Liturgical Disconnect

Today, it hit me (again): Do we nurture, in the United States, a distinct Catholic culture and identity, apart from the ubiquitousness of corny English hymns? (Of course, I speak with the implicit recognition that Christ in the Eucharist is the singular source of unity of the liturgy. I am not speaking in terms of the Sacrament, but rather the aesthetic.) In fact, with regard to sacred music, the saccharine hymns of the past thirty years or so seem to be one of the stand-out, unifying marks of the Catholic Church in America.

I attended Mass at the Cathedral-Basilica of Saint Louis today. The building's design is inspired by Saint Mark's in Venice and, going back even further in Church history, Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, formerly Constantinople. In other words, it is simply breathtaking, in all of its byzantine splendor. I say regularly that it is easily one of the most beautiful churches in the nation, perhaps even in the Americas. Gold, mosaics, marble and candles are everywhere. Upon entering, the church's setting instantly captures you and elevates the mind and soul to things above. Adding an even richer touch to the already impressive mise en scène of the Cathedral today was the presence of Archbishop Robert Carlson, who celebrated the Mass. In short, all of the stars were aligned for a memorable encounter with beauty. The choice of hymns, however raised some questions. The choir of the Cathedral is excellent, at the technical level, served by dedicated, decent and hard-working people. But what is conspicuously lacking is an appreciation for Latin and the theology of sacred music, and their place in liturgy. Today, for instance, hymn after hymn came from the schmaltzy pen of Marty Haugen. "Taste and See" was (shudder!) the Communion song. How utterly predictable and in line with the mediocrity of the past thirty years! Two tectonic plates, one representing the Cathedral's beauty and the other, the mawkish tone of the hymn, clashed violently inside my mind as the song expanded to fill every crevice of the mighty church. "America the Beautiful" was the recessional "hymn"; a lovely song, I'll be the first to argue, but it is in no way a sacred hymn, and therefore it really has no place in the liturgy, even if it is inserted as the recessional hymn on Thanksgiving day. Save it for the parades and rallies. One would hope that, in light of the majesty of the Venetian-styled Cathedral, the presence of the Archbishop, and, of course, the sacrifice of the Mass, a more solemn selection of hymns would have been offered, but it was not to be. Latin hymns are woefully sparse at the Cathedral-Basilica, an oddity that is nothing short of astonishing. On those very rare occasions that the choir churns out a Gloria, a Sanctus and an Agnus Dei, they are done beautifully, which makes its eschewing of the language and hymns all the more curious. Taken together, this evinces disturbing lack of understanding of the role and place of sacred music in liturgy. It's fine to have the technical skills to carry a tune, but grasping the theology behind sacred music's genius is yet another skill that requires training and study.

Looking back on my years in Rome, I will never forget the experience of attending a Papal Mass in Saint Peter's. The choir would always chant the Gloria, Credo, Santus, and Agnus Dei in LATIN. (Most of the liturgy was, in fact, offered in Latin.) Words cannot do justice to hearing "Gloria in excelsis Deo, et in terra pax hominibus..." echo through the cavernous basilica, in the presence of the Pope. Immersed in such beauty (the Baroque basilica, the Latin hymns, and in the presence of the successor to Saint Peter) the mind, soul and heart are caught up and carried to the very heights of heaven. And isn't that just what they're supposed to do? All the manifestations of beauty present are coherent, unified. And, as far as human efforts go, they serve as a fitting tribute to God among us in the Eucharist. Time and again, year after year, under the roof of that basilica, I stood with thousands of faithful from around the globe. We came from different countries, spoke different languages, adhered to different cultures and traditions, but with those ancient hymns, around that pope, we were all one: one God, one faith, one language. It would be difficult to find a more convincing location to experience and understand what the universality of the Church really means. Stepping outside the basilica, pilgrims fall back into their native tongues, but inside, if only for the duration of the Mass, e pluribus unum, one.

The cringe-worthy music that so dominates the liturgical life in the United States (the same music I grew up with in Milwaukee) is truly a thing to lament and seek to overturn. That it carries the day in modernist, gymnasium-esque church buildings is not surprising, but when it seeps into such sanctums as the resplendent Cathedral-Basilica of Saint Louis, more forceful objections ought to be raised, in defense of beauty, first and foremost, but also in defense of good taste.

Schmaltzy Marty Haugen Hymn + Byzantine-Inspired Cathedral-Basilica = Painful Disconnect. The two don't jibe.