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I attended the sappy, irreverent, obnoxiously feel-good Novus Mass up the street this morning, and it started a train of thought that might in a perverse way be called hopeful. I thought I’d post it here, to see what others think. It’s about Novus hymns, and suffering.
My feelings about Novus hymns reflect, I imagine, the feelings of most of the readers of this blog. The songs are sappy and irritating, and sometimes seem disrespectful as well (as when the congregation is asked to intone words in persona Christi). From a purely musical standpoint, they are mediocre at best, and it seems that the worst ones are always chosen as Communion hymns, making it extremely difficult for me to pray at that time. (I try, but the infernal noise often makes it impossible to lift myself out of the distasteful atmosphere, and sometimes my “prayers” become so uncharitable that I judge it better to give up entirely and just sit in my pew thinking about football or my weekly activities, rather than furthering such unkind and prideful thoughts in the presence of the Lord’s Body.) As with Christian pop music, they seem to skim the lightest, fluffiest, most soothing parts of the faith off the top, without bothering about the really sobering or substantial aspects of Christianity. Needless to say, the result is not inspiring; it’s more like therapy than faith.
There are two Novus hymns, however, that I do sometimes find inspiring. They are (and please do not turn away in disgust until you’ve given me the opportunity to explain): I Am the Bread of Life, and Be Not Afraid. I don’t pretend that these two hymns are, in themselves, any better than the rest; the first puts even the title in persona Christi and the second comes as close to fuzzy, feel-good therapy as it is possible for a hymn to be. Nonetheless, these two still have some power to move me, in virtue of a particular memory that I have involving both of these songs.
On September 11, 2001, I was a senior at Notre Dame. After news of the events in New York City and Washington, DC became known, our classes were cancelled for the rest of the day, and the whole campus was invited to a Mass that was held outdoors on the quad outside my dorm, in the middle of the afternoon. It was an absolutely beautiful day, sunny and warm with just a whiff of that lovely fall smell. Thousands of students came to the Mass, most of which is now a blur in my mind; I don’t remember what President Monk Malloy said in his homily (but I always found his homilies to be fairly anodyne, so I think I tuned most of it out) and it was actually fairly difficult to see what was happening the rest of the time, since I was sitting pretty far back from the makeshift altar. But I do remember two things with perfect clarity: the people, and the music.
Of course they didn’t have time to print programs, or to round up thousands of hymnals for everybody, so they just tried to choose hymns that they expected most of the students to know. They had asked the two main campus choirs to join together in singing for the Mass, and as a member of the University Chorale I was actually supposed have joined them, but I didn’t know this because they’d sent the notice out by email, and I couldn’t check my email when the computer labs were all closed. Where I was sitting, the choir was audible, but very soft. They hadn’t had time to set up microphones for them, and of course they were singing outside where the sound could dissipate quickly. So in my area of the congregation, it was eerily quiet when each hymn began, and of course, almost nobody was singing.
It is my usual practice, as a mark of sportsmanship and my love of congregational singing, to sing the hymns at Mass, regardless of whether I like the music selection, and regardless of whether anybody else is singing. On this occasion I almost faltered, because the atmosphere was so forbidding; hardly any mouths were moving, and many people were sitting on the grass and weeping, some with faces buried in hands or knees. So I almost decided to keep silent, but I hardened my resolve. It was a truly pitiful scene, with the distant strains of music floating in from afar and us forlorn, mourning in silence in the very back of the crowd. I told myself: now of all times, singers are needed. And so I sang. I don’t really have such a powerful voice, but on that day it seemed to be almost ringing, at least in my own ears. A few people, like a dear friend who was sitting next to me, joined in softly, but I still felt horribly conspicuous belting out each melody into the surrounding quiet. I somehow felt, though, that this was a small task that had been entrusted to me: to sing, while they wept. At the sharing of peace and after the Mass, a number of people I didn’t know came over and hugged me without saying anything; one person whispered a “thank you” before moving away again. I suppose you can guess which two Novus hymns we sang that day: I Am the Bread of Life and Be Not Afraid. Occasionally, when singing those hymns in a Novus Mass, I am transported in memory back to that afternoon, and a song that before seemed obnoxious and superficial suddenly becomes, for me, deep and moving.
Novus hymns, like so many elements of modern Catholic worship, annoy because they lack the spiritual depth that is rightly the heritage of Christ’s Church. We’re assured almost ad nauseam that we are special, chosen, loved (and pampered?), but hardly any mention is made of sin or suffering, though suffering has always served to sustain, strengthen and purify God’s Church. It is when the world seems darkest that God’s light shines most brilliantly through it, so the faith which has never known and embraced pain is almost sure to be superficial. All of the saints understood this, and many of them have written about it in a whole variety of ways.
It is possible for the Church to provide that pain, to build the willing believer in faith. This is why we observe Lent, and do penances, and often God favors us with particular personal trials. Quite obviously, the Church in recent decades has tread very softly on that theme, and we see the sad results. But on September 11, the vision of fear and suffering were provided by external circumstances. A not insignificant number of students were actively fearing for relatives or friends that they had still been unable to contact, and even those of us who had no close acquaintances in New York or Washington, even apart from our sympathy for our suffering classmates and compatriots, were suddenly horribly aware that we, as Americans, were despised and vulnerable, and would quite possibly continue to be the object of this desperate, violent hatred for our entire lives. We were the educated and the privileged, accustomed to live in optimism, and our visions of the future were suddenly more fearful than ever before. How many people in the world wanted to kill us? How much more creative would they get? And against this backdrop, we pondered the words, “Be not afraid: I go before you always” and “I will raise you up at the last day” with a new awe and reverence. I felt just a glimmer of what the early Christians might have felt, being hunted and persecuted and martyred for their faith, and believing nonetheless that Christ would be their everlasting Lord through all of it. Shallow and depraved as we were, He was prepared be ours too, and the goodness of this Good News hit me with particular force that afternoon.
For many or most of us, perhaps, whatever wisdom we gained that day was fleeting, quickly forgotten as life moved on and our apocalyptic fears were soothed by the comforting monotony of normality. But I was struck how, at least for me, an irksome and fluffy hymn like Be Not Afraid could actually, when set against a particular background, be spiritually sustaining, and the extra profundity that was infused into it by that experience still hasn’t fully dissipated five years later. There are a great many hymns I would choose to sing above that one, but perhaps its deficiency is more in what it doesn’t say than in what it says.
Christians will go through more hard times in the years or decades or centuries to come. This has more or less been promised to us. Christians in Russia and Eastern Europe have already, of course, experienced much persecution in the last century, and sooner or later I imagine the West will see something similar or equally bad, or worse. I hope by that time that Latin Masses will have been widespread among Catholics for a long time, and that catechesis and rosary groups and all the rest will have come to life again, so that there will be a large body of strong Catholics, determined to keep the faith alive, ready and willing to be martyrs if necessary. But my hopeful thought is this: even if intense persecution began tomorrow, perhaps many Novus Catholics would find that the essential elements were there within them, even though veiled up until now by silliness. Perhaps the added elements of fear and doubt and pain would transform them into exactly what they needed to be. Many, no doubt, will be lost, as many always are in times of hardship. But God plants seeds in mysterious ways, and it is difficult for us to discern how they might grow, when the spring rains come.
St. Louis-Marie de Montfort,
Pope St. Pius X,
St. Joseph,
St. Ambrose of Milan,
St. Thomas Aquinas,
St. Francis (and St. Clare),
St. Catherine of Siena,
St. Alphonsus Ligouri,
St. John Chrysostom,
Both your hymns are banned in my parish.But your experience with them points out something-that they appeal to our emotions.I am certtain that if they would have sung the Dies Irae or Battle Hymn of the Republic that day,they would have been riveted to your memory.When I hear On This Day O Beautiful Mother,I go back to my childhood.
I have to admit to liking “Be Not Afraid” as well. But I strive to forget this.
With all due respect, Father, I have to disagree with some of what you said. Certainly, Novus hymns appeal to emotions in a particular way — so do classic Marian hymns, or Handel’s Messiah, or sterling classics like “All Glory, Laud and Honor,” “Christ the Lord is Risen Today” or “Adeste Fideles.” Music ought to have some emotional pull; the trick is to stimulate the right emotions at the right times and in the right ways.
I like “Battle Hymn of the Republic” (and yes! I certainly sang that one in childhood) but if we had sung it on that day, it might be riveted to my memory but not in a positive way. I would have been seriously irritated. The sentiment would be completely wrong for the circumstances. At the end of that Mass, they did have us sing our alma mater, and that irked me a bit; I love Notre Dame, but the school’s alma mater seemed too trivial for the occasion. My point was that these did not seem that way. I would have picked “Lead, Kindly Light” or “Abide With Me” given a choice, but these still seemed satisfactory to the purpose. That’s why I contend that they are more deficient than perverted, and could actually be moving and effective when the circumstances provided what the hymns themselves lacked.
I don’t by any means fault you for banning these hymns in your parish, because there are surely a great many better ones out there, but we can’t rule out the possibility that something worthwhile may sometimes be accomplished with them.
Clara,
Like you, I have a hard-to-kill fondness for certain “Novus hymns,” mainly because they were sung in the campus parish where I was received into the Church; and for me, at that time, they were simply part of becoming a Catholic. I guess I didn’t know any better then; even though torture couldn’t make me admit it (with certain persons anyway), I still have a soft spot for a few of those “more deficient than perverted” songs. On another note, I like the idea of “Sacerdos15″’s parish, one that actually bans certain hymns; if only you had a wider jurisdiction, Father!
–A Simple Priest
It’s odd how sometimes posts show up that match what I have been thinking about recently. Just the other day I was thinking to myself how certain “Novus” hymns, though deficient, still remind me of when I was growing up in a Novus parish and I was absorbing these songs along with my first catechism lessons and my first observations of how a parish lives. Both “Be not Afraid” and, especially, “I am the Bread of Life,” were among these hymns. Some modern settings of the Prayer of St. Francis also make the list. Unlike so many of the folks here in the Society, I am a cradle Catholic from a Novus parish, so it’s hard to be adamantly opposed to some of these songs. Even at Marquette, some of the choir’s settings of the “Lamb of God” at Mass were quite good.
When the hymns are really bad at Mass, I usually flip the hymnal or missalette to songs from Advent and Christmas and read them instead of paying attention to the people around me. Then there are songs like “How Great thou art” and “Holy God, We Praise Thy Name,” but I don’t think that these songs are peculiarly “Novus.”
Dropped by to check the indult rumor situation and am compelled to post - though it must be brief.
I never thought I’d discover myself to be more of an “old hardliner” than those on this blog!
(humor alert)
I am shocked… shocked! to discover that any right minded member of this Society has anything but repudiation to spare for such musical dreck!!
(end humor)
But, seriously, and with respect to sacerdos15, I think that using music whose primary focus is emotional appeal so often in the liturgy is not good. (And I’d include “On This Day O Beautiful Mother” in that category - it sends me back to childhood too - but not in a pleasant way.)
Frankly, we ought to have more chant. Like this. http://stcecialiasabbey.org.uk
Well, to cite Scripture, is there a consensus among some respondents that “I am the Bread of Life” is one of the fleshpots of Egypt, er, of the Novus Ordo?
As for playing on emotions, in the case of “I am the Bread of Life,” Our Lord really did say those things, and they really do convey consolation, etc. So is the admittedly less-than-sublime melody the problem? I mean, “Holy God, We Praise Thy Name,” packs an emotional punch, too.
I guess I’m looking for a sifting of the wheat here — not everything is so bad as the absolutlely abominable Caribbean setting of the Gloria that the soon-to-be-former-pastor of my home parish plays.
As for the “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” does our Copperhead writer Iacobus care to denounce this Yankee screed for the ode to Northern Aggression that it is? ;)
I must admit, certain Novus Ordo songs retain pleasant childhood associations for me too. But setting aside the deficiencies of the words, I think the tunes are inherently problematic. A congregation singing modern hymns inevitably degenerates into wailing and trilling like a crowd of pop star wannabees(think “Eagle Wings” and “Here I Am”). Some of the tunes are almost sensous. They lend themselves to NO individualism and man-centeredness; these songs are for the singer more than God. Clara recalls the ever-comforting reality that God brings good out of evil and makes use of imperfect instruments for the working of grace in His Church. However, I think those songs reflect a fundamental “disorientation” of the liturgy which, at best, leaves the faithful in a state of spiritual immaturity and, at worst, ends in the darkest confusion of modernism.
Well put, Raindear, and I do truly loathe “Eagle’s Wings” and “Here I Am” but I think we do need to appreciate that the question is complex. (I’m also wondering where you’re hearing all this wailing and trilling — at the Novus Masses I go to, it’s a lucky thing to find half a dozen people singing at all!) There are many subtle ways to turn the emotions in different directions. Novus hymns can be sappy, to be sure, but then again, many Marian hymns (”Immaculate Mary”, for example) are quite syrupy as well, and yet I like them. “Here I Am” may turn people into pop stars, but someone who liked it might turn back on us and point out that people singing Handel’s “Messiah” might be fashioning themselves as opera singers. Nothing will uplift us if it’s not done for the right reasons.
I’m not exactly disagreeing with you, but I don’t think the matter is open-and-shut.
The matter is open and shut.If there are no standards then everyting is especially if they are done for the right reason.First of all we have the guidance of the Popes from Pius X to Benedict XVI and the documents of the Holy See.There will be disagreement over whether a particular piece meets the standards but that is the exception.Discussing whether a hymn is a good hymn is a common one but most of those who would offer an opinion on a particular hymn might have little or no musical background let alone knowledge of the liturgy.In that case one might be overcome by Eagles’Wings or the Brady Bunch theme song aka Be Not Afraid. I think it is ridiculous to equate The Messiah to any of these hymns and I have never heard the Lourdes Hymn described as sacharine,prehaps Mother Dearest Mother Fairest but not Immaculate Mary. Pope Benedict when Cardinal Ratzinger said there was sacred music and religious music.The former belongs in the liturgy the latter in other religious gatherings like convocations,camp outs,and Bible vigils.
1.) I think that Clara has a musical background. I don’t, but my position — a tentative “maybe some of these songs aren’t quite so bad as the rest” — mirrors hers, I think.
2.) Could we all please focus on the two songs cited, not other, admittedly worse ones? “I am the Bread of Life,” which consists primarily of Our Lord’s own words — is it *better* than some other fluff out there? I understand that it’s said by the laity “in persona Christi,” but I don’t know anyone who interprets this as anything other than the repetition, in direct speech, of Our Lord’s words to us. So is the melody the real problem? Or the failure to mention penance?
Oh, I forgot the last verse of “I Am the Bread of Life,” which is the response of the singer to Christ’s words. Granted, it’s not sung as often as the other verses, but that is true of many hymns that stow away good stuff in the never-heard 5th or 6th verse.
battle hymn is a battle hymn and does not belong in a catholic church. the hymn of st. francis was sung to death in my n. o. parish, along with the gift of finest wheat , these hymn are from the 7o s that when i left the choir in the n . o. parrish, we where told you no longer needed to sing all the parts of the mass.
since then i have only gone to the n.o. when i could not get out of it, family funreal and weddings. recenly i went to my uncle funreal mass and the music traditional i for one was scock. mother dear pray for me!!!!
TP,
Even with “I am the Bread of Life,” the tune is problematic. While the liturgy ought to help the faithful turn their hearts and minds to God, its primary purpose is fitting worship, an activity which we owe God in justice. Thus, stirring up emotions is a subordinated and secondary purpose of liturgical music. In these goofy modern songs, emotionalism supercedes fitting solemnity.
As to the words, I think there is room for criticism there, too, even of more scriptural songs like “I Am the Bread of Life.” I once read a selection from St. Augustine criticizing those who take bits and pieces of Scripture, rewording and rearranging them. It has been at least two years since I looked at the reading, but I am almost certain that Augustine was reacting to certain Christian songs. Perhaps modern musicians look at the matter backwards, conceiving a tune and then conforming the words to it. Chant, on the other hand, was written to make the meaning of Scripture more evident - the music is subordinated to the words. Anyways, it’s worth some thought.
I also find the rhythms in many Novus hymns very distracting. They use a lot of bizarrely syncopated rhythms that really break my concentration (and perhaps make people feel more like pop stars, as Raindear suggested, though much of the time it just leaves them confused because these rhythms are fairly difficult to read.) “I Am the Bread of Life” has a bit of this in the verse; the chorus doesn’t though, which might be one key to its realtive superiority.
A melody like that of “Eagles’ Wings” would be identifiable as a crappy pop tune no matter what you did with it, but with a nice horn section and skillful arrangement, I do believe the chorus of “I Am the Bread of Life” could be disguised as a snippet from a proper symphony. But as I’ve already said, what really seems most seriously wrong with many Novus hymns, to my mind, is that *none of them* treat serious or sobering themes. If you mixed in some heavier ones, and still kept a few of the lighter Novus “favorites”, I don’t think the congregation would be in such bad shape. Also note, Tobias Petrus, that not every hymn that appears in the Novus hymnal is strictly speaking a “Novus” hymn. They borrow from everywhere, including some good sources. The mark of the bad ones, which I truly classify as “Novus” is 1) they are put out by OCP Publications, and 2) they are from the 70’s or early 80’s. So you can tell just by looking at the small text at the end. If you see that a hymn is from the 18th or 19th century, and is translated from German, then never fear, it’s a Lutheran hymn and it’s probably good.
In response to an earlier comment, I certainly do not think that “Be Not Afraid” is on par with Handel’s Messiah. I adore the Messiah and have sung it several times; obviously qua music 70’s Jesuit hymns have nothing remotely comparable. But my point was that, as far as emotionalism goes, it’s really not that easy to find strict principled grounds for differentiating between them. Singing the Messiah is certainly a deeply moving experience for me… do the emotions or the message “come first?” I don’t know how to tell.
As far as “Immaculate Mary” goes, well, if you don’t find it saccharine, I don’t quite know what else to say about it. To me it’s always seemed the epitome of a syrupy little Marian hymn. I’m quite fond of it, really; on my itunes program it ranks 13th in the Most Played list, but I still think it fits under that description.
Clara,
I agree that it can be difficult to discern which songs evoke an appropriate degree of emotion and which disrupt the liturgy. However, I think it also depends a great deal on the liturgical cycle and the liturgical hierarchy, if you will. At a solemn feast or wedding Mass, more triumphant music is fitting, and many beautiful Lenten pieces are quite mournful or plaintive. “Handel’s Messiah” is wonderful, but I am not sure if it is appropriate even for the Christmas Mass of an ordinary parish. It seems more suited to a cathedral Mass.
What a great post! Thank you so much for your thoughts. One trad priest that I know organised a pilgrimage to the shrine he is parish priest at, and in exchange for singing the creed in Latin at the mass, he allowed a youth song. However, he had to provide a footnote to one of the verses: “the risen Christ, here in bread and wine for me” saying ‘ie. under the appearence of bread and wine’ to correct the heresy! There are a lot of protestant songs floating around too which doesn’t make it any easier.