Bad church music

I recently read some wisdom about music from the Wiccan tradition: 

Sound is a powerful tool whether it is experienced by your own voice, the voice of others, a musical instrument or your own hands or feet. Sound is energy that is composed of frequencies which can align us with divine energy. When you manipulate sound in a harmonious way you create music. What better way to align yourself with deity?

Music and the divine.  One can learn a lot from reading the ancients.

Being a church musician is an underappreciated and certainly underpaid (un-paid?) vocation, but I've always loved doing it, ever since I was a young treble choir boy.  In fact, one of the greatest weaknesses of my religious faith is that I need music to truly worship, to truly commune and connect with God.

More problematic for me, though, is bad church music.  I'd rather have no music than bad music (although liturgy with no music bores me!).  I get so caught up in the awfulness of the bad music (yes, I know, a weakness on my part), that it can ruin my entire worship experience. I notice that when I'm only presented with Sunday morning church options with bad music, I have an unfortunate tendency to stay home to avoid that bad music, rather than worshipping and giving thanks to God as I should be doing.  I've been known to check the Web page of a parish to see what the choir is singing that day before I travel all the way across town to some of the churches with good music reputations.

I'm not the only one who seems to need music in worship, who thinks of music in prayer terms.  I remember something from one of the early church fathers from northern Africa, Saint Augustine of Hippo (354–430), who wrote about singing to God in Enarratio in Psalmum, saying: "Qui enim cantat laudem, non solum laudat, sed etiam hilariter laudat; qui cantat laudem, non solum cantat, sed et amat eum quem cantat," or, "He who truly sings praise, not only praises, but also joyously praises; he who sings praise, not only sings, but also loves the One about whom he is singing." This passage usually is condensed and restated (quite inaccurately) in modern times as "Qui bene cantat bis orat"—he who sings well prays twice—but, misspoken or not, I really like the "modern" version of the quotation.  It's a mantra.

 

Qui bene cantat bis orat.

 

Music has been important in religion and worship since time immemorial. In fact, most of our great musical development through the ages came about because of the needs of a culture's religion, with secular forms following the trends of sacred forms.

The Greek philosopher Plato called music a "moral law."  Music was a major part of society, culture, education, and religion, and he said, "In order to take the spiritual temperature of an individual or society, one must mark the music."

Plato was a great influence on St. Augustine, too.  For Catholics, St. Augustine influenced St. Thomas Aquinas; for Protestants, St. Augustine influenced Martin Luther (who also liked Platonic and Neoplatonic philosophy).  Plato is a part of our modern religious belief.

What I really like about Plato, though, was his thoughts on bad music.  In fact, in Book III of The Laws, Plato's last dialogue, he argues that bad quality—or immoral—music corrupted the democracy of Athens!

And then, as time went on, the poets themselves introduced the reign of vulgar and lawless innovation. They were men of genius, but they had no perception of what is just and lawful in music; raging like Bacchanals and possessed with inordinate delights—mingling lamentations with hymns, and paeans with dithyrambs; imitating the sounds of the flute on the lyre, and making one general confusion; ignorantly affirming that music has no truth, and, whether good or bad, can only be judged of rightly by the pleasure of the hearer. And by composing such licentious works, and adding to them words as licentious, they have inspired the multitude with lawlessness and boldness, and made them fancy that they can judge for themselves about melody and song.
 

If bad music is bad for democracy, surely it must be bad for the Church, too! 

In my mind, there is music that is appropriate for certain settings and inappropriate for others.  For example, we sing Christmas carols during Christmastide and Easter hymns during Eastertide.  When I sing at Jewish temples, I would not break out with a rousing chorus of "Jesus Christ is risen today! Alleluia!"  I like the song, "You'll Never Walk Alone" from the musical Carousel (and a popular soccer club anthem in Europe!), but I would never want to sing it during church, no matter how good the sentiment.  When we hear Elgar's "Pomp and Circumstance March No. 1," if we are English, we think of the unofficial national anthem "Land of Hope and Glory;" if we are American, we think of high school graduation music.  There is some contemporary Christian music that I listen to and find inspirational, like some of the songs of Sandy Patti and Michael W. Smith, but that music belongs on a radio station or on my iPod, not at a church service.

Then we get to what I have often called "bad contemporary Catholic music" in many of my blog posts about my church experiences.

Back in the late 1950s and early 1960s, the Roman Catholic Church held a series of great church councils to reevaluate their faith, their doctrine, and their worship practices to try to modernize them and make them "relevant" to 20th century Catholics, most especially to young people, and those councils are now collectively referred to as "Vatican II."  Vatican II came up with a lot of useful reforms, and a lot of reforms that ended up being misconstrued in actual practice.  One of the important changes was allowing local parish priests to celebrate the Mass and conduct other sacraments and ceremonies in the vernacular language of the people, instead of doing everything in Latin.  Once the Church started praying in English or German or Chinese or Swahili, it seemed appropriate to have church music, hymns, and anthems in English or German or Chinese or Swahili.  Sometimes, the local parishes responded by translating familiar music from Latin to their local language, and sometimes completely new music was composed.

New English language Catholic music ended up being developed mainly in the United States, since England, Canada, Australia, and other former English colonies were still predominantly Anglican rather than Catholic.  The mid- and late-1960s, however, was a rather unfortunate time in contemporary American music and culture.  The classical music community was caught up in atonality (Arnold Schönberg), modernism (Charles Ives), post-modernism (John Cage), and minimalism (Philip Glass), and none of those styles were conducive to congregational worship.  Popular mass market music had two main branches, the rock school that was transitioning from rock and roll to hard rock (not yet thought to be an "appropriate" match for church), and the folk song school (think Joni Mitchell, not simple songs sung by country folks) that was highly popular with the growing hippie movement and various supporters of social justice issues and causes.  In 1970, a group of well-intended but misguided monastics we now refer to as the "St. Louis Jesuits" latched on to folk music and guitars and began writing all kinds of folk music to use during Mass that would be "relevant" and "young."  By the time we were in to the 1980s, aging priests and bishops across the country embraced this style of church folk music in their effort to be "cool" and to connect with teenagers and young adults, who were becoming increasingly lax in their weekly Mass attendance.  As a young child in the 1970s, my peers and I were often confronted by some of these "hip" geriatric ministers who wanted us to play guitars, clap our hands, sing folk songs, and sway with the music.  Our basic reaction was, "What is this crap?" and just as soon as the hip old man left, we would laugh and giggle amongst ourselves and wonder what was wrong with him.

The evils of bad contemporary Catholic music began to spread, not only throughout the Roman church in America, but it began to pollute the Episcopal/Anglican churches, as well, and then most of the other Protestant denominations began incorporating various types of modern popular music into their worship services.  It grew and built upon itself.  Now, once again, let me emphasize that there are times and places for all kinds of music.  Folk, rock, and even heavy metal religious music is great if it brings people closer to their religion, but should that music be listened to on the radio or in a liturgical context?  What would Jesus do?  Would He play His electric guitar and drums in the temple?

Today, cooler minds are starting to question the wisdom of that unfortunate style of liturgical music.  There is even an international group that's been around since the early part of the century called the "Society for a Moratorium on the Music of Marty Haugen and David Haas" (Haugen and Haas being two of the predominant composers of late 20th and early 21st century contemporary liturgical music).  Interestingly, while Haas is Catholic, Haugen is actually a Lutheran who converted to the UCC.  The problem, though, is that GIA Publications, the major publisher of American Catholic hymnals, has heavily marketed Haugen's and Haas' hymns and Mass settings, especially with its very contemporary Gather hymnal that is found in the pews of most Catholic churches these days, and Gather is packed with stuff from Haugen, Haas, and similar composers in the St. Louis Jesuits camp.  The same thing is happening with GIA's newer, more modern, hymn compilations, and we see these composers serving on the editorial boards of the hymnals and pushing their own and their friends' bad hymns into publication.  It proliferates itself.

So, what's so bad about this music?  Well, it's banal and insipid.  They are "performance songs" for a soloist or small ensemble doing entertainment, not something for corporate worship.  There are trite little melodies than can be surprisingly difficult for a congregation (or even a cantor!) to sing.  The mood is cutesy rather than religious, meditative, or inspiring.  Accompaniments often bear little resemblance to the melody line and fail to support amateur singers.  Since the verses usually don't contain standardized meter, the hymnals become a befuddling maze of alternate melody lines for different verses printed in the same staff. The tunes are not singable by most congregations because the musical range is both too high and too low and because the rhythms and intervals are rather complex.  The lyrics are liturgically or theologically questionable and often stupid or meaningless.  The songs also discourage congregations from getting fully involved in singing and musical praise because of their need for heavy reliance on responsorial singing—songs where a cantor or song leader has to sing the verses, and then the congregation gets to join in on some trite antiphon or simple chorus (it's hard enough as it is to get Catholics to sing without routinely relegating them to the role of musical spectator).  This music lends itself to being sung poorly.

For several years, I was the professional cantor at a large Catholic church, and I was always distressed at the funerals I sang because, if I hadn't gotten to the grieving family first before the priests started talking about the liturgy and music, every single funeral included the Schubert Ave Maria and the 1979 contemporary hymn by Father Michael Joncas (another GIA composer) "On Eagle's Wings."  Even when I did get to talk to the families first, they often requested "On Eagle's Wings" because that's what they always heard at other funerals and therefore thought that they "should" use it, too.  I grew to detest the song.  Now, lots of people are going to object and say, "I love that song!" but my question to them always is, "Can you sing it?"  And, by sing it, I mean sing the verses, not just the pretty chorus.  Most people can't sing it.  Most Catholic choirs can't sing it.  The range is too wide.  The notes and intervals are unpredicatable and unexpected.  As a matter of fact, I have never heard a cantor at a Catholic funeral sing the song and get the first note of the verses correct.  Even when I sing the verses, I have to really think and concentrate to get that note, because the accompaniment would lead one to believe another note would be correct.  These are the common problems with what I call "bad contemporary Catholic music."

What's really sad is that we now have a complete generation of Christians who, in many parishes Catholic and Protestant, have never heard anything but bad contemporary Catholic music in their liturgies and worship experiences.

Now, I'm not one of those people who thinks that the only music appropriate to Mass is Palestrina and Gregorian chant (or on the Episcopalian side, Thomas Tallis and Healey Willan).  We have over a millennium of usable sacred musical compositions from which to choose, and even if we stick to just English language music, we can (and many Catholic parishes do) draw on the Anglican sacred repertory that has been in English since 1549.  Since the Oxford Movement of the mid-19th century, music from High Church Anglican composers is eminently usable in Catholic worship.  I am particularly a fan of sacred music from the early 20th century (Stanford, Parry, Elgar, Vaughn-Williams, etc.).  There is even much 21st century music being composed for the church by people like John Tavener, John Rutter, and Richard Proulx that does not fall into the category of "bad contemporary Catholic music" (although I must admit that Tavener is Orthodox, Rutter is a "spiritual" atheist, and Proulx was a Catholic whose works like his A Community Mass have been vastly over-performed).  Worship and worship music does not have to be archaic or stodgy!  We can use good literature and still be relevant and contemporary.

So, I've rambled on long enough.  This post started out as a short little piece to disseminate the Wiccan quote, not to pontificate about Plato or church music in general.  I hope it answers some questions, though (for some of my liberal friends who are fans of bad contemporary Catholic music and dislike my more conservative tastes), and it sets forth my thoughts for standards for modern liturgical music.

Music is a powerful tool. It creates moods, feelings, and emotions.  Music can change opinions.  It inspires and motivates.  The wrong music, though, or music poorly done, is a terrible impediment to communication, whether that communication be for secular entertainment or sacred worship.

Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed nomine Tuo da gloriam.

Easter Day

Now that it's Low Sunday, I'm finally getting around to writing about Easter last weekend.  Our little group of Mass-hoppers decided to get up really, really early on Easter so we could go to the noon Mass at the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception.  Located on the campus of the Catholic University of America, the basilica is an enormous barn of a place in the Byzantine-Romanesque style, and it's said to be the largest Catholic church (non-cathedral) in North America.

Now, unlike the Episcopalian's National Cathedral, where (free) tickets are required to get in for the Easter morning Masses, the basilica has no such crowd control policy.  As a result, the place ended up being packed to the rafters, with standers packed into the narthex, the side chapels, the side aisles, and even some of the mid-side aisles of the nave and transcepts.  I gather the Catholics have never heard of the fire marshal.

Main altar at the basilica.
 

We wanted to make sure we had a seat, so we got there about the time we expected the ten o'clock Mass to be over.  It being Easter, though, that Mass was still doing communion, so we had to wait in the extra crowds of people, between those standing from the ten o'clock and those coming early for the noon.  Catholics have a bad habit of starting to leave the church just as soon as the recessional hymn starts, so as they vacated their pews, pew-watching vultures started slipping into the empty spots.  We at least waited until the hymn was over before we started moving into the nave.  It was a little frustrating, though, because no sooner did we get to some good areas, then the ushers started roping off big tracts of prime seating space.  As it turned out, they were reserving seats for a bunch of nuns.  I always hate going to Mass when there are a bunch of nuns there.  They always drink up all the communion wine, and leave nothing for the rest of the parish to drink.  That wasn't an issue on Easter, though, since the priests opted to administer only bread and no wine to the general congregation. Anyway, we finally found an okay place to sit in the north transcept right on an aisle, which had a great view until the latecomers started filling in and standing right by us.

For the prelude, the organist played Bach's Prelude and Fugue in C Major,  BWV 545.  Unfortunately, it finished about four minutes before noon, and we were left with musical silence while we waited for Mass to start.

About three minutes after noon, a brass and timpani ensemble placed with the choir in the apse back behind the altar announced the service with a fanfare that then segued into the processional hymn, Easter Hymn (Jesus Christ is risen today).  As His Excellency the Archbishop of Washington was the principal celebrant for this Mass, there was a huge troop of clergy in the procession.  The brass ensemble played an interlude between the third and fourth verses of the hymn, and then after all the verses were sung, the organist improvised a while so the Archbishop could finish incensing the altar and the enormous Pascal Candle down by the pulpit.

Then we got to the part of high holy days at the basilica that always makes me gag,  They always do a big Mass with the archbishop that is broadcast live on EWTV (Mother Angelica's network) and the Sirius Radio Catholic channel for these special days, so the rector of the basilica always makes a fulsome statement of welcome to the archbishop and the archbishop makes an equally fulsome response to Monsignor Rector.  They repeat the routine at the end of Mass, thanking one another for coming.  It's all particularly nauseating because the good monsignor and good bishop are two of the smarmiest and most unctious people I know.  I suppose people like that bring in the contributions, though, so they have their place.

For the Easter Mass setting, the choir sang a Gloria by Peter Matthews.  The Gospel Alleluia was an adaptation of the old traditional Easter hymn Christus Vincit.  They used Proulx's Mass for the City for the Sanctus and Benedictus, memorial acclamation, and great Amen. The Lord's Prayer was sung by the congregation in the traditional chant.  For the Agnus Dei, the choir sang it from the Missa Prima Sexti Toni by Giovanni Croce.  I found it interesting that a female cantor started the Mass, but when it was time for the Sanctus, they switched to a male cantor for the rest of the service.

The choir sang Mogens Pederson's setting of Victimae paschali laudes for a sequence anthem.  It was a little muddy.  Of course, they have the unfortunate habit at the basilica of miking their choir, so we never really know what the true sound and resonance of the singing is.  For the offertory, the choir sang "Sing ye to the Lord" by Edward Bairstow that sounded pretty good, at least when I could hear the singers over the brass ensemble (the disadvantage of miking the choir is that those microphones also pick up the adjacent brass instruments). For the communion anthem, they sang "Let all the world in every corner sing" from Five Mystical Songs by Ralph Vaughn-Williams.  I think the sopranos were getting a little tired by that point, but it was pleasant.

The rest of the hymns for the congregation were O Filii et Filiae (O sons and daughters let us sing) for the communion procession and for the recessional they sang Ellacombe (The day of resurrection! Earth, tell it out abroad).  Even though they didn't need the extra time, the brass ensemble played an interlude between the second and third verses.

Finally, for the postlude, the organist played a rousing version of the Widor Toccata.  I was particularly interested to hear what was going to be played, because the service leaflet said it would be the Widor.  They had used the same leaflet at the ten o'clock Mass, though, and I distinctly heard the organist playing the Final from Symphonie No. 1 by Louis Vierne for the postlude at that Mass (remember back when we were scrounging around for a place to sit?).

After Mass, we saw former speaker of the house Newt Gingrich in the congregation, and then when we got outside, we were excited to see a special guest, the Easter Bunny!

I suppose I should say something about the great elephant in the room.

The press has been haranguing the Vatican so much this month about the latest chapter in the Catholic clergy child sexual abuse debacle and what the pope and the various prominent bishops around the world were saying, that I decided I would actually pay attention to the archbishop's sermon. For most of his talk, he did all the standard Easter Day banalities and didn't really add anything new to the argument.  I did like his comment, though, that people today are so self-absorbed that were the crucifixion to have happened today, most people would be so busy talking on their cell phones that they would walk right by the tomb and never notice it.

Towards the end of the sermon, the archbishop spent about five minutes talking about what a great job the pope was doing and what a hard job he had and how we should all pray especially for the pope.  Then he made a short, one-sentence statement that we should also pray for the victims of sexual abuse and abuse of people at the hands of the clergy.  Then he spoke for a while about how this is the international year of the priest, and we should pray for all priests, etc., etc.

Given the fact that the archbishop does not yet have his red hat, I think he made a predictable and politically safe statement that echoed the Vatican's party line while adding the realistic statement (however brief) that we should pray for the victims, since that's what the people in the pews wanted to hear, not to mention all the viewers and listeners from the live broadcast of the Mass.  So, we're obviously not going to resolve this crisis out of Washington;  I guess we have to start looking to the Vatican again to realize that the People want action, not constant attempts to spin the crisis to shift the blame away from the church leadership that very clearly dropped the ball and is still dropping it.  I really do need to write an editorial blog post on this topic.  Maybe when I get back to D.C., we'll see.

As with the Easter Vigil post (I wrote these on the bus to New York), when I get back home, I'll try to remember to edit and add some photos.

EDIT:  We now have pictures!

Easter Vigil

For the Easter Vigil, we decided to go to the National Cathedral (it's Episcopal, and we were planning to do the Basilica, a Roman Catholic place, on Easter morning).  Since I missed Mass on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, I do believe that enduring the "service" at the cathedral was my pennace for being bad.  Once things finally got going, the actual Mass itself wasn't bad (it was fairly traditional Rite 2, at least as traditional as the cathedral ever gets these days), but all the lesson reading and baptisms and stuff for the first 1.5 hours was ultra-modern and absolutely dreadful.  I guess I should have expected that when I discovered that the priestess who's the canon liturgist at the cathedral was going to be the principal celebrant.  She's the queen of experimental liturgies and inclusive language.  Fortunately, the dean and several other priests were concelebrants, so there were some men to validly consecrate the Elements and we were able to take communion.

This is the "main" porta-altar in the crossing.
In back is Canterbury Pulpit, where Martin Luther King gave his last sermon.

As we entered, the cathedral lights were all quite dim.  Once the service began, they lit the new fire in a brazier all the way back at the west end of the nave; we were sitting up front in the nave, by the second archway west of the crossing, so the fire was way too far away for us to be able to see it.  (For those who have never been in the National Cathedral, the nave, or the area where the congregation sits, is incredibly long—in fact, it is said that one could lay the Washington Monument on its side and it would fit down the center aisle of the nave.)  As the Pascal Candle was processed to the crossing, members of the congregation were able to light their own little individual candles from that flame and pass it on to those around them.  The celebrant and two assisting priests wore a chasuble, dalmantic, and tunicle in procession; I was a little disappointed (but not surprised) to notice that the dean of the cathedral did not wear a cope, but merely his usual alb and stole (with the stole worn down bishop-style instead of crossed at the chest). The choirmaster chanted the Exsultet from the lectern to hundreds of flickering candles.  So far, so good.

Then, however, they started the traditional Vigil series of Bible readings, music, and collects (about an hour's worth).  The first thing I noticed was that the translation of the Bible was totally unlike anything I had ever heard before. I don't believe the version was canonically authorized. Then, they did really trashy, bad, contemporary, Catholic music with electronic keyboard accompaniment!  This, in a church with a magnificent, enormous, internationally-famous pipe organ!  First was "Let us sing to the Lord!", one of those insipid Jacques Berthier/Taizé things that really turned out to be quite a mish-mash.  They also did "Surely, it is God who saves me" by Jack White (the electronic keyboard was so loud, it was hard to hear the cantor), and "Deep within" by (:::gasp!:::) David Haas, which was done in a very "Broadway" style.  In between these awful things, the choir did Anglican chants by the cathedral's choirmaster of Psalm 105 and 42 that were quite tolerable, but they continued to use the electronic keyboard, plus a solo clarinetist.

Finally, after an hour of torture, we got to the homily.  The preacher was okay, but he spoke for eleven minutes, and in my book, that qualifies as a full-blown sermon, not a homily!

Next came the baptisms.  They did three babies and two adults.  In Episcopal baptisms, just a little water is poured thrice on the forehead—there's no dunking in a big aquarium up front—but I felt sorry for the adult woman who was baptized, and who had her coiffure totally drenched!  As the candidates and godparents made their way to the font in the center of the nave, the choir had chanted a very nice a capella setting of Vidi aquam set by the choirmaster.  We also heard the first of the noticable inclusive language adaptations in the Dominus vobiscum, where, instead of saying "It is right to give Him thanks and praise," the printed program directed people to say "give our thanks."

Once the baptisms were concluded, we had the Proclamation of Easter, and, finally, at last, they turned on the lights and we got a nice organ fanfare from the trompette en chamade over the high altar.  A bunch of liberals in the congregation had brought cowbells to Mass and began to ring them, including some man wearing an all-white clergy shirt and collar with a particularly large and obnoxious bell.  I was thinking some very un-Christian thoughts about what I wanted to do with his bell!  Meanwhile, instead of singing the first Gloria in excelsis of Easter (the canon liturgist seems to have something against the Gloria, since she always substitutes some other little ditty at the regular Sunday services), the congregation and choirs sang Easter Hymn (Jesus Christ is risen today), while the clergy sprinkled/showered the congregation with branches of evergreen instead of aspergilla.

During the offertory, the choir and organ did a very fine performance of "Light's glittering morn" by Horatio Parker, followed by the congregation singing Victory (The strife is o'er, the battle done) as a presentation hymn.

They used the Proulx A Community Mass setting for the Sanctus and Benedictus.  Nothing else was sung, except for a dreadful chorus of "Taste and see" by James Moore (from GIA) as a fraction anthem, followed by a reprise of that nasty song as the first communion hymn.  Several traditional lines in the prayers of consecration were converted to inclusive language, and we all noticed that the priestess did not do any of the genuflections before or after the elevation of the bread and wine.

The choir sang a lovely "Ye choirs of new Jerusalem" by Charles VIlliers Stanford as the communion anthem.  The choir always does such a nice job with traditional Anglican choral literature that it's a shame the clergy makes them do so much bad contemporary Catholic music.

Unser Herrscher (He is risen! He is risen!) served as the recessional hymn.  The crucifer and torchbearers, who used to always be so well trained at the cathedral, didn't have the old-time precision of movement, and they positively raced down the aisle (like the Romans are wont to do).

The service ended two and a quarter hours after it started.  Not bad.  I've been to Vigils that lasted a lot longer.

The cathedral organist played a postlude I didn't know, the Final from Sixième Symphonie, Op. 59, by Louis Vierne, a nice, massive, and festive piece.

Afterwards, we wandered around and took pictures like a bunch of tourists.  When I get back to D.C., if I remember, I'll edit this post and try to add a couple of pictures.

And thus was our Easter Vigil experience.

EDIT:  We now have pictures!

Morgan standing in front of the High Altar after Mass.

Holy Week

It's Holy Week.  So far, I'm 0 for 2 on Triduum services.  Our plans for Maundy Thursday got way-laid by unexpected Kennedy Center tickets, and tonight everyone backed out on me for the late Good Friday service; I didn't want to go all the way into town alone, so I just stayed home. At least I wore a black sweater today.  Wish I liked and tolerated the churches in my neighborhood better.....it would make it easier to avoid the excuse of not going to Mass because I don't want to go all the way downtown by myself. I also need to find more friends who aren't singing in church choirs who actually want to go to Mass without me having to talk/guilt them into it.

No one wanted to get out of bed early for Palm Sunday, so I acquiesced to going to the 5:30 Mass with them.  Still, I got stood up by two of the guys with new excuses that afternoon why they couldn't come to that Mass!  Anyway, Morgan and I managed to make it down to St. Matthew's on time and got a decent seat.  While we were waiting for Mass to begin, we saw our friend Peter come in and go sit in one of the side chapels (this was unexpected, since he's usually at the church way out northwest where he's on parish council).  Other than that, I didn't see anyone in the congregation I knew.

It wasn't as bad a service as I had feared.  Usually I avoid this Mass, since they usually do nasty Catholic contemporary music, but, I guess Holy Week is sufficiently solemn that they did more traditional things that night.

Whilst the praise choir sang "Hosanna to the Son of David" to a Richard Proulx (R.I.P. February 18, BTW) setting of chant, mode VII, the clergy and eucharistic ministers processed from the sacristy to a table in the back of the narthex for the blessing of the palms.  The priests each carried arm bouquets of palm branches, miniature red carnations, and white baby's breath, and the crucifix was similarly adorned with palms and flowers and red ribbons.  I shouldn't have worn glasses to this Mass.  The priest came by and sprinkled holy water all over my lenses.

The processional hymn was the traditional St. Theodulph (All glory, laud, and honor), yet, it felt rather weird singing the modern English you's instead of the original thee's and thou's, and the amplified piano accompaniment was anemic compared the the glorious majesty of the full pipe organ they could have used.  They only sang three verses, too.

For the responsorial psalm antiphon and the gospel acclamation, they did dismal little ditties by a composer identified as "Muller." The rest of the service music included eucharistic acclamations from David Hass' Mass of Light and the breaking of the bread from the Celtic Mass of Finian O'Carroll.

This is the Sunday when the Passion Gospel is read and acted out.  Instead of using a full cast, they had a deacon (a young priest, actually) and two layreaders alternate reading pages.  Then, towards the end, they had the congregation sing "passion acclamations," the first of which was the chorus from that dreadful Lucien Deiss hymn, "Keep in Mind," and the second of which was a Taize dirge. The sung acclamations just didn't work, in my mind.

For the offertory, the praise choir sang "Behold the Savior," and during communion, they did the hymn "All you who pass this way" and a rather jazzy arrangement of the old spiritual, "Were you there."

The closing hymn was "O sacred head surrounded," partially done a capella.  There was no postlude (no organ, alas).

The priest's homily seemed to express his thoughts about recent political current events with the Israeli prime minister and the White House, and he bewailed the U.S.-Israel relationship being at its lowest ebb ever.  I suppose that has some relationship to the theme of Christ's triumphant entry into Jerusalem, but I was really expecting more of an apologetic over the latest sex abuse scandal and the Vatican's defense of the Pope's reputation, if we were going to do current events.

I've always found this particular Sunday to be a bit confusing.  Of course, we get two Gospel readings, but still, the order of things just doesn't seem right.  The palm Gospel always talks about the entry into Jerusalem, which seems chronologically correct.  But then, we get that long Passion Gospel, and yet, we have to talk about those things all over again on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday.  So, we leave church on Palm Sunday having crucified and killed off Jesus, but when we get to Maundy Thursday (Holy Thursday, for you Romans), suddenly Christ is risen, and he's been reincarnated so he can do the Seder meal with his disciples all over again.  Then we kill him again on Friday.

Eh.  I'll try to make it to an Easter Vigil tomorrow night.