Gail Luley sent me the following link to a post on the "On Being Blog", called "Sacred Choral Music in Worship Has a Power All Its Own." One of the reasons she thought it might interest me is because it was written by Michael McGlynn, who wrote one of the pieces we performed on the Christmas concert, "The Wild Song."
I had never heard of Michael McGlynn before last summer, when a trio of my mother's piano students performed a three-part arrangement of the piece. (Singing, that is, not playing the piano.) I was struck by the music and asked who wrote it, and went Googling. I discovered that McGlynn is the founder and still the director of Anúna, "Ireland's National Choir." It is a group in which "the worlds of choral, classical and traditional music intersect with ease, a place where heaven meets the horizon in perfect coalescence," at least according to one reviewer. Anúna came to prominance as part of the first Riverdance tour.
McGlynn's essay is quite interesting. He is, if I read him correctly, contrasting the rich history of the sacred choral tradition with the post-Vatican II use of music in worship, and finding the latter wanting.
The use of music in worship is an age-old argument. The real question is, what is its purpose? McGlynn comments that he began to understand the residual fondness for the old Latin mass, in which "Music wasn’t simply a chance for the congregation to sing together, rather it was a series of sonic sign-posts angled towards illumination of the underlying spiritual truth of the service." The question for me is, does it continue to function as such?
I started to write that "I am perhaps the wrong person to ask," but as I pondered it I realized that perhaps I am the right person to ask, because I'm one of the few people I know that has a deep and abiding love for the long tradition of sacred choral music, and yet attends a church with a "worship team." In fact, I not only attend such a church, I am on the worship team. This is an unpaid position, so it isn't a question of working for the highest bidder. I am there by choice. There are a lot of reasons for this, and none of them are musical. I really enjoy being on the worship team, partly because it is a stretch for me.
When I was invited to join the team, I quickly discovered that what I had to work with was the words. Not a tune, not a set of chords, just the words. Although we repeat songs a lot, the worship leader brings in new songs on a regular basis, which have to be assimilated in about 10 minutes of the short rehearsal. During that time I have to learn the tune, rhythm, and chords, work out a piano part that fits with the other instruments, and work out a harmony that fits with the other singers. Then we go through the other 4 or 5 songs, some of which may also be new or relatively new, and any or all of which may be in a different key than the last time we sang them. Guitarists aren't bothered by suddenly having to play in F# major—they just put on a kapo. F# major is a bit more awkward for a pianist. All in all, it's quite a different way of relating to music than the one I spent a lifetime developing, and as I said, it has stretched me as a musician.
But ultimately the purpose of the music in a service, whether performed by a men and boys choir, a mixed choir, a soloist, a worship team, or a Salvation Army band, is to bring the congregation into a state of worship. And the problem is that this is partly a matter of mental discipline and partly a matter of, if you will, education. On one end of the spectrum you have people like me, who know and love Tallis and Byrd and can sing along with the responses or the service music if it is provided. The "discipline" part of it for me is that I have great difficulty shutting out the mental music critic who would like to keep up a running commentary on the sound of the choir, the skill of the organist, and the quality of the hymns, anthems, and so on that were chosen. And of course I now have the same problem with "contemporary" worship music. Are the instruments in tune? Is the pianist coordinating what s/he plays with the guitar rhythms? Are the songs chosen without an ear to musical values? So you see that increasing knowledge has in my case merely added to the possible occasions for snobbery.
On the other hand, you have people who feel comfortable with contemporary worship music but are unfamiliar with and consequently unmoved by (or even positively repelled by) Renaissance polyphony. They can neither participate in nor enjoy the latter. But even if they 'enjoy' it, is that the point? I find myself in the rather difficult spot of defending the spirit of the changes resulting from Vatican II, even while I regret the result. But I believe that the real truth is that it doesn't matter what sort of music is being used for worship in a church service, at least assuming that it is actually in line theologically. What matters is the heart and intentions with which the worshippers receive it. But there is no point in making things more difficult for said worshippers than necessary. That statement doesn't defend a particular music style, although it might suggest the possibility of a combination of styles. It does suggest that one should know one's congregation.
And then there is the difficult question of whether the choir should be singing things that are rightly part of the congregational participation. (This is only an issue in liturgical churches, naturally.) So the question becomes even more complicated. Since I can't speak for anyone else, I'll make it personal. Am I more likely to enter into a 'worship' experience by hearing an exquisite setting of, say, the Magnificat, or the Gloria, beautifully performed by an excellent choir, or by saying it along with the rest of the congregation? I'm certainly more likely to be thrilled and moved by the former, but is being "thrilled and moved" synonymous with worshipping? Not necessarily, I fear. On the other hand, if I've been saying the Magnificat or the Gloria week after week, do I even notice what the words mean anymore?
But if one opts for the worship team experience, you find the same difficulties. If it is a good band, doing good songs well, it can become more like a concert. And nowadays, at these new-fangled rock concerts, the audience sings along. If I'm really into it and enjoying the music, am I worshipping, or merely having a great experience? Once again it is a matter of discipline and intention—something that I, and I suspect a few other people, struggle with.
And then there is the matter of execution, for either end of the spectrum. McGlynn commented as follows: "Exposure to more recent music written for the Church today plainly showed that composers were acutely aware of their musical ancestry and quite capable of working within the practical constraints of service structures and the capabilities of the performing groups that they composed for. Indeed, the love of singing contemporary music among the better choral groups was a great pleasure to behold, even if much of the music demanded skills that were just on the edge of what the singers were capable of."
McGlynn is clearly a better person than I am, and I say this without irony. Because my inner music critic never shuts up. I do love to see people singing and enjoying choral music, and I wish that everyone would sing. But I would much rather hear people sing music that they can do well, however simple it may be. I find it hard to listen to a group performing music that demands "skills that were just on the edge of what the singers were capable of." I heartily endorse groups stretching themselves with music that is out of their comfort zone—it's just that I don't really want to hear them doing it.
But I don't let myself off, either. Nothing distresses me more than feeling that I have chosen a piece, or a concert, of music that the singers of the Camerata can't do proper justice to. Part of the difficulty is deciding who is to blame—me, for my misjudgment or my inability to properly teach and/or lead the music, or the singers, for not putting in the extra time to master the difficult bits. But honestly, in the end it is my fault, because I have the charge (or I have charged myself) with coming up with programs that are properly tailored to the group as it currently exists.
At the moment I'm embarked upon a project of attempting to prove that although Mike Tomlin's "The Standard is the Standard" mantra for the Steelers is praiseworthy, there comes a tipping point of injuries and lack of depth that means that the standard cannot be achieved. (The results will appear on Behind the Steel Curtain, probably later this week.) But, ironically, I don't like to make excuses for my group. I feel his pain.
But this has, as usual, wandered off from my original point, which is the purpose of music in worship. It is, however, part of larger question, because the aims of the Camerata are quite different from those of a group producing music for a worship service, although there may be incidental similarities. To my mind, the Camerata is charged with a number of things—performing excellent music, performing it excellently, and in the execution of it touching the auditors in some way. Whether the hearers be moved, entertained, or what have you, I feel that we have failed in part if the audience admires but does not engage.
I do believe that it behooves those who serve in the music ministry, in whatever capacity, to give their best. But the purpose is not to entertain or even to move the auditors—it is to assist them to worship. And to that end it is more than possible that the finest music, performed extremely well, will turn out even to be counterproductive. But it is hard to imagine that either good or bad music, performed badly, will have any happier an outcome.
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