Today is Christ the King Sunday. Ended up going to St. Stephen's by myself this morning, since everybody was still asleep or nearly so. Church attendance was surprisingly light today. Even when you account for all the GWU students who were probably still gone for Thanksgiving break, I expected a few more in the pews.
It was so nice to hear the choir do a proper offertory anthem for a change! They sang Flor Peeters' "Jubilate Deo," and that took up almost all the necessary time. By the time the anthem was over, the thurifer hadn't quite finished the clergy and congregational incensations, so the organist tried to squeeze in two quick verses of King's Weston, which I thought unfortunate, as it sort of spoiled the splendid mood after the Peeters.
He sort of made a similar mistake with the communion music. They did the Fauré "Cantique de Jean Racine," which would have been a lovely communion motet, but they did a stupid marching music responsorial hymn first (nobody ever sings it), so by the time the hymn was done, communion was over and the priest was starting the ablutions, so, naturally, the Fauré was much, much too long and we had to sit (impatiently) and wait for the choir to finish.
I don't care what some church musicians say about offertory and communion hymns and anthems/motets all being important parts of the "liturgy" and worship experience, the simple fact of the matter is that the music in those positions is merely filler designed to cover "boring" things like collecting the money and preparing the bread and wine, or like giving communion to everybody and then cleaning up the mess. Once the "boring" stuff is done, the choir needs to stop, or it becomes boring, unappreciated, and unwanted in its own right. It's sad when nice things like the Fauré are allowed to get into that unappreciated category. And, right or wrong, parishioners complain when Mass lasts longer than an hour (today was 1.3 hours).
There was another bit of unusual procedure this morning. There is an old tradition observed in some parishes that the Te Deum is sung on Christ the King Sunday. Back when I used to cantor, I used to chant it as a post-communion ablutions anthem. I've also heard it chanted after the final prayer and before the blessing in some parishes. Here, though, we got to the recessional hymn (Nettleton), sang the first verse, then the men of the choir chanted the Te Deum, then we got back to finishing the recessional hymn. That was odd.
The processional hymn today was Diademata, with festive interpolated interludes.
The Mass setting used miscellaneous works by Leo Nestor for the Kyrie and Gloria, then the Memorial Acclamation and Great Amen from his Mass for the Parishes. The Sanctus and Benedictus came from Proulx's A Community Mass and the Agnus Dei came from Isele's Holy Cross Mass.
I actually paid attention to the homily today. Aren't you proud of me? Monsignor was wrapping it up when I remembered I hadn't read the parish newsletter yet, so I had to look at it during the creed. LOL
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Bird comments
We walked into St. Stephen's Sunday during the Kyrie, late because Laurent was still wiping his face after the visit of his friend du nuit. When Laurent took communion, it gave me all new visions of the meaning of "the Body of Christ."
As we walked the three blocks from our condo to the church, Laurent kept wanting to regale me with tales of his conquests, while I kept trying to shift his mind to things more spiritual. Even as we were walking up to the door of the church, he continue to chatter (well, I saw him, and the boy is cute, but still!), so finally a bird (or was it God?) weighed in on the matter and relieved itself on the back of Laurent's shoulder—a shoulder clad in a white Polo shirt. I didn't tell Laurent about the deposit until we got home, hours after Mass and our trip to Union Station.
Alas, we missed the processional hymn, Holst's Thaxted ("I vow to thee my country," but with the Catholic words, "O God beyond all praising"), which is one of my favorites. They also did Picardy for the offertory and Ellecombe for the recessional.
The Kyrie was from Missa Secunda by Hans Leo Hassler (1525–1594). They did How for the Gloria, Proulx for the Sanctus and Benedictus, Nestor for the Memorial Acclamation and Great Amen, and Isele for the Agnus Dei.
The poor organist kept being plagued with ciphers (stuck notes on the organ) during the early part of the service. Organs are very complex, delicate, and finicky things that misbehave at the most inopportune times. He managed to work around them and do repairs several times, resolving most of it during the homily.
I don't know why, but I never could tune in to the homily and follow what the priest was saying. Maybe it was because we were nearly in the back row of the nave. Anyway, the parish really does need a longer weekly newsletter so we have something to read. LOL
The choir did a pleasant job (given their small size and lack of low basses) singing Edgar Bainton's "And I Saw a New Heaven" for the communion motet. It's really too long of an anthem to be done there, though, especially since the parish persists in first doing a responsorial communion marching song (that no one ever sings anyway), meaning the congregation sits there after the post-communion ablutions are completed restlessly awaiting the choir's silence so the priest can bless and dismiss them. That's not an ideal audience attitude for a nice, introspective anthem.
As we walked the three blocks from our condo to the church, Laurent kept wanting to regale me with tales of his conquests, while I kept trying to shift his mind to things more spiritual. Even as we were walking up to the door of the church, he continue to chatter (well, I saw him, and the boy is cute, but still!), so finally a bird (or was it God?) weighed in on the matter and relieved itself on the back of Laurent's shoulder—a shoulder clad in a white Polo shirt. I didn't tell Laurent about the deposit until we got home, hours after Mass and our trip to Union Station.
Alas, we missed the processional hymn, Holst's Thaxted ("I vow to thee my country," but with the Catholic words, "O God beyond all praising"), which is one of my favorites. They also did Picardy for the offertory and Ellecombe for the recessional.
The Kyrie was from Missa Secunda by Hans Leo Hassler (1525–1594). They did How for the Gloria, Proulx for the Sanctus and Benedictus, Nestor for the Memorial Acclamation and Great Amen, and Isele for the Agnus Dei.
The poor organist kept being plagued with ciphers (stuck notes on the organ) during the early part of the service. Organs are very complex, delicate, and finicky things that misbehave at the most inopportune times. He managed to work around them and do repairs several times, resolving most of it during the homily.
I don't know why, but I never could tune in to the homily and follow what the priest was saying. Maybe it was because we were nearly in the back row of the nave. Anyway, the parish really does need a longer weekly newsletter so we have something to read. LOL
The choir did a pleasant job (given their small size and lack of low basses) singing Edgar Bainton's "And I Saw a New Heaven" for the communion motet. It's really too long of an anthem to be done there, though, especially since the parish persists in first doing a responsorial communion marching song (that no one ever sings anyway), meaning the congregation sits there after the post-communion ablutions are completed restlessly awaiting the choir's silence so the priest can bless and dismiss them. That's not an ideal audience attitude for a nice, introspective anthem.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Christmas carols before Thanksgiving?
The radio stations around here are already playing Christmas carols, and have been for a week.
The malls, of course, have had Christmas decorations sneaking in since at least Labor Day and in full force since Hallowe'en, with more going up every day.
It's not even Advent. Advent doesn't start until December 2.
Now, I know I have readers who are Jewish, Buddhist, Hindu, Wiccan, atheist, and agnostic, so this really won't concern them that much, other than the disruption to their lives that the heavily marketed and hyped Christian holiday has, and their amusement/bemusement in watching the Christians go crazy this time of year. I also have readers who are nominally Christian, but who are totally clueless when it comes to understand the history and traditions of the religion, so they just kind of aimlessly go with the flow, not knowing what or why. It is more for this latter group that I issue this epistle.
Regardless of what pagan, druidic, Saturnalian, Mithraic, Hellenistic, and Zoroastrian customs may have been absorbed, conscripted, and adopted by Christianity in its celebration of the birth of its co-deity, and ignoring the fact that they conveniently moved the birthday party to overshadow a competing religion's god, the fact remains that in the United States and western society, Christmas—with all its traditions—is a Christian holiday.
The Church, in its infinite wisdom, moved the date of the birth of Jesus (who was probably born in September, though some authorities point to April) to December 25 in in the Third Century, but it wasn't until the Fourth Century that it began to be celebrated, though barely, as Epiphany on January 6 (commemorating the arrival of the Magi) was considered the major, more important feast. Once French king Charlemagne was crowned Holy Roman Emperor on Christmas Day 800, the observance began to be celebrated more and more, until by the 12th Century, there was a full Christmastide season—the Twelve Days of Christmas—that lasted from December 25 through January 5 (the night of December 5th, also being the Eve of Epiphany, is celebrated as Twelfth Night, and is the traditional time for bonfires, burning up all the old Christmas trees).
Meanwhile, around the Fourth Century, the Church began observing a period of preparation for Christmas called Advent. Originally, it was forty days, from St. Martin's Day until Christmas, but now it begins the fourth Sunday before Christmas. Many of our modern day Evangelical and Fundamentalist Protestant denominations do not observe Advent, but it should be noted that until recently—maybe the past 20 or 30 years—they didn't observe Christmas, either. Now, it wasn't an anti-Christmas thing with them as it was with the Puritans (in 1659, Puritans in Massachusetts passed a law banning the celebration of Christmas: "That whosoever shall be found observing any such day as Christmas or the like, either by forbearing of labour, feasting, or any other way, upon any such accounts as aforesaid, shall be subjected to a fine of five shillings."), but they simply said they only observed Sundays as the Lord's Day, and, thus, Christmas was not a big deal. Of course, what amuses me is that last year, when Christmas fell on a Sunday, not only are the Baptists and non-denominational megachurches observing Christmas now, they cancelled their Sunday morning services!
Since many of the pagan and druidic religions used holly, mistletoe, and evergreens to celebrate the winter solstice (December 22 this year), plus candles and bonfires to convey the festival of light concept, a certain degree of what we might call Christmas decorating began to occur in Advent. This was basically just the "hanging of the greens," though, as Advent is a quiet, introspective time, and the glamour and glitz of full-blown Christmas decorations waited until Christmas Eve.
The tree, however, did not go up at the beginning of Advent. The tree is a northern European tradition closely tied to Yule and the observance of the winter solstice, and as such, the early Church discouraged their use. The solstice can fall anywhere from December 21 to 23, and it was for the day of the solstice that a tree was decorated. Christians didn't get around to conscripting Yule and solstice trees as Christmas trees until the 16th or 17th centuries, and even then, it was pretty much limited to Scandinavia and Germany. Christmas trees were put up on Christmas Eve, decorated with nuts, fruit, dried or paper flowers, and small gifts that would be claimed by children the next morning.
While people argue about the "first Christmas tree in America," some claiming a German soldier put one up in 1777 and others claiming some towns of German immigrants did them in 1816 or 1821, it really wasn't until the later portions of the reign of Queen Victoria that Christmas trees became popular in America. Up through the World War II era, American trees went up on Christmas Eve, as families gathered for the holiday and to trim the tree, and they came down on the Feast of the Epiphany. Many people thought it bad luck to put up a tree before Christmas Eve or to take it down after Epiphany.
In the post-war years, though, the prosperity of the country was such that the retail merchants aggressively began pushing Christmas, gift giving, and conspicuous consumption, putting up their own decorations earlier and earlier and earlier, and pushing the common people into putting up Christmas trees, "getting into the Christmas spirit," and buying-buying-buying to put all those pretty presents under the tree. That same period coincided with the rise of the Evangelical and Fundamentalist denominations, who, courtesy of the G.I. Bill and newly college-educated members, could finally afford to market themselves and advertise their practices. Well, the Evangelicals and Fundamentalists, never having observed Advent and not really even doing much with Christmas, were easy prey for retail mercantilism, and they quickly bought into the more-is-more and earlier-is-better mindset. Now, they lovingly embrace their "old" Christmas traditions, bringing into their homes the most blatant symbol of druidic paganism they could possibly adopt, the Christmas tree.
So, now we have the abhorrent "tradition" of putting up Christmas trees for Thanksgiving and taking them down on Christmas Day night. Well, dear readers, that is wrong. Just wrong. Period.
Christmas is not a retail holiday. Just because the stores do it doesn't mean it's proper and correct for a Christian home. And remember, when those big department store started all that early Christmas sale stuff, those stores largely were not Christian-owned, they were Jewish-owned, and the Jews had no vested interest in the celebration of a Christian holiday other than as an opportunity for sales.
Of course, it bothers me even more when people are so tired of Christmas by Christmas Day that the family's main activity on Christmas is taking down the tree and putting away the decorations. At least leave them up until New Year's at the very least and preferably until Twelfth Night. When I see people taking down their trees on Christmas, I always want to go talk to them and counsel them about the significance of what they are doing. If you have an important guest coming—take your pick, the Pope, Prince William, Angelina Jolie, Zac Effron, whomever—it's great if you're so excited you decorate and celebrate the coming for a month or two before the arrival, but once your guest arrives, do you immediately take down the decorations and stop celebrating the guest's arrival?
So, here are my ten holiday rules. They're mine. I know some of you will disagree. But I'm correct, of course. ;-)
The malls, of course, have had Christmas decorations sneaking in since at least Labor Day and in full force since Hallowe'en, with more going up every day.
It's not even Advent. Advent doesn't start until December 2.
Now, I know I have readers who are Jewish, Buddhist, Hindu, Wiccan, atheist, and agnostic, so this really won't concern them that much, other than the disruption to their lives that the heavily marketed and hyped Christian holiday has, and their amusement/bemusement in watching the Christians go crazy this time of year. I also have readers who are nominally Christian, but who are totally clueless when it comes to understand the history and traditions of the religion, so they just kind of aimlessly go with the flow, not knowing what or why. It is more for this latter group that I issue this epistle.
Regardless of what pagan, druidic, Saturnalian, Mithraic, Hellenistic, and Zoroastrian customs may have been absorbed, conscripted, and adopted by Christianity in its celebration of the birth of its co-deity, and ignoring the fact that they conveniently moved the birthday party to overshadow a competing religion's god, the fact remains that in the United States and western society, Christmas—with all its traditions—is a Christian holiday.
The Church, in its infinite wisdom, moved the date of the birth of Jesus (who was probably born in September, though some authorities point to April) to December 25 in in the Third Century, but it wasn't until the Fourth Century that it began to be celebrated, though barely, as Epiphany on January 6 (commemorating the arrival of the Magi) was considered the major, more important feast. Once French king Charlemagne was crowned Holy Roman Emperor on Christmas Day 800, the observance began to be celebrated more and more, until by the 12th Century, there was a full Christmastide season—the Twelve Days of Christmas—that lasted from December 25 through January 5 (the night of December 5th, also being the Eve of Epiphany, is celebrated as Twelfth Night, and is the traditional time for bonfires, burning up all the old Christmas trees).
Meanwhile, around the Fourth Century, the Church began observing a period of preparation for Christmas called Advent. Originally, it was forty days, from St. Martin's Day until Christmas, but now it begins the fourth Sunday before Christmas. Many of our modern day Evangelical and Fundamentalist Protestant denominations do not observe Advent, but it should be noted that until recently—maybe the past 20 or 30 years—they didn't observe Christmas, either. Now, it wasn't an anti-Christmas thing with them as it was with the Puritans (in 1659, Puritans in Massachusetts passed a law banning the celebration of Christmas: "That whosoever shall be found observing any such day as Christmas or the like, either by forbearing of labour, feasting, or any other way, upon any such accounts as aforesaid, shall be subjected to a fine of five shillings."), but they simply said they only observed Sundays as the Lord's Day, and, thus, Christmas was not a big deal. Of course, what amuses me is that last year, when Christmas fell on a Sunday, not only are the Baptists and non-denominational megachurches observing Christmas now, they cancelled their Sunday morning services!
Since many of the pagan and druidic religions used holly, mistletoe, and evergreens to celebrate the winter solstice (December 22 this year), plus candles and bonfires to convey the festival of light concept, a certain degree of what we might call Christmas decorating began to occur in Advent. This was basically just the "hanging of the greens," though, as Advent is a quiet, introspective time, and the glamour and glitz of full-blown Christmas decorations waited until Christmas Eve.
The tree, however, did not go up at the beginning of Advent. The tree is a northern European tradition closely tied to Yule and the observance of the winter solstice, and as such, the early Church discouraged their use. The solstice can fall anywhere from December 21 to 23, and it was for the day of the solstice that a tree was decorated. Christians didn't get around to conscripting Yule and solstice trees as Christmas trees until the 16th or 17th centuries, and even then, it was pretty much limited to Scandinavia and Germany. Christmas trees were put up on Christmas Eve, decorated with nuts, fruit, dried or paper flowers, and small gifts that would be claimed by children the next morning.
While people argue about the "first Christmas tree in America," some claiming a German soldier put one up in 1777 and others claiming some towns of German immigrants did them in 1816 or 1821, it really wasn't until the later portions of the reign of Queen Victoria that Christmas trees became popular in America. Up through the World War II era, American trees went up on Christmas Eve, as families gathered for the holiday and to trim the tree, and they came down on the Feast of the Epiphany. Many people thought it bad luck to put up a tree before Christmas Eve or to take it down after Epiphany.
In the post-war years, though, the prosperity of the country was such that the retail merchants aggressively began pushing Christmas, gift giving, and conspicuous consumption, putting up their own decorations earlier and earlier and earlier, and pushing the common people into putting up Christmas trees, "getting into the Christmas spirit," and buying-buying-buying to put all those pretty presents under the tree. That same period coincided with the rise of the Evangelical and Fundamentalist denominations, who, courtesy of the G.I. Bill and newly college-educated members, could finally afford to market themselves and advertise their practices. Well, the Evangelicals and Fundamentalists, never having observed Advent and not really even doing much with Christmas, were easy prey for retail mercantilism, and they quickly bought into the more-is-more and earlier-is-better mindset. Now, they lovingly embrace their "old" Christmas traditions, bringing into their homes the most blatant symbol of druidic paganism they could possibly adopt, the Christmas tree.
So, now we have the abhorrent "tradition" of putting up Christmas trees for Thanksgiving and taking them down on Christmas Day night. Well, dear readers, that is wrong. Just wrong. Period.
Christmas is not a retail holiday. Just because the stores do it doesn't mean it's proper and correct for a Christian home. And remember, when those big department store started all that early Christmas sale stuff, those stores largely were not Christian-owned, they were Jewish-owned, and the Jews had no vested interest in the celebration of a Christian holiday other than as an opportunity for sales.
Of course, it bothers me even more when people are so tired of Christmas by Christmas Day that the family's main activity on Christmas is taking down the tree and putting away the decorations. At least leave them up until New Year's at the very least and preferably until Twelfth Night. When I see people taking down their trees on Christmas, I always want to go talk to them and counsel them about the significance of what they are doing. If you have an important guest coming—take your pick, the Pope, Prince William, Angelina Jolie, Zac Effron, whomever—it's great if you're so excited you decorate and celebrate the coming for a month or two before the arrival, but once your guest arrives, do you immediately take down the decorations and stop celebrating the guest's arrival?
So, here are my ten holiday rules. They're mine. I know some of you will disagree. But I'm correct, of course. ;-)
Monday, November 12, 2007
Sunday's journey
Sometimes I think the National Cathedral is trying to be high church Methodist. Then I realize the high church Methodists have a better sense of liturgy. These days at the cathedral, they sing a "song of praise" instead of the Gloria; they don't seem to believe in the Kyrie or the Agnus Dei at all. Everything is experimental liturgy and unfamiliar new hymns. None of my Episcopalian friends who come to town to visit can even recognize the liturgy as Anglican—often, they've asked me about it afterwards to confirm that it really is an Episcopal cathedral.
I've come to the conclusion, though, that they've finally gone off the deep end this fall and gotten all huggy-kissy-liberal. Not only have they hung all these bizarre, modern, pastel banners on the pillars in the nave (see the blue and green one on the pillar on the far right in the picture above—that was one of the best and prettiest ones), they've gotten so hippie-liberal they are now advertising a communion station featuring the Body of Christ in the form of gluten-free wafers.
Nevertheless, yesterday was Connecticut Day at the National Cathedral, so Laurent and I went up there to celebrate his home state. There was a big crowd there, so we ended up having to sit in the North Transept, giving us a side view of the crossing altar and pulpit.
The Connecticut people sent a bunch of banners and acolytes to the cathedral for the processions. They also sent their bishopess suffragan, who was the principal celebrant for the Mass. She seemed nice, and Laurent met her after the service.The Cathedral Choir of Men and Girls sang the service. They started with Healy Willan's "Rise up, my love" as an introit sung a capella from the narthex. They did Ned Rorem's "All glorious God" for an offertory anthem, and I do believe that's the most melodic composition of Rorem's I've ever heard. It was a quiet, almost sweet, piece. The communion motet was a lovely "Cantique de Jean Racine" by Gabriel Fauré, one of my favorites.
Hymns were Abbot's Leigh (God, creator, source of healing) for the processional, Ellers (How like a gentle spirit deep within) for the sequence, Lucerna Laudoniae (God of mercy, God of grace) during post-communion ablutions, and Lobe den Herren (Praise to the Lord, the Almighty) for the recessional. In addition, instead of the Gloria, they sang a congregational hymn text to Lasst uns erfreuen as a "Song of Praise" and they did a text to The Eighth Tune ("Tallis Canon") as some sort of offertory presentation acclamation (where we used to sing the Doxology, before the liturgical reformers told us that was old fashioned and that we should go straight from the offertory to the Sursum corda). There really wasn't a Mass setting. They did the Sanctus from the Proulx A Community Mass and a "Christ our Passover" setting with which I was not familiar (but it sounded like a pretty little setting) and the identity of which is a mystery, since it isn't listed in the copyright notices in the bulletin.
Allein Gott in der Höh sei Herr, BWV 676, by J.S. Bach served as the organ prelude and the postlude was Bach's Praeludium pro Organ pleno, BWV 552.
Liturgically, they only did an Epistle and a Gospel reading (no Old Testament reading), and the prayers of consecration were not from any of the authorized alternatives in the Book of Common Prayer. They did Rite 2 language for everything, and several prayers (such as the Confession) were non-standard; they also changed the "It is right to give Him thanks and praise" to the inclusive language version. The cathedral dean preached a long sermon on reconciliation and forgiveness. Nothing was chanted, so it was almost a low Mass. The congregation also has to stand for everything, since the kneeling cushions were not put on at the chairs.
On the positive side, they've gotten rid of the Zoroastrian fire pots on the altar and replaced them with proper brass candlesticks. They've also put the choir back in the chancel, instead of in chairs behind the crossing porta-altar, but they still are putting chairs in the middle of the aisle for the choristers to sit. It's progress, though. Some day, I hope to get priests and liturgists there the choir can be proud of.
We didn't do much sight-seeing afterwards. Laurent was hungry, and wanted to eat post-haste, so we left in quest of a neighborhood restaurant.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Blessings through paper
We had quite the adventure for church today, starting off with a bus ride across town (it was too pretty out today to go underground) as we went to the noon high Mass at the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception on the Catholic University campus. Laurent had never been to Shrine or CUA before, so we got to play tourist. The Shrine is a fun place. It has quite a nice organ, and the building is beautiful (though acoustically challenged), but the 45 minute travel time discourages me from going often.
Today, the guest celebrant and preacher was the retired bishop of Scranton, who seemed to be a delightful man. He rather reminded me of an Irish Jimmy Stewart. Gave an interesting homily, too, about being buried with a rosary in one hand and a fork in the other.The Mass setting today was the Palestrina Missa Aeterna Christi munera sung a capella by the choir (although they omitted the Sanctus and Benedictus, with the congregation singing the Proulx A Community Mass for those, the memorial acclamation, and the great Amen). The choir sang a lovely O Sacrum Convivium by Thomas Tallis as the post-communion motet and a rather short Benedic Anima Mea by Claudin de Sermisy for the offertory. All were a capella, as the nasty echo in the church makes it difficult to do organ and voice together. I only wish they wouldn't mike the choir, because it kills the choral blend and allows voices by the equipment to stick out of the texture. The amplification also detrimentally affects the cantoress, too, I think, since there's never any sense of vocal power from the speakers.
Hymns today were Lubeck (On this day the first of days) for the processional and Christe Sanctorum (Christ is the world's light) for the recessional.
Organ prelude and postlude were from Leon Boëllmann's Suite Gothique, Op. 25, with the "Introduction–choral; menuet" at the beginning and "Toccatta" at the ending.
I don't know why, but they never offer the chalice to the people at this place. For some reason, I always come away from Mass feeling a bit cheated.
After Mass, we had to walk around and look at the place. The Shrine is the largest Catholic church in the country, seaeting over 6,000, and is rather unique and unexpected with its contemporary take on Romanesque and Byzantine ecclesiastical architecture and interior art. In the basilica design tradition, it has a series of small side chapels along the side aisles flanking the nave and another series of chapels and a large crypt chapel (seating 400+) occupies the undercroft.
We ended up in the bookstore and the gift shop, where Laurent picked out a sterling silver Celtic crucifix for him to wear. Then, as we walked through the cafeteria, he espied a table of seminarians in their clerical uniforms and asked them to bless his crucifix for him, but they had to decline, since they hadn't yet been ordained. Then while we were walking through the crypt, another man in clerical garb walked by and Laurent stopped to ask him if he was a seminarian or a priest so he could get his purchase blessed. He was a priest. Well, yeah.....I didn't tell Laurent until after the fact, but the man he stopped was the rector of the basilica! LOL He patiently acquiesced to the request, but, no doubt anxious to move on, stopped Laurent from digging the cross out of the sack and box, saying, "Blessings go through paper, you know."
Friday, November 2, 2007
Sine Nomine procul sanus maximus
Last night was the Procession and Solemn Pontifical Mass in commemoration of All Saints' Day at St. Paul's K Street, and it was, as predicted, glorious.
The church was standing room only and they had to set up folding chairs in the narthex to accommodate the overflow crowd. Parish organist John opened the festivities with a prelude from the Chorale of Louis Vierne's Symphonie No. 2 in E minor. In fact, it turned out to be a big Vierne night, as the new interim choirmaster played the Final from the Symphonie No. 1 in D Major, and the Mass setting was Vierne's Messe Solennelle.
This is the first time I've heard the new interim choirmaster, who was imported from England for a year and started the first of September. He's younger than I had expected. I thought he took most of the music at a very fast clip, and he has an interesting habit of bouncing on his toes as he conducts. I was disappointed he didn't come up to the reception afterwards, as I would have liked to have made his acquaintance. I did see, though, the organist from the National Cathedral up there (the cathedral is very low church under the current dean and transfers the feast to the nearest Sunday, unfortunately).
Once the altar party and choir had taken their places in the sanctuary and chancel, the solemn procession led by an excellent thurifer (I always like guys with the courage to do "round the worlds" with the incense) moved around the nave, singing first Sine Nomine (For all the saints), then Lasst uns erfreuen (Ye watchers and ye holy ones). I liked the way John played the processional hymns, especially his tasteful use of the tuba mirabilis and other ear-blasting stops on the huge organ that expressed the festal nature of the occasion without leaving us in the congregation with tinnitus. Other hymns included Zeuch mich, zeuch mich (Who are these like stars appearing) as the sequence, St. Catherine's Court (In our day of thanksgiving) during the post-communion ablutions, and an obnoxiously high (several long high Fs) All Hallows (O heavenly Jerusalem) for the recessional.
The choir also did an Anglican chant setting by Thomas Attwood for the psalm (Cantate Domino) and the offertory anthem was Basil Harwood's "O how glorious is the Kingdom." To save time, the lengthy Agnus Dei from the Mass setting served as a communion motet.
As is the custom at St. Paul's, all of the versicles and responses, antiphons, Gospel alleluias, collects, Bible readings, consecration prayers, etc., were chanted, and the congregation even chants the Lord's Prayer and the Nicene Creed. It's also a fun church, cause most of the congregation sings parts on the hymns.
The retired bishop of Bethlehem, Pa., was a special guest, and he served as preacher. He was very good for a bishop—only talked for fifteen minutes, and he was actually interesting.
After Mass, we had a lovely wine and cheese and hors d'oeuvres reception in the parish hall.
Here is a little 15 second clip (as soon as YouTube finishes processing them) of John's prelude:
and a little 30 second clip of Giles's postlude:
The church was standing room only and they had to set up folding chairs in the narthex to accommodate the overflow crowd. Parish organist John opened the festivities with a prelude from the Chorale of Louis Vierne's Symphonie No. 2 in E minor. In fact, it turned out to be a big Vierne night, as the new interim choirmaster played the Final from the Symphonie No. 1 in D Major, and the Mass setting was Vierne's Messe Solennelle.
This is the first time I've heard the new interim choirmaster, who was imported from England for a year and started the first of September. He's younger than I had expected. I thought he took most of the music at a very fast clip, and he has an interesting habit of bouncing on his toes as he conducts. I was disappointed he didn't come up to the reception afterwards, as I would have liked to have made his acquaintance. I did see, though, the organist from the National Cathedral up there (the cathedral is very low church under the current dean and transfers the feast to the nearest Sunday, unfortunately).
Once the altar party and choir had taken their places in the sanctuary and chancel, the solemn procession led by an excellent thurifer (I always like guys with the courage to do "round the worlds" with the incense) moved around the nave, singing first Sine Nomine (For all the saints), then Lasst uns erfreuen (Ye watchers and ye holy ones). I liked the way John played the processional hymns, especially his tasteful use of the tuba mirabilis and other ear-blasting stops on the huge organ that expressed the festal nature of the occasion without leaving us in the congregation with tinnitus. Other hymns included Zeuch mich, zeuch mich (Who are these like stars appearing) as the sequence, St. Catherine's Court (In our day of thanksgiving) during the post-communion ablutions, and an obnoxiously high (several long high Fs) All Hallows (O heavenly Jerusalem) for the recessional.
The choir also did an Anglican chant setting by Thomas Attwood for the psalm (Cantate Domino) and the offertory anthem was Basil Harwood's "O how glorious is the Kingdom." To save time, the lengthy Agnus Dei from the Mass setting served as a communion motet.
As is the custom at St. Paul's, all of the versicles and responses, antiphons, Gospel alleluias, collects, Bible readings, consecration prayers, etc., were chanted, and the congregation even chants the Lord's Prayer and the Nicene Creed. It's also a fun church, cause most of the congregation sings parts on the hymns.
The retired bishop of Bethlehem, Pa., was a special guest, and he served as preacher. He was very good for a bishop—only talked for fifteen minutes, and he was actually interesting.
After Mass, we had a lovely wine and cheese and hors d'oeuvres reception in the parish hall.
Here is a little 15 second clip (as soon as YouTube finishes processing them) of John's prelude:
and a little 30 second clip of Giles's postlude:
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Westboro
A jury in Baltimore awarded $10.9 million in damages to the family of a Marine killed in Iraq against the Westboro Baptist Church, its "pastor" Fred Phelps, and two of Phelps' daughters, for their offensive actions in picketing the Marine's funeral in yet another chapter of their nationwide hate speech and pandering for media attention. Westboro is the cult from Topeka, Kansas, composed of various members of Phelps' extended family known for their offensive picketing around the country, more recently at military funerals, and their "God Hates Fags" Web site.
Congratulations to the jury!
Naturally, the Phelpses will appeal (Phelps is a disbarred attorney and most of his fourteen children are law school graduates), but I hope the appeals court will uphold the verdict. It sounds as though the trial judge was very careful to educate the jury about First Amendment issues and when a tortfeasor crosses the line into outrageous, unprotected speech. Now, I hope the soldier's family aggressively pursues collection so that that "church" is drained of assets and its ability to spew its venom around the country.
It's people like the Phelpses that give Christianity a bad name and make me not want to be affiliated with the religion.
Congratulations to the jury!
Naturally, the Phelpses will appeal (Phelps is a disbarred attorney and most of his fourteen children are law school graduates), but I hope the appeals court will uphold the verdict. It sounds as though the trial judge was very careful to educate the jury about First Amendment issues and when a tortfeasor crosses the line into outrageous, unprotected speech. Now, I hope the soldier's family aggressively pursues collection so that that "church" is drained of assets and its ability to spew its venom around the country.
It's people like the Phelpses that give Christianity a bad name and make me not want to be affiliated with the religion.
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