4 posts tagged “chant”
And I must work. Le sigh. But I just didn't see getting that many days off in a row.
However, here is some traditional chant for the day. On most Good Fridays, I would sing this at church. And, frankly, I think that the choir in which I sing does a slightly better job, but it could just be that the sound is a tad fuzzy.
And as a small side note, for the first time in hundreds of years the Tridentine Mass (not the Novus Ordo, which is the vernacular Mass said since the 1960s) has had a change put into place. Today marks the first day on which it occurs, because it is a change in the Good Friday prayers which are part of the Tridentine rite.
The wording for the prayers for the Jews has been changed.
Originally, it was "Let us pray, also, for the unfaithful Jews, that our Lord and God may take away the veil from their hearts, so that they, too, may acknowledge Jesus Christ, our Lord."
Then, in the Collect, "Almighty, eternal God, Who repellest not even Jewish faithlessness from Thy mercy, hearken to our prayers which we make in behalf of the blindness of that people, that, recognizing the light of Thy truth, which is Christ, they may be delivered from their darkness."
This has been changed to "We pray for the Jews. That our God and Lord enlighten their hearts so that they recognize Jesus Christ, the Saviour of all mankind...Almighty and Eternal God, you want all people to be saved and to arrive at the knowledge of the Truth, graciously grant that by that the fullness of the Gentiles all Israel will be saved. Through Christ our Lord.”
This is important for several reasons. First, it dismisses the claim that the Tridentine Mass is "dead." It ain't. See? It was updated THIS YEAR. Nyeh. :P
Second, it shows that Benedict XVI is willing to do away with language that is taken to be inflammatory, while not losing the point.
Huh?
The point, people, is that we don't mean that Jews are evil, that the Holocaust was acceptable, that the Jewish ghetto situations in Europe were okay, etc.
We're Catholic. We believe, among many other things, that Christ was, is, and forever shall be God.
Now, when Christ walked this earth, he performed miracles. Lots of 'em. He healed sick folks, raised several from the dead, multiplied food, cast out devils--you pretty much name it, He did it.
He preached a new way of thinking, and while He did not dismiss the old beliefs (something about not coming to abolish the old covenant but to fulfil it--I paraphrase) he expounded upon them, and, to top it all, claimed divinity. "Before Abraham was, I AM." That is said twice in the Bible: once in the Old Testament to Moses (via flaming bush), and once in the New Testament, directed to a crowd at the temple.
He said He was God.
Well, that leaves three options.
a) He was stark, raving mad
b) He was one heck of a con artist and blasphemer
c) He was God
Well, you could see where people of His time could lean toward options a or b. They had been promised a Messiah for a long time. They were oppressed under the rule of a government whose soldiers thought nothing of carrying out orders to murder thousands of children under the age of 2 based on the local governor feeling threatened (and New York thought they had a yutz for a governor), yet this Messiah did not preach political overhaul and said specifically several times that he was not a king (for this world, at least). Ouch.
He preached peace and love and kindness. He preached against the rampant judgementalism of many of the Jews of the day (particularly the elite scribes and pharisees). He preached respect for and charity towards one's neighbor. And He chased the moneychangers (think Express Cash with 20% interest rate types) out of the temple. With a whip.
Now, understandably, people were a bit shocked by all this. First, this yocal from Nazereth (think of a place not known, shall we say, for the intellectual prowess or financial well-being of its people) claims to be the Messiah. In fact, He claims to be God. He tells people to quit being so comfortably nasty to one another, He tells them to accept their current rulers and obey them (provided that they do not ask something immoral), and He tells them to love one another as brothers, giving freely of all they have.
Thing was, He performed all those miracles. In public. In front of large crowds. In this way, He proved that He was exactly Who He said He was.
Reaction of the local Jewish leaders? Something, I would imagine, to the general effect of "Oh, sh*t."
See, they had a pretty good thing going as the local established church. Between the payoffs from the local government, the rather nice rates being charged on the moneychanging, and the donations coming in from all over Israel--well, let's just say they weren't lacking for pocket money.
Now, a fair number of them decided that Jesus was Who He said He was. But they chose to ignore that and, instead, went screaching to Pilate to "Crucify Him! Crucify Him!" They weren't allowed to put someone to death; that was up to Pilate, who was the local governor.
They weren't alone in that. A lot of the Jews who had seen the miracles and had welcomed Christ into Jerusalem with palms were among the crowd screaming "Crucify him! Crucify him!" Get rid of Him, and then we won't feel uncomfortable because He is telling us to change.
The prayers for the Jews are part of a long list of prayers for everyone, from atheists to politicians to schismatics to heretics. In short, anyone and everyone is prayed for, and the prayer goes something along the lines of "bring them to union with Mother Church and grant them eternal peace etc."
When we prayed for the Jews, we asked that they simply come to recognize Christ as the Messiah, and that those who do recognize Him but reject Him because the status quo is a lot easier repent of this and become one with the Church.
And the new prayer, in admittedly rather less flamboyant terms, asks that as well.
Some Jewish groups have argued that this prayer for their conversion is insulting. I can't imagine why. After all, the Church believes that Christ was the Messiah. We (Catholics) believe that as the core of our faith. Without it, we're nothing. And we believe that Catholicism is the most correct of all the religions. Ergo, we pray that we all become one. Isn't that more of an honor? The attitude is something like, "you are 50% correct, we respect that, we hope that you come join us eventually."
Now, I have Pentecostal aquiantances who, sweet people though they are, are convinced that the Catholic Church is the whore of Babylon. They mean nothing but good when they leave pamphlets at the bed and breakfast which they own (and at which I stay occasionally when on vacation with family) with messages to the effect of "Catholics worship idols and Mary etc etc." Likewise, they mean nothing but good when they invite me to attend their services. I consider it an honor that they want me to be part of that. I refuse politely, and set aside the pamphlets with an amused grin.
When I was a kid, my best friend was Jewish. When she had her Bat Mitzvah (and her brothers had their Bar Mitzvahs) we attended. I found the services absolutely fascinating, and it opened my eyes to similarities betwen our worship services/Mass. The rabbi asked (with genuine warmth) us to return at the next Sabbath. I did not, because I don't agree with parts of Judaism. But I wasn't offended. Quite the opposite.
So why is it that our prayers that Jews convert to Catholicism are offensive?
(scrolls back over post to check for punctuation and spelling errors, pauses)
I said that this was a "small side note?"
(snorts with laughter)
Hah! Since when have I written a "small side note" about ANYTHING? :D
this dratted computer ate the post I tried to do earlier (words cannot express how much I dislike this infernal machine, I spent an HOUR AND A HALF on that post) so I will try again. If this post is eaten, the computer gets thrown onto the freeway in rush hour traffic.
Now then: Christmas spirit!
First, we went to midnight Mass...
themaureencorps is much too cool for all this
shewhomustbeobeyed is being tolerant of the diva and her new camera
i love ze christmas, i love ze midnight Mass, i love ze music, i love-hey! did you just take a picture of me?
Regina Caeli et Terrae
(and this camera can zoom way up over the altar!)
poinsettias on the high altar
golden light all over the altar
adoration of the shepherds
and then we went home to open a present and go to bed...
the angel on the magnificent tree (about 7 feet tall, give or take-the tree, not the angel)
and fell into bed, to get up the next morning and feed the herds of animals that are petsat, returning to open PRESENTS:
food, glorious food! (expensive, canned, once-a-year food at that)
the cosmos-dog will hate me for this (evil cackle here)
i think themaureencorps was just possessed by a zombie. amun-cat is very worried.
thelibrarian has toffee, and cosmos-dog wants some. pretty please?
this man is the biggest three stooges fan alive
i rest my case
the hat is very archie goodwin
what to get the terminator fan who has everything terminator? why, the leather-and-bronze box set from the UK, of course!
where is cosmos-dog?
all bow down in worship of the glory of shewhomustbeobeyed's new shoes
this man makes most trekkies look run of the mill. when we have "enterprise" tree ornaments...
all she wanted for christmas was an exercise mat on which to practice her nunchuck skills-AND SHE GOT IT!
after much present-opening and eating of turkey, i got dressed to go sing gregorian chant at my beloved tridentine Latin Mass:
in texas, roses bloom at Christmas, and I have proof!
the reading of the epistle
silence really is beautiful sometimes
why, why, WHY did so many churches tear out their communion rails and high altars? this is too beautiful!
what it's really all about
oh, I had a wonderful Christmas! It was spent with "chosen family," laughter, fun, smiles and love. Also many darling pussycats and puppydogs, who had about twice as much turkey as was good for them (they were out cold all day). While it didn't snow, there were roses. I sang and sang, and there was incense and chant and all that is lovely. And then I returned to the house for more turkey and chocolate and banana bread and hot cocoa. doesn't get much better!
I hope you all had as merry and blessed and peaceful and beautiful a Christmas as I did.
And remember, Christmas is not technically over until the 6th of January (Twelfth Night, or Epiphany), so feel no guilt about continuing the festivities until then! (err, unless you're trying to run and lose weight, in which case homemade eggnog may be a remarkably bad idea).
Merry Christmas!
In the Catholic Church, particularly in the Tridentine (old Latin) Rite, Advent is a time of quiet preparation. Indeed, it is almost mournful. The churches are not particularly decorated; the vestments and altar linens are purple, the color of mourning. The Gloria is not spoken or sung. Music is quiet and reflectful; the usual chants are replaced with more minor ones.
This hymn below (pardon the fuzzy sound and video; apparantly this was taped about 20 years ago) expresses both musically and lyrically what Christmas Eve is to me. It is a reaching of a destination, of a time of quiet peace and glory before the shout of Christmas. In short, it is much like the stable must have been like before the shepherds arrived.
The hymn is a poetical English translation of the ancient chant Corde Natus Ex Parentis.
May that same peace fill you all this Christmastide.
First of all, Latin ain't dead. It's being added to all the time, and is still the official language of the largest religous denomination in the world.
That being said, why do I attend Mass in Latin? I'm asked this all the time. After all, I don't speak the language (I do read it better than many others), and much (though not all) of the service is conducted in that language; the priest does not interact much with the congregation (yes, a sermon is given, but the vast majority of the laity are not on the altar or in that area while Mass is going on); the singing is also in that dead language and is monophonic chant. "Isn't this exclusive?," ask many friends and aquaintances.
The answer is just this: it isn't about me, and yet it is ALL about me. Yes, I will clarify that.
On the one hand, I do not appear to be participating. In the Tridentine (older form, said in Latin) Mass, women are not on the altar during Mass at all. We are in the pews, oftentimes with our hair covered. Men and boys serve the (needless to say, male) priest. We do sing the chant in choirs during Mass, but many of us remain quietly in our seats. In this it is not about me; I am a spectator in that regard.
The point, however, is that this isn't a performance. I sing in front of people fairly frequently. In fact, it's my life goal to do just that. But the priest isn't performing for the crowd. He is allowing the divine to work through him, he is reenacting the sacrificial offerings of bread and wine in the Old Testament (see Melchisidek), he is giving us mental fodder in the form of readings to meditate on for the coming week, and, most centrally, the divine is working through him and being made present on the altar. He has NOTHING to do with it except being anointed as a priest and intending (giving his "let it be done," so to speak) to consecrate that Bread and Wine into the Body and Blood of Christ. And that is all about me. Because He came here and died for me. And I can sit in the pew and appreciate that and bask in that.
Regarding the language and quiet ritual: it is both uplifting and self-effacing. When I sing the chant (as I do the two times each month that we sing for this Mass), it raises me up, but not as a singer. It raises me as a human being, one of a dozen voices singing exactly the same thing, meaning exactly the same thing, as thousands of other people before us have done. That itself is very empowering, and very humbling. This is very different from the worship services of certain other types of churches (even some more modern Catholic churches), where there is pop music, flashing lights, mikes and drums. That sort of thing can put one's mind on God, too; don't get me wrong. But I find it hard to reflect and meditate in that kind of atmosphere. In a quiet church where there is murmuring in Latin at the front and soaring chant in the back, it is easy to meditate, to contemplate, to pray, to think, to quiet.
As for the women covering our hair and not participating? Well, we cover our hair not (contrary to popular opinion) because our femininity is shameful. It is not; indeed, our hair, according to Paul, is our "glory." No, we cover our hair as a sign of respect, and to keep it from distracting from the rite on the altar! And head coverings are not required. Some of us choose to wear them; others don't. I do so sometimes; I guess I don't feel strongly enough about it to do so all the time, but there are days when I want to be more private. Does that make any sense? (heck, it's ten 'til one in the morning; if this makes any sense, I'm doing well!) We don't participate because that isn't our vocation. There are differences between men and women: physical, emotional and spiritual. We are equal in God's sight, but (and here's a concept that I find a lot of people don't like) equality does not denote identicality (I am not finding the word I'm looking for here, but I hope the point gets across).
Sigh. Anyhow. This all ties into a book I've started reading. I've sworn I'll finish it before writing a review of it. So far, I've agreed with about 75% wholeheartedly, and the rest has sent me into orbit with irritation (or perhaps just futile rage) because certain of the views the author espouses are EXACTLY what has many girls my age from the church I spent several years in as a teenager (this isn't typical of your average Catholic church, let me say that RIGHT now) married with three kids (and another on the way) before they're old enough to drink (and, I might add, married to men half again or twice their age), virtually uneducated (reading, writing, arithmetic, no college, no real high school), wearing ghastly floral sacks because to show one's elbows is "unfeminine"/"immodest" or (my personal favorite) shows "pride" when as women we should be "ashamed" (utter unadulterated horse hockey), etc, etc. Oh, this ticks me off! (snarls viciously)
Oh, and something I've noticed: you can tell my level of excitement (be it delight or anger) by the ratio of parenthesied words to non-parenthesied words. The above paragraph is mostly in parentheses. I think it's that I get so worked up and want to say so much all at the same time that I start saying everything at once. Parentheses are wonderful things!
