music I choose...
And now I am summoned to play "toreador" with a small boy and a red blanket...
peace,
J
And now I am summoned to play "toreador" with a small boy and a red blanket...
peace,
J
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