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Official Documents

32nd Annual Liturgy Conference
Music in Catholic Worship
June 14-16, 2004 at the University of Notre Dame

Trent to Vatican II:
From Unacknowledged Agenda to Musical Liturgy

Edward Foley, Capuchin
June 15, 2004

Presuppositional Introduction

From the outset, I would like to make it clear that I am not disinterested in this topic. Now, that may seem like an odd assertion at the beginning of such a presentation, for one would presume that all of the invited speakers to this conference are interested in their topics, and one might further presume that the participants expect us to be: for if we are not invested in the material, why should you be? Yet, this disavowal of disinterest is not to question the engagement of my colleagues nor of you the participants, but rather to make both a hermeneutical and ultimately a pastoral point about the purpose of this presentation.

The title of this presentation — Trent to Vatican II: From Unacknowledged Agenda to Musical liturgy — could give the impression that what we are primarily about here is history. As such, telling the history seems like a deceptively easy task. Simply report what happened musically within the Roman Catholic Church from the onset of the Council of Trent in 1545 until the beginning of the Vatican II in 1962. Some of the sources may be obscure, and some aspects of this history devoid of documentation, but my assignment is to do my best to reconstruct objectively what happened in our liturgical past. That certainly was the way that many of us who studied liturgical history were trained in programs such as Notre Dame’s which was founded on the historical method. We were expected to carry on the traditions of Louis Duchesne (d. 1922), Dom Gregory Dix (d. 1952), Mario Righetti and, of course, Josef Jungmann (1975).[1] What happened between the writing of these great monuments of Western Liturgical History and our reading of them, however, was a revolution in the philosophy of history and a rethinking of the historical task: something I never learned about in doctoral studies ... but only as a continuing student of the liturgy.

The revolution was in the field of hermeneutics or the philosophy of interpretation. Key here was the work of Hans-Georg Gadamer (2002) of the Frankfurt school, particularly his Truth and Method.[2] In the first part of his 20th century classic, Gadamer considers the issue of truth as it emerges from an experience of art. In the process of this discussion he provides a pointed critique of any who try to recover the meaning of a work of art as it was originally experienced. He believes this is recovering something which no longer exists, and doing so denies the influence of our present historical context upon our own understanding. The meaning, according to Gadamer, does not exist in the past but in the present appropriation of that past.

In a derivative but more accessible approach, Gary Macy begins his wonderful "short history of the theologies of the Lord's supper" entitled The Banquet's Wisdom[3] with an insightful chapter entitled "Whose History is it?" In it, he challenges the reader to reconsider the nature of history. He does so by inviting us to think back to last evening's news and asks,

"Was what you saw on television really 'the way it was'? Did your own day consist of the series of events described by Dan Rather? Probably not, and your own day was more 'the way it was' for you than the events presented on the news. Was the news you saw 'the way it was' for people in Siberia, or Sri Lanka, or Cape Town or Chulucanas, Peru? Almost certainly not; news from these places usually holds no interest for American audiences. No the news isn't literally 'the way it was' for everyone at once; no one expects it to be. The news is always someone's news — news in which a particular group of people is interested. Someone has to ask something about what's going on, and then someone else has to explain it."

Macy continues, "Now history is very much like the evening news. History is, oddly enough, not the past, but a particular present understanding of the past. History even changes. Different historians interpret the different writings and monuments surviving from the past in very different ways.... Just as there is no disinterested news, so there is no disinterested history."[4]

So to repeat, I am not disinterested in this topic and recognize that any retelling of history is an interpretive event, whether admitted or not. Furthermore, I admit that — in the language of Gadamer — I am only able to interpret out of my own horizon ... my own field of experience and understanding.

In a spirit of full disclosure, I further need to admit that the historical interpretation I present to you is conditioned by my own experience of liturgy in the contemporary church and, even more, by the interaction with my co-learners at Catholic Theological Union. In the crucible of seminar and practica, in the dialogue of teaching and learning, in the intimacy of advising and mentoring, in the privilege of prayer and song over the past twenty years, I have been shaped by a cohort of co-learners whose linguistic, cultural and pastoral diversity is so immense that it could never be catalogued but only privileged. I teach and learn with the global church, for which I am profoundly grateful.

A second presupposition that needs disclosure here is my commitment to the ongoing reform of the Roman Liturgy in the spirit of the Second Vatican Council. Consequently, this consideration of musical liturgy from Trent to Vatican II is undertaken in service of that purpose. In a collateral vein, I need to admit a nagging suspicion that some of the unacknowledged agenda which, from my perspective, marginalized most Roman Catholics in the post-Tridentine liturgy and contributed to the division between Rome and the other Christian Churches in the 16th century is reemerging in what I consider to be a second post-conciliar phase. Thus, this “past exploration” is clearly intended as a basis for offering a critical interpretation of present liturgical trends: a topic to which I will return.

Finally, a word about the power of music and musical ministries in the Church's liturgy. One of the reasons I believe the topic of this conference to be an admirable one is a conviction that few liturgical symbols and no other liturgical art have contributed to the vision of full, conscious and active participation since Vatican II as much as liturgical song. The increased singing of the liturgy — especially in the vernacular — contributed to the emergence of the reformed liturgy in the 20th century, energized the liturgy of Paul VI, and will sustain the reform and its participatory trajectory as much or more than any other ecclesial activity, Ironically, much if not most of the leadership of this sung worship since the council has been the work of amateurs in the true sense of the word, i.e., those who engage in such a pursuit motivated by a sheer joy and love of that activity. While I know that this is a gathering of many professionals, it is in tribute to the amateur — the volunteer liturgical musician — and in support of their continuing contribution to the reform of the Roman liturgy in the spirit of the Second Vatican Council that I offer these reflections.

A Turn to Musical Functions

While there are many possible avenues before us for contemplating the musical landscape between the councils, my interpretive interest suggests the profitability of pondering this topic from the viewpoint of the various functions of music in the liturgy and, in particular, in the eucharistic liturgy which will be the context for all that follows. Employing such a lens allows us to consider the historical landscape without resorting to a chronological retelling of that history. Furthermore, a functional approach empowers us to think about not only what the music sounded like during this expansive era but, more importantly, to contemplate what the music actually was or was not doing in the worship. This is a point that needs elucidation.

We turn to the British philosopher John Langshaw Austin (d. 1960), celebrated for his work of analyzing and clarifying the nature of ordinary language. Austin is particularly remembered for his theory concerning the performative function of language. As outlined in his How to Do Things with Words,[5] this theory emphasizes the instrumentality of language: language not only says something, it also frequently (always?) does something. Thus, for example, when the foreman of a jury stands up and says “We, the jury, find the defendant guilt as charged,” that performative utterance not only communicates a previously agreed upon decision but can be considered to be the actual act of convicting. Similarly, though US presidents are elected in November, it is the performative utterance of the oath of office which constitutionally makes them president.

Austin’s theory, adopted by others and developed further after his death, has had a profound effect on the study of ritual and that particular genre of ritual we call liturgy. As summarized by Catherine Bell, such linguistic performative theory has led many ritual theorists to hold that ritual communicates not by describing, expressing or convening ideas [6] but by actually doing something. Ritual, therefore, is not simply a bearer of information, but an event which produces something.[7] Consequently, followers of this approach believe that the performative lens gives them a special capacity for assessing what ritual in praxis actually does rather than what in theory it is suppose to do.[8]

This performative approach is resonant with Roman Catholic church teaching on worship and our worship music. Sacrosanctum Concilium implicitly acknowledges the performative turn when it speaks of the "ministerial function" of liturgical music (n. 112). The US bishops, as well, admit the contribution of a functional understanding of worship and its music in their 1972 document Music in Catholic Worship, when they wrote one of their most startling and truth-telling statements about worship. “Good celebrations foster and nourish faith. Poor celebrations weaken and destroy faith” (n. 6). Here the bishops make it exceedingly clear that liturgy does not simply communicate information about faith; it does something, actually fostering or hindering faith.

In attempting to understand what music genuinely achieves in our worship, I have suggested over the years various possible purposes that music fulfills in worship, for example, what I have termed the aesthetic function, diversionary function, enjoyment function, movement-enhancing function, revelatory function and so on.[9] In this consideration of how music functioned in the liturgical landscape between Trent and Vatican II, however, I would like to move beyond any previously explicated functions and employ two lenses new to me in this musical-performative exploration: the first ecclesiastical and the second contextual. We will take each one in turn, define the nature of each lens and then peer through them across the musical liturgical landscape between the councils. At the end of this viewing, I will attempt to summarize some of what we have seen, and suggest how our learnings might provide a useful optic for critiquing the present and envisioning the future of our liturgical music.

A final caveat before our interpretative dash through history: in the brief time before us it is impossible to offer a comprehensive picture of a musical-liturgical landscape stretching over four centuries. It does seem possible, however, to lift up some central musical-liturgical "flows" through this time frame. "Flow” is a term employed in sociology, anthropology and communication science to denote “a circulation of information that is patently visible yet hard to define.”[10] Robert Schreiter[11] adapts the term in order to speak about theological discourse. In a theological sense, Schreiter conceives flow as a representation of a series of linked, mutually intelligible discourses that address religious beliefs and practices. He suggests that, because of their commitment to specific cultural or social settings, theological flows are not necessarily uniform or systematic, though they are intelligible to discourses in other cultural and social settings.[12] In the same way, it seems appropriate and respectful to highlight central musical-liturgical flows through these decades, and to view them through our selected lenses. This will allow both breadth and specificity in our mapping of this terrain.

The Ecclesiological Lens

One important ecclesiological question put to the liturgy and its music concerns the “subject” of the liturgy; put more succinctly, who “does” the liturgy. As the liturgy is an event — a verb rather than a noun — it is appropriate and necessary to ask "who performs the action?" In the current order, it is clear that (at least dogmatically) the liturgy is "an action of Christ the Priest and of his Body, which is the Church” and that "full public worship is performed by the Mystical Body of Jesus Christ, that is, by the Head and his members" in the language of Sacrosanctum Concilium (n. 7).

While the decrees of the Council of Trent to do not provide any lengthy discourse on the topic, it is clear that in the 1570 Missal the Mass is celebrated or "offered" by priests.[13] While theologians like Aquinas, recognized that all priests acted "in the person of Christ" when celebrating Mass, it is also clear that according to Aquinas — who came into particular ecclesial ascendancy during the Council of Trent — it is the priest alone who "consecrates" on Christ's behalf: the power to do so being "bestowed upon the priest at his ordination." "Therefore," Aquinas concludes, " it must be said that it belongs to priests to accomplish this sacrament."[14] This is a very different ecclesiological perspective from that of the rite of Paul VI for, as noted in The General Instruction of the Roman Missal, which in its various rescensions from its post-conciliar inception until the present day, instructs that — in the language of the current General Instruction — the meaning of the eucharistic prayer "is that the entire congregation of the faithful should join itself with Christ in confessing the great deeds of God and in the offering of the Sacrifice" (n. 78) . Previous versions had no “should” and were less circumspect about the active role of the assembly.

The Tridentine presupposition that it is the priest alone in the person of Christ who offers the sacrifice became most explicit in the Mass texts promulgated in 1570. While there is much first person plural language in that rite,[15] such grammar represents more a rhetorical than a theological “we,” for such language never presumed that the assembly had an active role in "offering the Mass." Such is most clearly demonstrated in the opening prayer of the Tridentine offertory rite "Suscipe, sancte Pater, omnipotens aeterne Deus, hanc immaculatam hostiam, quam ego indignus famulus tuus offero tibi Deo meo, vivo et vero, pro innumerabilibus peccatis, et offensionibus et negligentiis meis ..."

To say that the Tridentine Rite defines the priest as the singular ecclesial subject is not to say that ordinary people may never have provided responses during the Tridentine rite, uttered the occasional "Et cum spiritu tuo" or proffered an "Amen." Such responses, however, did not symbolize a theological stance which posited the faithful as subjects[16] in the Mass, who were integral to the "offering of the sacrifice."

Musically the situation is a little more complex, but there are some clear flows we can identify in terms of the "subjects" or doers of the music at the Tridentine rite, to the extent there was music, and given it’s liminal role in the rite. Let me underscore that last phrase, "given it’s liminal role in the rite," for it encapsulates a key historical and theological reality. Throughout the Middle Ages there was increasing evidence and legislation requiring the priest to recite what we might anachronistically call “song texts.” In the Early Medieval period priests sometimes read such texts in the absence of a choir.[17] Eventually, however, rubrics appear which actually require the priest to recite the “ordinary”[18] and the proper of the Mass[19] even when a choir was present to sing them. Noteworthy here is the Dominican Ordinary of 1267 which directs that "When they have finished saying the Gloria, the priest and deacon remain there while the choir completes the singing of it."

In the Missal of 1570, the priest is clearly required to recite each individual text of the ordinary and the proper even if a schola or choir is present and sings these. Thus, while singing the various parts of the Mass is a beautiful addition to the liturgy and a clear increase in the solemnity, it was dogmatically and ecclesially both unnecessary and fundamentally non-essential. That is because, from the viewpoint of the validity and liceity of the eucharistic liturgy — and from the theological frameworks upon which the law was predicated — any choir, other musician or even the faithful themselves were unnecessary and non-essential.[20]

One need remember that the norm for eucharistic celebration, embedded in the rubrics of the Tridentine rite, was the missa lecta (or low Mass) rather than the missa cantata (or high Mass).[21] Furthermore, from the Missal of Pius V (1570) one could argue that the ordinary missa lecta was a private Mass celebrated by a priest and servers; quite different from the normative Ordo missae cum populo at the center of the Missal of Paul VI. Thus, for example, the rubrics for the "prayers at the foot of the altar" in the Tridentine rite direct that the "ministri respondent" to the priest, whereas in the Rite of Paul VI "populus respondet" to the priest during the opening rites of the Mass. More pointedly, where the current rite has the people responding “amen” to the sign of the cross, in the Tridentine rite, the In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti and Amen belong to the priest alone.

So, to the extent that there was any singing, and to the extent that people were involved, how much did they sing at a Tridentine eucharist? In a phrase, not much ... particularly and enduringly in Rome. While the Council of Trent sought to restrain composers and performers from indulging in the theatrics of the secular music of the day, it never challenged the domination of the musical landscape by what we would consider professional musicians. Trent did insist on the intelligibility of texts, but this referred only to the intelligibility of the Latin texts, which generally were not understood by the laity.[22] Some Catholic reformers went so far as to press for the abandonment of music altogether in church worship, including all polyphony. Instead, however, between 1563 and 1564 — the last years of Trent — various cardinals gathered in specially prepared venues to listen to newly composed Masses to determine if they could meet the standard of intelligibility. It is documented that in 1563 Palestrina performed one of his recently composed Mass for a handful of cardinals who gathered with Pope Pius IV.[23] The admiration for his work by this select audience catapulted this form of "classic polyphony" into a new primacy which, along with so-called Gregorian chant, is prized by magisterial teaching yet today.[24]

This is not to suggest, however, that especially outside of the Rome or the Vatican only chant or polyphony in the style of Palestrina was sung at Roman Catholic worship. Notable here are the German-speaking areas. The tradition for vernacular congregational singing has deep roots in present day Austria and Germany — reaching back over 1000 years.[25] Thus, for example, when the Austrian emperor in 1562 requested that the vernacular be allowed along with Latin in the eucharistic liturgy, he was in effect, defending long-standing liturgical tradition.[26] Although Trent did not support vernacular singing in Germany or anywhere else, the tradition nonetheless grew in Germany, and many other places.

Vernacular hymnals actually existed for Roman Catholics before the Council of Trent,[27] and after the Council their number increased. The Mainzer Cantual of 1605, for example, surprisingly parallels some of the thinking of Martin Luther, proposing the substitution of Germanic hymns for the proper of the Mass. Then the 18th century witnessed the emergence of the Singmesse in Germanic, Hungarian and Slavic lands. This was a pattern of setting of several congregational hymns sung during Mass more or less related to the ordinary and the proper of the Mass.[28] Vernacular singing also took root in the New World, and by 1787 US Catholics had their first collection of vernacular hymns.[29] The First National Synod in Baltimore even recommended that vernacular hymnody should be sung during Mass.[30]

Such developments — never officially sanctioned by Rome — were eventually met by a new reform in Roman Catholic church music. This Catholic "restoration" sought a return to Gregorian chant and polyphony in the style of Palestrina. One of the most celebrated proponents of this reform was the Society of St. Cecilia, whose work was sanctioned by Pius IX in 1870. This reform was not only effective in rejecting the elaborating effects of the Baroque and Romantic periods, it also provided something of a temporary check against vernacular music in Roman Catholic worship. Yet the influence of this reform was not to prevail.

Few magisterial statements prior to Vatican II were as important to liturgical music as Pius X's 1903 motu proprio on "The Restoration of Church Music" — whose anniversary this conference, in part, commemorates. In that document, the Pope encouraged the people's singing "so that the faithful may again take a more active part in the ecclesiastical offices, as they were wont to do in ancient times."[31] In the same document, however, the pope stresses that the language of the Roman liturgy is Latin, and it is "forbidden to sing anything whatever in the vernacular in solemn liturgical functions — much more to sing in the vernacular the variable or common parts of the Mass and Office."[32] The paradox of calling for the active participation of the people, but requiring that they do so by singing music that was written by and for specialists articulated what in hind sight could be considered a musical-liturgical oxymoron. Furthermore, it came to fuel what would become more than a half-century of heated debate about the song and speech of the assembly in vernacular styles and languages.[33]

Despite Pope Pius X's insistence — so resonant with that of his predecessors — it became clear through the twentieth century that this official stance of liturgical music only in Latin could not be maintained. It was almost as though the spirit of the virtually lost council of Pistoia (1786) — which condemned the use of Latin, affirmed the critical role of the local bishop and stressed his juridical independence from the Pope [34] — had reemerged with new ferocity. Seldom apologetic, but aware of this growing tide, the magisterium slowly began to acknowledge that Gregorian chant was not an effective vehicle for people’s song. Thus in Pius XII's 1955 encyclical, Musicae Sacrae Disciplina, the pope acknowledges the power of vernacular hymnody, though he considers such "religious" rather than "sacred" music. According to that encyclical, "religious music" is "not primarily a part of the sacred liturgy, but which by its power and purpose great aids religion."[35] Pius XII does recognize, however, the practice of popular vernacular hymnody in some locals,[36] though he does not "want these exceptions extended or propagated more widely."[37] Despite Pius' wishes, however, his vision was soon to disintegrate and the exceptions were to become the norm.

Reflecting back on this musical journey from an ecclesiological perspective one might conclude that, over four centuries, Roman Catholics — especially as they increasingly sang during the eucharistic liturgy, as they increasingly sang in the vernacular during the eucharistic liturgy, and particularly as, in Singmessen, they began to sing not on during the liturgy but actually of the eucharistic liturgy — Roman Catholic assemblies actually sang themselves into the center of the eucharistic sacrifice: no longer recipients or spectators at a sacred action, but increasingly subjects of the liturgy at the invitation of the Christ who initiates every sacred act. Thus I think it appropriate to conclude that, at least one ecclesiological function of the liturgical music through these centuries, was the enablement of a self-redefinition of the assembly by the assembly vis-à-vis its place in the eucharistic action that was foundational for Sacrosanctum Concilium. In the process, singing assemblies asserting themselves in the vernacular contributed to what could be considered a reversal of the Tridentine stance toward music — as a theological non-essential — and prepared the way for Sacrosanctum Concilium’s statement that music not some form of artistic embellishment, but is actually integral to the liturgy (n. 112).

The Contextual Function

In his seminal work entitled Models of Contextual Theology,[38] my friend and colleague Stephen Bevans[39] explains contextual theology as that style of theology which attempts to put the experience of the past — as recorded in scripture and as preserved and defended in tradition — in dialogue with the present context. For Bevans, context encompasses four elements: experience, culture, social location, and social change. Bevans further believes — as might be expected of theologians in a performative mode — that there is no such thing as theology; there is only contextual theology.

In his revised version of this modern day classic, Bevans offers six view or “models” of the possible relationship between the experience of the past and the contemporary context. He arranges these [left to right] on a continuum from those models which more privilege the present context to those which more privilege the past experience.

anthropological - transcendental - praxis - synthetic - translation - counter cultural
Experience of the Present ← → Experience of the Past

While it is not necessary for us to become fluent in the many nunaces of these models, Bevan's framework prompts us to ask what I believe to be another important question of the musical landscape from Trent to Vatican II, i.e., to what extent did the musics across that era function in either valuing the experience of the past or validating the present context in all of its cultural and social ramifications.

From the viewpoint of the Second Vatican Council, particularly the Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World, the church currently admits that culture (broadly speaking) is not to be demonized; rather, that council speaks about "the treasures hidden in the various forms of human culture" (n. 44). When the document speaks of the role of the Church in the modern world (chapter 4), it describes the Church’s involvement as a form of dialogue or mutual exchange (nn. 40 and 43). There is expressed magisterial awareness that the Church may contribute to the well being of the human family, but also keen respect that the church is also “abundantly and variously helped by the world” (nn. 40, 44 and 45). Gaudium et Spes does not envision the Christian over and against the world or separate from it. Rather, it recognizes that Christians are citizens of both an earthly city and a heavenly one (n. 43). They must live as loyal citizens in both realms, with the Church itself serving as a kind of leaven in human society (n. 40). There need be no conflict between religious values and living in society. As long as truth, goodness, and proper laws are respected, human endeavors can all serve the enhancement of society (n. 35).[40]

Turning back to Trent, let me first suggest that — at least from a musical and liturgical perspective — this was clearly one of the most universalizing councils that the Roman Church has yet to experience. What I mean by “universalizing” here is the tendency of that council to impose a particular cultural, social and experiential perspective on the whole of the Western Church.[41] In saying that, I also have to admit that the Fathers of Trent did so in what social scientists, philosophers and contextual theologians of the 21st century could argue was in an excusable and unreflective manner. In this post-enlightenment era, as we struggle between currents of modernity and post-modernity, it is unquestionable that we have more tools for heightening the collective consciousness that we are undeniably operating out of particular “horizons.”[42] Because of that, we also have more responsibility to admit our prejudices and perspectives[43] regarding our standards and principles for music and worship: pre-understandings which are never freed from the context from which they arise.

The Fathers of the Council of Trent were not ethically bound —- as we are — to admit their contextual pre-understands, though they clearly had them. Nonetheless, as I have construct this historical interpretation, it is apparent to me that — at least officially — the conciliar prejudices were in favor of one particular local, social location and context. This is quite clear, for example, in the way that this council and succeeding pontiffs have held up the ideal of Gregorian chant — not to mention 16th century Western polyphony - as the model for all the peoples of the world who celebrate the Roman Rite. Gregorian chant is — if scholars like James McKinnon are to be believed — in it's origins, a very local style of music. McKinnon, in his impressive posthumous tome The Advent Project, would go so far as to claim that the Gregorian Mass propers were the creation of the Roman schola during a burst of creativity between the end of the seventh century until around 720 CE. He would further nuance his position by suggesting that the schola of the great city of Metz "adjusted the Roman melodies into the form that we know and love."[44]

The local flavor of “Gregorian” chant parallels the distinctively local flavor of the Eucharistic rite. Yes, it is necessary to admit that the Roman Rite, through the period of Frankish ascendancy, was changed and that there are many Frankish elements that permeate the Tridentine rite and even the rite of Paul VI. James Russell offers a three-fold summary of this influence, resulting in 1) greater physical and spiritual distance between priest and people and a less participatory faithful, 2) increased focus of attention on sacred objects, and 3) the relationship between people and Christ and the saints more in magical and political terms than ethical and dogmatic ones.[45]

Despite its Germanization, however, the Tridentine Rite retains a set of distinctive local characteristics. Marks of this distinctiveness include 1) a language form which is rhetorically stylized, sacral, hieratic, far removed from everyday life, rather arcane and difficult,[46] 2) a listing of saints who are largely Roman or affiliated with Rome either by history or legend,[47] 3) a ritual elaboration in vesture and choreography that is clearly indebted to the Roman-Byzantine court.[48]

It is true that, despite what I characterize as its universalizing tendencies, The Council of Trent did allow the continued existence of any liturgical tradition and its music that were at least 200 years old, and these were not necessarily supplanted by the Roman Rite of 1570. Thus, broadly speaking, select groups did continue to celebrate what was considered a Cistercian Rite,[49] a Praemonstratension Rite,[50] and a handful of others.[51] It is interesting to note, however, that despite this permission — embedded in the Apostolic Constitution Quo Primum of Pope Pius V (14 July 1570) — this same pope believed that uniformity under the Roman rite was a preferred option. Thus, he could say to those who celebrated rites over 200 years old, "We in no wise rescind their above-mentioned prerogative or custom. However, if this Missal, which we have seen fit to publish, be more agreeable to these latter, We grant them permission to celebrate Mass according to its rite."[52]

Furthermore, Pius' vision of a church brought together in uniformity of rite and music was hailed in his papal Bull printed in every Roman Missal from 1570 until 1965 which reads, in part, "It is most fitting that there be one way of singing the psalms in the Church of God and one rite of celebrating Mass . . . . and henceforth nothing is to be added, eliminated or changed."

This ritual and its music, exported around the world, was not a ritual that was envisioned in any way as responsive to or adaptive for particular local contexts. Rather, it was clearly envisioned as a supra-cultural, supra-contextual rite which expected peoples of every national, language and way of life to adapt to it and not it to them.

As we discovered when employing our earlier ecclesiological lens, however, what Rome intends is not always what the Western Church does. From a musical perspective, for example, despite Rome's repeated insistence on the primacy of Gregorian Chant and a particular style of 16th century polyphony, cultural forces were too strong to resist.

For example, indigenous to Gaul and employed from the 5th century of the Common Era was a body of chant that later scholars would classify as Gallican.[53] This repertoire was suppressed under the liturgical reforms of Pepin (d. 768) and his son Charlemagne (d. 814) who introduced the Roman liturgy and Roman chants into their realm in an effort to unify the kingdom. Six hundred years later, the mid-seventeen century saw a widening political and cultural rift between France and Rome, as the former sought to recover its Gallican heritage and free itself from papal authority.[54] While this “romanticized” recovery was never realized, it did provide the impetus for new liturgical and musical ventures with a particular French flare. One of these was the emergence of a series of "Neo-Gallican" chant books that provide a radical revision of the older chants and a series of quite new compositions.[55] Besides this Neo-Gallican chant, there are other distinctive forms of chant which developed in France in this period. One author contends that 90 out of the 139 French dioceses had non-Roman books by the end of the 18th century.[56]

This was not only a phenomenon documentable in France during this period, but one broadly punctuating much of Roman Catholic Europe. For example, as the chant scholar David Hiley notes, there are numerous German attempts in this period to reform plainchant in accordance with contemporary taste. One major influence here, according to Hiley, was the increasingly common practice in the 17th and 18th centuries of accompanying chant which he believes was a powerful inducement "to recompose chants in a style easier to harmonize and more in the style of contemporary solo and concertante motets."[57]

Aside from the various attempts to redefine chant according to particular cultural contexts, there was also growing cultural and stylistic diversity in the writing of Mass settings across Catholic Europe.[58] In the stile moderno, Italian composers created a distinctive sound using a few voices and continuo rather than the unaccompanied style of Palestrina. In 17th century Germany, a concertante choir style develops which allows for the possibility of solo voices in the midst of a choral setting. And who could overlook the 18 settings of the ordinary by Mozart, composed while in the service of the Prince-Archbishops of Salzburg in restrained but vibrant classical style. Even in the America’s, Franciscan missionaries of the 18th and 19th centuries were creating local styles, exemplified by the Spanish Fray Narcisso Duran (1846) who wrote sets of harmonized chants with a few melodies set for two or more parts, accessible to the Native American worshipers he served.

One could make a further case of the development of contextual liturgical music when moving outside settings of the ordinary or proper, and considering the development of motets for Mass. Then, of course, there is the range of instrumental music — especially organ music — that became so important in an era when the dominant form of the Mass was missa lecta, not missa cantata.

In order to offer some summary reflection on this romp across the musical-liturgical landscape from Trent to Vatican II from a contextual perspective, it might be useful to return to Steve Bevan’s concept of contextual theology as that style of theology which attempts to put the experience of the past — as recorded in scripture and as preserved and defended in tradition — in dialogue with the present context — embedded in experience, culture, social location, and social change. It may be also helpful to remember that Bevan’s holds that all ever theology has a stance towards the context. From that perspective, it seems appropriate to conclude that the developments in liturgical music in the Roman Rite over this four century span functioned in at least two ways. First, in those places where there was a turn toward local or national styles of composition, the music served as a vehicle for affirmation of a community’s own ethnic or national context as appropriate for praise and Divine revelation. Unfortunately, this valuing was mostly at the level of haute culture, or the “high culture” celebrated by contemporary art museums, opera houses, and professional music ensembles —- ordinarily not the vernacular of common people or ordinary members of the liturgical assembly. This enduring trend evokes one of Nathan Mitchell's more dangerous quotations — and he has many: "Secretly, many of us believe that God loves the poor, but hates their art. Surely, we suspect, God prefers Mozart to Randy Travis."[59]

A second caveat is that, in many of these contextual turns, women and their voices were — not surprisingly — ignored, and at least well into the 20th century in some places, the leadership of liturgical music and the training of liturgical musicians who enjoyed such leadership was exclusively, obstinately, and unapologetically restricted to men and boys.[60] It is an obstinacy in many realms of Roman Catholic pastoral leadership that unfortunately not only endures but seems destined for a fresh but, I predict, short lived ascendancy.

Nonetheless, if we can return to our historical past, the flow of Roman Catholic liturgical musics between Trent and Vatican II seemed to function as at least a partial culture affirming movement.

A second contextual function of the liturgical music of this period, however, is what I would consider an isolating or distancing one. If my analysis is credible, and large segments of Roman Catholicism through their liturgical music moved toward some stronger affirmation of their cultural context — if not their social context — then one might also suggest that there was very little such movement from the viewpoint of papal statements and papal liturgies. Despite a variety of major social, cultural and economic changes around the Vatican during this period —- like the loss of the papal states, not to put too fine point on it — the Vatican only grudgingly admitted local adaptation for others, and did not see that there was much, if any, in its own future. Musically the Vatican remained anchored in the 16th century and, to that extent, remained contextually in the same era.[61] Furthermore, to the extent it continued to identify itself musically in a 16th century context, so did it distance itself from significant segments of the Roman Catholic Church, which were clearly moving toward a more culture-accepting contextual theology.

In an unusually astute analysis of what he considers the “current restoration,” Thomas O’Meara, professor emeritus of this university, contends that while worldwide Catholicism is leaving the Baroque era, the official church did not leave the Baroque period. Rather, he contends, the church’s Baroque period, far from ceasing in 1750, went underground and reemerged with the arrival of romanticism and lasted well into the 20th century. Furthermore, he proffers the opinion that the current restoration taking place within the Catholic church is a rehabilitation of the 19th century version of the Baroque. He foresees, however, that “a rote creed, an arcane devotion, a handbook of propositions, unintelligible symbols and ecclesiastical isolation are doomed by the diversity of peoples and by the question of vital Catholics for vital liturgy, ministry and theology.”[62] And his words were written in 1996, before Rome pulled the plug on ICEL, before Rome changed the rules of engagement, and before Liturgiam Authenticam refuted 30 years of post-conciliar translation work.

Returning to O’Meara’s insight, while respectful of his empathy, one questions his contention that the post-Tridentine Roman resides in the Baroque, and wonders whether it simply resided in the late Renaissance — and wants to go back there?

Conclusions

While there are many ways one could characterize the musical-liturgical landscape in Roman Catholicism from Trent to the Second Vatican Council, the ecclesiological and contextual lenses deployed here allow us to suggest that, on the one hand, this era witnessed musical-liturgical developments that could be seen as both assembly- and culture-affirming. On the other hand, however, the era also seems to suggest a magisterial stagnation that unabashedly rejects such affirmations. To put it bluntly, based on the musical-liturgical evidence of the period, Rome seems to have harbored an unacknowledged agenda exemplified by a cultural colonialism and a priesthood driven ecclesiology. Thus, it is possible to consider the developments of the Second Vatican Council not simply as a response to the signs of the times[63] that created a dialogue with the modern world, or a dialog extra nos. Rather, it seems valid to conclude from the musical-liturgical evidence that Vatican II also attempted to construct a dialogue intra nos: between the “center” and the “edges,” the “official” with the “unofficial,” and consider whether Rome should be on similar musical-liturgical trajectory with parts of France, German, and even Italy, not to mention the Americas. It is almost as if — I the midst of Vatican II — Rome was willing to negotiate what our beloved Cardinal Bernardin called “common ground.” Would that such continued to be a hierarchical concern.

I offer this interpretative view of history as a frame for considering what is happening in our own day, where the official and unofficial, the center and the edges, the Vatican and the Americas are experiencing a new musical-liturgical divergence. In the midst of this new divergence I have difficulty in perceiving that our leadership is looking for common ground rather than requiring under obedience that we walk on their ground: fidelity to Rome seems an overriding priority, while fidelity to the local church seems at least overlooked if not trampled upon. From an ecclesiological lens, documents like the new General Instruction of the Roman Missal seem to contribute to a resacralization of the priesthood[64] and diminishment of the dignity of the assembly. Contextually, documents like Liturgiam Authenticam appear much more culture-rejecting than culture-affirming, and appear intent upon creating a new supra-national, universalized musical liturgy designed to feel disconnected from the culture.

While I find these developments disconcerting, I am unwilling to reside in a place without hope. If history teaches us anything it is the enduring divine-human truth — incarnate in the once dead now eternally resurrected Christ — that life breaks through. Commensurately, culture cannot be suppressed, and the Spirit — imparted to the people of God in their baptism, signated in their chrismation, and renewed in them at every eucharistic banquet — the Spirit will neither be contained nor be still. Nor will the Spirit be culturally defined ... one of the prerogatives of being God.

Finally, I believe that those drenched in the blood of the lamb through their baptism and profound eucharistic life, the people of God who have recovered their voice in the reformed liturgy, will never relinquish it, and will continue to sing for God’s glorification and for their own sanctification.[65] And in their singing they will continue to shape a liturgy that not only worships God, but recognizes that, as voiced in the ancient Christian Maxim.. “God does not need sacraments, people do,” and thus a liturgy that honors the faithful and their contexts in all its wondrous diversity. For this is how the lamb’s song was taught to us ... by a Christ who honored the little ones and embraced his own Jewishness. By a Christ who never lived supra-culturally, who never denied his Palestinian roots, who never demanded that followers deny their experience, their sinfulness, their context, their gender, their place at table. Rather he beckoned them in the fullness of being to follow without diminution, without degradation and without diminishment. And it is through this Christ, and with this Christ, and in this Christ that we will persist in hymning Abba in the one true Spirit. To them who stand in eternal humility to each other, never diminished in their Trinitarian discourse, but only reverenced in the eternal kenosis and pleroma glimpsed in the Philipians hymn ... to them be honor, and peaceability and profound reverence, forever and ever. Amen.

Endnotes

  1. Louis Duchesne, Origines du culte chrétien (Paris: A. Fontemoing, 1903); Gregory Dix, The Shape of the Liturgy (London: Dacre Press, 1945); Mario Righetti, Manuale di Storia Liturgica, 4 vols. (Milan: Àncora, 1946-1953); Josef Jungmann. Missarum Sollemnia, 2 vols. (Vienna: Herder, 1948); 5th ed. (Vienna: Herder, 1962).
  2. Truth and Method (New York: Seabury, 1975).
  3. Gary Macy, The Banquet's wisdom: A Short History of the Theologies of the Lord's Supper (New York-Mahwah NJ: Paulist Press, 1992).
  4. Ibid, pp. 5, 7-8.
  5. John Langshaw Austin, How to do Things with Words (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1962).
  6. What Nathan Mitchell has aptly described as the “classic consensus.” See his Liturgy and the Social Sciences, American Essays in Liturgy (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1999), esp. pp. 24-32.
  7. Catherine Bell, Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions (New York: Oxford, 1997), p. 69.
  8. Ibid, p. 73.
  9. See, for example, my "The Ritual Function of Beauty: From Assisi to Snowbird," Pastoral Music 21:3 (1997) 17-21; also "Music and Worship," in The Modern Catholic Encyclopedia, ed. Michael Glazier and Monika Hellwig (Collegeville: The Liturgical Press, 1994), pp. 591-594.
  10. Robert Schreiter, The New Catholicity (Maryknoll, New York: Orbis, 1997), 15; Schreiter is reliant here upon the work of the British Sociologist Paul Gilroy, and in particular his The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993).
  11. Prof. Robert Schreiter, C.P.P.S., holds the Vatican II Chair in Theology at Catholic Theological Union in Chicago as well as the Chair in Theology and Culture at the University of Nijmegen.
  12. Schreiter is concerned about “global theological flows” and suggests that today there are at least four of these discernible in the world today: theologies of 1) liberation, 2) feminism, 3) ecology and 4) human rights.
  13. See, for example, "The Decree Concerning the Things to be Observed and Avoided in the Celebration of Mass," from the 22nd Session of that Council (17 September 1562) found in H. J. Schroeder, Canons and Decrees of the Council of Trent: Original Text with English Translation (St. Louis - London: B. Herder, 1941), pp. 150-152 (English) = pp. 423-424 (Latin).
  14. Summa Theologica, Pt. III, Q. 82, art. 1.
  15. e.g., the opening verbs of the Old Roman Canon are rogamus ac petimus, reminiscent of the courtly rhetoric from which this Canon emerged, and of which we will speak below.
  16. It is true that in much "manual theology" the baptized are spoken of as "subjects" but such this term indicates that that baptized are "subjects for the reception of a sacrament" and not subjects are active believers who help accomplish the action. See, for example, "The Subject of the Sacraments" in The Compendium of Theology by J. Berthier, trans. Sidney a. Raemers (St. Louis - London: B. Herder, 1932), II:32-36.
  17. See, for example, the direction of Ordo Romanus XV, n. 155.
  18. "Five invariable texts of the Mass sung at a high or solemn high mass: Kyrie, Gloria in excelsis, Credo, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei." Worship Music: A Concise Dictionary, ed. Edward Foley (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2000), p. 226.
  19. "A previously employed designation for the introit, gradual, alleluia, tract, offertory and communion antiphons of the Latin mass." Ibid., p. 248.
  20. Thus, Felix Mendelssohn (d.1847) could write to his Pastor, "As for actual church music, or, if you like to call it so, music for public worship, I know none but the old Italian composition for the papal chapel where, however, the music is a mere accompaniment, subordinate to the sacred functions, co-operating with the wax candles and the incense, etc." Letter of 12 January 1835 as found in Elwyn A. Wienandt, ed., Opinions on Church Music (Waco: Baylor University Press, 1974) pp. 121-122.
  21. See James White, Roman Catholic Worship: Trent to Today, 2nd ed. (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2003), p. 15.
  22. “In the case of those Masses which are celebrated with singing and with organ ... if anything is to be sung with the organ from the sacred services while they are in progress, let it be recited in a simple clear voice beforehand so that no one will miss any part of the eternal reading of the sacred writings. The whole plan of singing in musical modes should be constituted not to give empty pleasure to the ear, but in such a way that the words may be clearly understood by all ... = Hayburn, p. 37; Latin text in Concilium Tridentinum, ed. Societas Goerresinna (S. Merkel, 1901-11), as cited in Fiorenza Romita, Ius Musicae Liturgicae: Dissertatio Historico-Iuridica (Tourin: Marietti, 1936), p. 60.
  23. Robert F. Hayburn, Papal Legislation on Sacred Music (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1979), pp. 29-30.
  24. See, for example, the address of John Paul II to the Professors and Students of the Pontifical Institute of Sacred Music (19 January 2001).
  25. See the accessible overview by Anthony Ruff, "A Millennium of Congregational Song," Pastoral Music (February-March 1997), pp. 11-15.
  26. Ibid., p. 13.
  27. Michael Vehe's Ein neue Gesangbuchlein (Leipzig, 1537; Hanover, 1853).
  28. Worship Music, p. 285.
  29. John Aitken, A Compilation of The Litanies and Vesper Hymns and Anthems as they are Sung in the Catholic Church (Philadelphia, 1787.
  30. Statuta Synodi Baltimorensis Anno 1791 Celebratae, n. 17.
  31. Tra le Sollecitudini, n. 3 = Seasoltz, pp. 5-6.
  32. Ibid., n. 7 = Seasotlz, p. 6.
  33. On the struggle for vernacular texts, see Keith Pecklers, Dynamic Equivalence (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2003), especially pp. 31ff.
  34. For the texts of this council, see Bullarii Romani continuatio, ed. Andreas Advocatus Barberi, (Roma: Alex. Spetia, 1835) 9:398b and following.
  35. Musicae Sacrae Disciplina, n. 36 = Seasoltz, p. 224.
  36. "Where, according to old or immemorial custom, some popular hymns are sung in the language of the people after the sacred words have been sung in Latin during the solemn eucharistic sacrifice, local ordinaries can allow this to be done 'if in the light of the circumstances of the locality and the people, they believe that [custom] cannot prudently be removed.' The law by which it is forbidden to sing the liturgical words themselves in the language of the people remains in force, according to what has been said." Musicae Sacrae Disciplina n. 47 = Seasoltz, p. 226.
  37. Musicae Sacrae Disciplina n. 46 = Seasoltz, p. 226.
  38. Stephen Bevans, Models of Contextual Theology, 2nd rev. ed. (New York: Orbis, 2002).
  39. Prof. Stephen Bevans, S.V.D. is the Louis J. Luzbatek, S.V.D. Professor of Mission and Culture at Catholic Theological Union in Chicago.
  40. For a further analysis of this document, see Edward Foley and Dianne Bergant, “The Beginning or the End of a Theological Agenda: Tracing the Methodological Flows through Vatican II” Gregorianum 84 (2003) 315-345.
  41. This generalization is made in full awareness that, in the spirit of the Council of Trent, it’s most important interpreter (Pope Pius V) did acknowledge and agree that any rite in existence for at least 200 years was allowed to continue, a topic to be discussed below.
  42. See the discussion of this term in its particularly Gadamerian sense above.
  43. Gadamer’s “pre-understandings.”
  44. James McKinnon, The Advent Project: The Later-Seventh-Century Creation of the Roman Mass Proper (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), pp. 403-3.
  45. James Russell, The Germanization of Early Medieval Christianity: A Sociohistorical Approach to Religious Transformation (New York - Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), p. 191.
  46. Such is the assessment of Christine Mohrmann; see the splendid overview of her work in "Christine Mohrmann (1903-1988): The Science of Liturgical Language," Liturgy Digest 1:2 (1994) 4-43, esp. p. 41.
  47. See V. L. Kennedy, The Saints of the Canon of the Mass, Studi di Antichitá Cristiana 15 (Rome: Pontifico Instituto di Archeologia Cristiana, 1938), p. 186.
  48. See, for example, the summary in Theodor Klauser, A Short History of the Western Liturgy, 2nd. ed., trans John Halliburton (New York: Oxford University Press, 1979), pp. 35ff.
  49. See, for example, J. M. Canivez, "Le rite cistercien," Ephemerides Liturgicae 63 (1949) 276-311.
  50. See the historical summary and assessment of this "rite" in Andrew Ciferni, "The Post-Vatican II Discussion of the so-called Praemonstratension Rite: A Question of Liturgical Pluriformity," (Ph.d. dissertation, University of Notre Dame, 1978).
  51. See, for example Paul Tirot, "Un Ordo Missae Monastique," Ephemerides Liturgicae 95 (1981) 44-120, 220-251.
  52. Available at www.papalencyclicals.net/Pius05/p5quopri.htm (5.vi.04).
  53. See, for example, Michel Huglo, “Gallican Rite, music of the,” in the New Groves Dictionary of Music and Musicians, ed. Stanley Sadie (New York: W. W. Norton, 1980), 7:113-25.
  54. The French vision is embedded in the "Four Gallican Articles" from 1682, drawn up by Jacques-Benigne Bossuet (d. 1704) , the bishop of Meaux. The first denied that the pope had dominion over the temporal realm and affirmed that monarchs are not subject to the pope in issues of civil law; the second (in the spirit of the Council of Constance), reaffirmed the authority of general councils over the pope; the third argued that the ancient traditions of the Gallican Church could not be usurped; the fourth held that without the affirmation of the wider church (i.e., the convening of a general council), the decisions of the papacy are not unassailable.
  55. This and what follows is reliant on the work of David Hiley, Western Plainchant: a Handbook (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), pp. 619-20.
  56. G. Fontain, "Présentation des missels diocésains français du xviie au xixe siècles," La Maison-Dieu 141 (1980) 97-166, as cited in Hiley p. 619.
  57. Hiley, p. 621.
  58. For much of what follows I am reliant on the splendid History of Catholic Church Music by Karl Gustav Fellerer, trans. Francis A. Brunner (Baltimore: Helicon Press, 1961), chps. 14-16.
  59. Nathan Mitchell, "Amen Corner," Worship 70:3 (1996) 258.
  60. Thus, in Tra le Sollecitudini we find, “On the same principle it follows that singers in church have a real liturgical office, and that therefore women, being incapable of exercising such office, cannot be admitted to form part of the choir. Whenever, then, it is desired to employ the acute voices of sopranos and contraltos, these parts must be taken by boys, according to the most ancient usage of the Church.” (n. 13)
  61. Thus, in Tra le Sollecitudini Pius X could write that church music " must, at the same time, be universal in the sense that while every nation is permitted to admit into its ecclesiastical compositions those special forms which may be said to constitute its native music, still these forms must be subordinated in such a manner to the general characteristics of sacred music that nobody of any nation may receive an impression other than good on hearing them," n. 2.
  62. Thomas O’Meara, “Leaving the Baroque: The Fallacy of Restoration in the Postconciliar Era,” America 174:3 (3 February 1996), pp. 10-14, 25-28; here, p. 28.
  63. Gaudium et Spes, n. 4.
  64. See, for example, Kevin Irwin, “Overview of GIRM," Liturgical Ministry 12 (Summer 2003) 121-32, here p. 130.
  65. Sacrosanctum Concilium consistently contends that the “purpose” of the liturgy [note the “functional” move here] is the “Sanctification of People and the Glorification of God.” Notice that in most of these formulations, the sanctification of people is actual mentioned before the glorification of God, e.g., n. 5 speaks of “the work of Christ Our Lord in redeeming mankind and giving perfect glory to God”; n. 7 “Christ, indeed, always associates the Church with himself in this great work in which God is perfectly glorified and men are sanctified”; n. 10 “From the liturgy, therefore, and especially from the Eucharist, grace is poured forth upon us as from a fountain, and the sanctification of men in Christ and the glorification of God to which all other activities of the Church are directed, as toward their end, are achieved with maximum effectiveness”; n. 61 “There is scarcely any proper use of material things which cannot thus be directed toward the sanctification of men and the praise of God”: and n. 112 “the purpose of sacred music, which is the glory of God and the sanctification of the faithful.”