A Rhythmic Reply ... or rather a Musical Manifesto

Last weekend I posted a four-sentence illustration on the irony of silencing electronic devices at Mass. I very rarely receive comments on the blog itself, though the two comments posted were for the most part positive. However, this particular piece elicited at least a couple of very frustrated responses that were sent to me privately. I would not usually respond publicly to private emails, but it struck me that the topic of sacred music and the liturgy deserves a bit more delicacy, a lot more clarification, and perhaps a purging of my original, apparently unsuccessful, attempt at humor.

First and foremost, please understand that the intent of the original piece was indeed one of irony. It isn’t that I don’t have serious criticisms of the music that I hear weekend after weekend at nearly every parish in which I find myself. However, the four sentences I penned were not intended as a serious critique of the problem of sacred music in the liturgy (or lack thereof). In one response I was accused of issuing a “public flogging” of the music department at my home parish. I take issue with both terms in the phrase. First, my words were not entirely public. Sure, they are available for all to read, and in that sense can be describe as public. Then again, there was nothing in the paragraph that identified individuals or the name of the parish. Only people who know me personally (which, precisely as a small subset of the world, does not constitute the “public”) would know the name and location of the parish. More to the point, however, the paragraph cannot be honestly assessed as a flogging. I did not rant; I did not rave; I wrote four sentences. I’ll leave it as an open question as to whether or not it is even possible to flog in four sentences. My personal opinion: a proper flogging requires at least a few paragraphs.

No, the original post was not intended as a serious critique. It was an attempt at humor. Now I admit that my humor is often on the dry and sarcastic side - perhaps it is influenced by growing up with Monty Python. Whether or not you appreciate irony, an honest assessment of the Sunday situation in which the words, “Please silence all electronic devices,” are followed by the sounds of a synthesized instrument is ironic. I find humor in that. Many people do. Then again, many people do not. For those who lack appreciation for it or find it otherwise offensive, I sincerely apologize and will take the cue that I do not have a part-time career in Stand-Up Catholic Comedian. Instead of irony, you deserve a serious intellectual description of the problem of sacred music and the liturgy. This, then, is what I now offer you.

In a non-traditional turn of events, let me go at this problem in an indirect manner. Before discussing the problem of sacred music in the liturgy, I want to begin by discussing the state of morality in the Catholic Church.

While different theologians have proffered varying versions of Christian ethics, many (though not all) of which are valid views for the faithful Christian, most of the views can be roughly funneled into three categories, one “right” and two which pervert the “right” in different ways.

The “correct” way of viewing Christian morality is under the general category of virtue. Virtue-based ethics is authentic ethics because it is both authentically Christian and authentically rational, which is evidenced by the fact that it was preached by the ancient philosophers and by Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount. While I do not want to present an entire treatise on the virtues, I do want to point out a few aspects of this worldview that have bearing on the question at hand.

The man of virtue recognizes that his life is a journey towards perfection. The virtues must be arduously learned; they cannot be arbitrarily turned on and off like a light bulb. They must be learned and honed because they constitute a holistic vision of being and essence. They cannot be separated, nor they cannot be dissected. Because they are built into our being as creature, they can only be received and accepted as a gift from our Creator. The virtues describe the plan for our life; they are the path by which we achieve perfection in Christ Jesus. One can only learn virtues by studying them and practicing them.

There are two ways of violating the virtue-based system of ethics. I mean in no way to hold both violations as equally violent, for one is clearly more so than the other. On one hand we have a system based on obligations, a system that is both minimalistic and legalistic. In this system, the moral agent recognizes moral norms but sees them as the proper end of morality. The moral agent will adopt the attitude of the rich young man who “went away sad.” The rich young man asked the Lord, “I have fulfilled all the commandments, what more should I do?” This attitude properly roots morality in the Decalogue, but improperly stops at the Decalogue. When Christ preached the virtues in the Sermon on the Mount, he did not contradict the Ten Commandments, but preached their perfection.

On the other hand we have a system that refuses to even recognize the existence of moral norms and sees ethics as a matter of opinion. This is commonly referred to as moral relativism. The moral agent in this system simply sees morality as self-created rather than received. Of course, few would argue that this second situation is far worse than the first. However, what people fail to see is that the first will, in time, lead to the second. Any set of moral norms is necessarily finite, yet the possibilities of ethical situations is infinite. If a person is properly grounded in the virtues, he will be able to, over time, learn to apply the system of virtues (which is a holistic worldview) to each new situation. Dealing with new situations is part and parcel of a virtue-based ethics. Notice that the application of the virtues to novel situations is not at all relativistic. In its very nature it is the developing of appropriate responses based on an objective system. The person who has reduced morality to a finite set of norms is the one who will be subject to a certain relativism. If we adopt a minimalistic way of living the moral life, a way that says, “I have followed the commandments and that is enough,” any situation that seemingly falls outside the finite set of norms will entice the person to see appropriate responses as “up for grabs.”

Perhaps an analogy will help. This is a comparison I have used before, and it comes from Servais Pinkaers’ Sources of Christian Ethics. Imagine three people who are attempting to play the piano. The first decides that “no rules apply” and sits down to bang randomly on the keys. This person is the relativist and is incapable of producing any rational music whatsoever except by pure chance. The second person has learned that all music is based on scales and techniques and has become very adept at performing these scales and technical exercises. However, they come to think that this is enough and that these scales alone constitute “music.” Beyond the scales, they go back to random banging on the keys. This person, while at least able to produce something other than randomness, is only capable of dry and boring pieces. No beauty will come from stopping at the level of scales. This person is the minimalist. Notice the temptation of this person to involve a certain amount of relativism for anything past the scales and techniques. The final person has not only learned the “rules” of the piano and the fact that all music must follow these rules in order to exhibit beauty, but also has continued to hone his craft so that he can produce intricate and well-developed musical pieces. Notice that even when this player “creates” his own composition it is not at all relativistic, for even the “new” works are based off the objective reason inherent in both music and the instrument of the piano.

(The irony of using the example of a piano in a piece that criticizes its use in Mass has not escaped me, but it just goes to show that music can be beautiful and useful and still not suitable for the Sacred Liturgy.)

My objective is to give a reasoned response to the problem of sacred music in the liturgy; so why have I expended so much time on morality? Quite frankly, the problems that plague the ethics of modernity are the same problems that plague the way most Catholics have come to think of the liturgy.

Let’s take a look at our three moral agents. First, we have the relativist. Recall that this is the person who thinks that there are no rules and that personal responses to moral situations are a matter of self-creation and opinion. The person who approaches the liturgy in this manner is the person who refuses to recognize that the liturgy is to be received (a fact that has been consistently and persistently taught in both writing and practice by the Church since her beginning and through the present pontificate) and not created and produced by people. This person is often found violating or ignoring the rubrics set forth by Holy Mother Church.

The second person is the minimalist who sees a finite set of rules as objective and important but believes that so long as one does not violate these rules, everything else is fair game. Applied to the sacred liturgy, this person will often obey the rubrics (and is to be commended for doing so), but thinks that anything that is not prohibited by the rubrics is fair game. The attitude is often, “The Church doesn’t say we can’t, so it is permissible.” These are also the same people that, when told of basic principles like “Gregorian Chant is the standard by which all liturgical music should be judged,” ask, “Where does it state that we must use Gregorian Chant,” or, “Where does it say that we can’t use praise and worship music?” These people also have the tendency to read the quote from Pope Pius XII,

“These norms must be applied to the use of the organ or other musical instruments. Among the musical instruments that have a place in church the organ rightly holds the principal position, since it is especially fitted for the sacred chants and sacred rites. It adds a wonderful splendor and a special magnificence to the ceremonies of the Church. It moves the souls of the faithful by the grandeur and sweetness of its tones. It gives minds an almost heavenly joy and it lifts them up powerfully to God and to higher things. Besides the organ, other instruments can be called upon to give great help in attaining the lofty purpose of sacred music, so long as they play nothing profane nothing clamorous or strident and nothing at variance with the sacred services or the dignity of the place" (Musicae Sacrae, Pope Pius XII),”

and to claim, “See, other instruments are permitted,” and to apply this to the electric guitar, drums, and other instruments. This attitude is not only minimalistic, but it is also overly legalistic. It has not fully embraces the holistic teaching of the Church on the matter of liturgical music. The conflict comes for these people when they are faced with quotes such as the one from Pope Pius X:

"The employment of the piano is forbidden in church, as is also that of noisy or frivolous instruments such as drums, cymbals, bells and the like. It is strictly forbidden to have bands play in church, and only in special cases with the consent of the Ordinary will it be permissible to admit wind instruments, limited in number, judiciously used, and proportioned to the size of the place—provided the composition and accompaniment be written in grave and suitable style, and conform in all respects to that proper to the organ" (Inter Sollicitudines, Pope Pius X).

One would think that people who are looking for “where does it say that?” phrases would be content with this specific prohibition of certain instruments. Quite the opposite tends to be the case, and I usually gets the response, “But that was written over a hundred years ago. Where does the Church currently say this?” Such an attitude is not open to any rational response; after all, should we expect the Church to reiterate exact language every month or even every year? The reality is, the Church has consistently taught these ideas, and if one is open to an honest reading of Church documents in their proper historical context and continuity, this is evident.

The result of this mentality is a certain relativism. While it is certainly commendable that people are willing to follow rubrics (what a great improvement it would be for our liturgies if everyone were to at least accept the basic minimums described in the rubrics), once they perceive, correctly or incorrectly, that a certain issues is not addressed, either prohibited or required by the rubrics, they treat it as personal preference. Usually the defense takes the form, “But it helps me to pray,” or, “But it is leading people closer to Christ.” This is to miss the point of liturgy, which has as its aim the proper worship of God, and God reveals to us how best to worship Him.

The third person is the one who lives by virtue, a deep-seated tendency towards both desiring moral perfection and having the habits and knowledge to continue to arrive at such a perfection. This is the person who is not content with satisfying a minimum pattern a behavior, one that abides by a finite number of moral imperatives. Such a person not only obeys the rules, but has internalized them to the point that (1) they understand why the rules exist and their place in the life of virtue, and (2) they see the implication that the Christian call to holiness has on these rules. He understands that it is not enough to not commit murder, but one must also avoid harboring murderous rage in the heart. He understands that it is not enough to avoid adultery, but one must also rid the mind of lustful thoughts. Such a person has a holistic view of moral perfection, one that has been honed by the practice of virtues. When applied to the liturgy, this attitude suggests that following the rubrics is critical, but one must not stop there. We must do all we can to make the celebration of the Liturgy perfect.

The next question should be, “How do we know of what a perfect liturgy consists?” The answer is very simple. The Church has written about liturgy since the beginning, and nearly every Pope has echoed a consistent message about its proper celebration. The problematic irony in all of this is that the Church writes under the lens of virtue. That is, she write not in a purely legalistic mentality. Yes, she gives rubrics, but she also gives general descriptions and philosophy about how the sacred liturgy should be celebrated. Such statements as from Pius XII,

“Besides the organ, other instruments can be called upon to give great help in attaining the lofty purpose of sacred music, so long as they play nothing profane nothing clamorous or strident and nothing at variance with the sacred services or the dignity of the place,”

are typical of the Church’s writings on the Liturgy. Why do I call this a problematic irony? Most people think in minimalistic/legalistic terms; they read Church documents in the same manner - but this is not how the Church writes or thinks. She gives the basic norms in the liturgical rubrics (akin to the role of the Ten Commandments in the moral life), and she gives a consistent holistic message about the nature and spirit of liturgical perfection (akin to the role of the Beatitudes in the moral life). She then expects people to develop liturgical habits that strive for this perfection (akin to the role of virtues), all the while keeping in mind simultaneously the rubrics and the telos of the liturgy.

I posted an article by Jeffrey Tucker some time ago that asks the question: when it comes to the liturgy, do we treat ourselves as children? In this article Mr. Tucker demonstrates the absurd attitude of the child who turns the hallway into a makeshift bowling alley while his parents are away and, upon meeting the return of his disapproving parents says, “You never said I couldn’t bowl in the house.” The reality is that the parents told him to “behave,” trusting that he was well-formed enough to know that this includes not bowling in the house.

When it comes to matters liturgical, most Catholics behave the same way. They insert a Marty Haugen song as a processional or employ a Dixieland Jazz piece as a prelude and when approached about it respond, “Where does it say we can’t do that?” The reality is that certain instruments and musical stylings are not suitable for the sacred liturgy, and this has been and continues to be described by the Church throughout the centuries. The Church expects our liturgical consciences to be well formed just as she expects out moral consciences to be well formed.

This brings us to the issue of obedience. It never ceases to amaze me that people will profess obedience to Holy Mother Church in all areas so long as they agree with them. This is not obedience; it is circumstantial agreement. Obedience only becomes a perfected virtue when we can follow without necessarily agreeing or seeing the logic in the Church’s teaching. (Of course, the final goal is to conform our minds to the Church’s teaching so that we eventually do agree and see her logic.) One cannot say, “I am against abortion because the Church says emphatically it is wrong,” and turn around and say that she is mistaken on the issue of contraception. Often, these people will play the “conscience card” citing the Catechism’s instruction that we are responsible to our own conscience, yet ignoring the same Catechism’s (1) mandate that we have an obligation to properly form our conscience, and (2) definition of a well formed conscience as one that is formed according to the mind of the Church.

What is more amazing to me, however, is those that will profess absolute obedience to the Church in matters of doctrine and morality but ignore her and her teachings on the Sacred Liturgy. The stark reality of everything I have ever posted on this blog is that it is not my own opinion - it is the consistent and persistent teaching of Holy Mother Church. I have spent at least eight years forming my own conscience on these matters and have risen out of the depths of Life Teen self-produced people-centered mystery-deprived Masses and grown into the vision of the Liturgy that Jesus Christ has taught through his Church.

Before closing, I want to address a few issues specific to music in the liturgy, as this was the original point of the article and the issue that caused the most angst amongst my readers.

The Church has always taught (from the beginning, through Vatican II, and into the current pontificate) that Gregorian Chant is the standard by which all liturgical music is to be judged. Gregorian Chant is the official music of the Church, and the Gregorian Propers are to be preferred to the use of hymns during the Mass. Can it be suitable to employ other types of music? The answer is yes, but it is a qualified “yes” so as to avoid running head first into liturgical relativism. The Church has specifically held up sacred polyphony as a suitable alternative to Gregorian Chant, but even then maintains that Chant should have a pride of place. Nonetheless, even though the Church will never mandate “chant only,” she has been crystal clear in her message that the closer a piece of music resembles Gregorian Chant the more suitable it is for the liturgy and the less closely a piece represents Gregorian Chant the less suitable it is for the liturgy. For those who become upset by my criticisms of praise and worship music in the liturgy, I would ask you to seriously evaluate how closely this style of music conforms to Gregorian Chant.

Second, the Church has always upheld the organ as the primary instrument after the human voice for use in the Sacred Liturgy. She allows for other instrumentations, but places a parallel guideline in place as she did for chant. The more closely an instrument models the sound of an organ the more suitable it is for use in the liturgy, and the less closely an instrument models the sound of an organ the less suitable it is for use in the liturgy. One of the reasons the Church exalts the organ is that it itself closely models the primary liturgical instrument: the human voice. There are other instruments using other styles that could possibly approximate the sound of an organ. For those that became upset about my sarcastic criticism of synthesize music and other inappropriate instrumentations, I would ask you to give serious thought as to how closely a drum set (synthesized or otherwise), a guitar (electric or otherwise), or the sounds of a electric piano backed by electric strings models the sound of the organ or the human voice.

Third, people will often respond to these sort of conversations with statements like, “Look, I like chant and even think perhaps that we should have more of it,” or, “I’m not saying don’t use the organ, but there are some people who want more variety (like guitars).” To say this is to contradict the Church. The Church does not say that Gregorian Chant is one choice among many and should be employed whenever possible. She says it is the model by which all liturgical music should be judged and therefore should hold pride of place. The Church does not say that the organ is one instrument among many that can be used in Mass. She says that after the human voice, the organ is the standard by which other instruments should be evaluated. To those who say, “You may like chant, but I like Dan Schutte,” or, “You may prefer the organ, but others like the sound of a band,” I would simply ask them to apply the same objective standard in the musical arena that they (hopefully) apply in the moral arena when retaliating against absurd claims such as, “I understand you don’t agree with abortion, so don’t have one; but don’t push that morality upon me.”

Fourth, it always seems that when I criticize something that occurs during the liturgy, I always get accused of failing to see people’s good intentions. “The musicians are not doing this for show; they are trying to bring people closer to God.” These statements are not isolated to the musical sphere: “Those who remove our children from the liturgy are good people who just want to teach kids about Jesus.” I spent some time wondering why the conversation always seems to arrive at this point; I have never in any of my writings judged someone’s intentions. Once again, we can see here a parallel in the moral realm. It is not Catholic to judge an action by its intentions. When one of my students gives test questions to a student who was absent the day of the examination, that student has the good intention of trying to assist their friend. That does not, however, make the action right. I fully believe that most musicians have every bit of a good heart in what they are trying to do. This does not mean that what they are doing is suitable for the liturgy, nor does it mean it is above criticism. This does however beg an interesting question: how much liturgical training should those involved in the liturgy have? This brings me to my final point.

It is becoming increasingly frustrating for me to have these conversations with people who are unwilling to read what the Church has to say and to form their liturgical consciences accordingly. The Church writes so that people will read. I am not suggesting that diving into ecclesial documents is for everybody, but I am suggesting that if you are going to be involved with anything liturgical to the point that you become upset when people criticize what you are doing, then you are obligated to know what you are talking about. The tragedy in the Church today is not that the vast majority of the people have no liturgical sense. The tragedy is that the vast majority of people who have some sort of liturgical role (planning or otherwise) have no liturgical sense. The second problem actually causes the first. Or rather, solving the second problem will solve the first: if those in charge of the various aspects of the liturgy celebrate it according to the mind of the Church, then those experiencing the liturgy will necessarily be formed according to the mind of the Church.

In their responses, people accused me of issuing personal attacks; I re-read my post a dozen times looking for the personal attack and always came up empty handed. The irony is that every angry response I received did not even begin to address the issue. In fact, one response deliberately cautioned me against responding in order to “convince” the author of my position. (Such a request not only fails to see that this is the Church’s position and not mine but also fails in any attempt at personal formation and conversion.) Every reply I received instead aimed at a personal attack on me, calling me contemptuous, rude, and unintelligent. I asked myself many times why those responding to my post would refuse to engage the issue and insist on engaging my person. The answer is simple: people are not equipped to engage the issue because they have not made any attempt at forming their liturgical conscience. As I said before, reading ecclesial documents is not for everybody. If you don’t have time to read the Church’s writings on these issues, fine. However, please don’t get angry or upset with people who point out that what you are doing does not conform to the telos of the liturgy as taught by Jesus Christ through His Church.

The Mass is the single most important thing in which we as Catholics can participate. There is a good argument that we will never get people into good moral order with the Church if we do not first get our worship in order. When people see the Mass, which is the center of reality, as something that can be created and re-created according to the fickle winds of personal preference, they will undoubtedly come to see all of reality in the same manner, including the ethical arena. I have never said anything that is not first said by Holy Mother Church. I am bound by obedience to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and this not only includes but also begins in the Sacred Liturgy. Further, I am willing to joyfully endure the sufferings that come from being persecuted for spreading His Gospel, a Gospel that finds it source and summit in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

“I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I that live, but Christ living in me: and that life which I now live in the flesh I live in faith, the faith which is in the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself up for me” (Galatians 2:20).