HERE IS NO collection of words in existence that has been set to music more frequently than the Ordinary of the Mass. The texts of the Kyrie, Gloria, Credo, Sanctus, Benedictus, and Agnus Dei have been the muse of composers for over a millennium, and the genre has been integral in the development of western classical music. However, since the Second Vatican Council (1962-1965) and the implementation of the Mass of Paul VI (1970) or Novus Ordo, many have been led to believe that this colossal repertory is unsuitable for liturgical usage. However, I wish to argue below that this is not the case, and I intend to frame this discussion through the allegorical lens of the Parable of the Talents, as told in the Gospel of Matthew. In addition to defending the viability of choral settings of the Ordinary within the context of a Novus Ordo Mass, I wish to offer a pastoral approach to incorporating this repertoire.
Sixty years have now elapsed since the close of the Vatican II, and there is a great deal of perplexity surrounding not only the liturgy, but any number of facets in the life of the Church. Rather than debating the merits and demerits of the Council or invoking an indefinite and intangible “spirit of the Council,” I advocate that we turn to the conciliar documents and take them at face value. The Sixth Chapter of SACROSANCTUM CONCILIUM—the Council’s Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy—treats the topic of sacred music. It opens by hailing the “musical tradition of the Universal Church [as] a treasure of inestimable value, greater even than that of any other art.” (SC 112) Despite certain iconoclastic attitudes associated with the zeitgeist of the years immediately following the Council, let us not forget that Vatican II gave us a written directive to preserve this great repertoire. Indeed, we must not regard this patrimony as a barnacle to be excised, but as a pearl that must be polished and preserved with great care.
Likening the Church’s musical tradition to a pearl might readily remind us of the passage in Matthew’s Gospel in which Christ spoke of the Kingdom of Heaven as a “pearl of great price.” While the great patrimony of sacred music is something of great value, I believe it would be an overreach to describe it as the pearl of great price. The pearl, which represents the Kingdom of Heaven, is a thing to be sought on its own merits and as an end in itself. The Church’s musical patrimony, on the other hand, has great value not as an end in itself, but as a means to a greater end, which is the Kingdom of Heaven. If we regard the Sacred Arts as an end in themselves and lose sight of the ultimate goal toward which they lead, we run the risk of being mere aesthetes. And worse yet, by pursuing the Sacred Arts as an end in themselves that is completely divorced from a pursuit of the Kingdom of Heaven, we turn the icon into an idol. It is this very fear that led iconoclasts such as Cranmer—albeit wrongly—to wield their destructive blows on religious art in the mid-sixteenth century.
Rather than considering the Church’s patrimony of polyphonic settings of the Mass with recourse to the pearl of great price, I would like to frame it through the lens of the Parable of the Talents, as told in Matthew 25:14-30. As children of the post-Enlightenment era, the didactic approach of Christ’s parables can often confound or even annoy us. As moderns, we generally want succinct, distilled, propositional accounts of the concept being presented, and I suspect that this trend will only amplify as we grow increasingly accustomed to AI-generated synopses. However, when we consider the Parable of Talents, as told in the Gospel of Matthew, the genius of Christ’s communication strategy becomes all the more apparent. In teaching his disciples a lesson about stewardship, it would be wholly inadequate simply to define the concept of stewardship and then proceed to produce a moralistic list of “do’s and don’ts.” (And for that matter, I acknowledge that I may taking an overly-reductive approach when I suggest that this is a lesson about stewardship.)
Instead of giving a clear-cut, carefully sequenced list of directives, Our Lord tells a story in layman’s terms that brilliantly weds several themes of discipleship. First and foremost, this is a lesson in Divine Providence and Beneficence. We have a God who is both wealthy and generous: he has infinite goodness, and he wishes to lavish it upon his beloved children. Secondly, he wants us to be agents and force-multipliers of his goodness. This is a twofold generosity whereby he desires not only to share gifts with the human race, but he also wants us to be participants in his generosity toward others. He teaches us that it is “more blessed to give than to receive,” (Act 20:35) so, in asking us to partake in the multiplication of talents, he is enabling us the supreme joy that comes only through the act of giving. Thirdly, this parable depicts God’s providential care for the process: both of the stewards who made decisive efforts to invest the talents not only made profit, but doubled their value! A final and unfortunate point concerns the inevitable consequences that befell that third, neglectful steward. Having been delinquent in his responsibilities, he anticipated his master’s reprimand not with an apology or an ownership of his own neglect, but with an unfair characterization of his boss as unreasonably demanding and tyrannical. Of course, as we established earlier in this paragraph, our God is not despotic, but rich in justice, mercy, and generosity. In the end, whatever his motivations, the third steward failed to cultivate the goods entrusted to him, and thus he failed to “enter his the joy of [his] master.” That is to say, he denied himself the opportunity to share in the joy that one experiences only by virtue of being an agent of God’s generosity.
I greatly fear that the Church’s great patrimony of sacred music often receives the same treatment as the third steward’s talent. You may note that this unwise steward never denied that the talent was indeed a gift. He never deemed it worthless. Still, his abstract appreciation of its intrinsic merits bore no fruit for himself, his master, or his fellow servants because it was buried. In like manner, there are very few churchmen that deny the artistic or cultural merits of the Masses of Palestrina or Mozart, but there are unfortunately many churchmen who will allow these monumental pieces into their native environment, which is the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Music lovers may flock to concert halls or turn on a classical music station to appreciate these pieces as artifacts of a Catholic yesteryear, but we fail to utilize these amazing gifts where they matter most. It is true the bulk of these works were written for the Tridentine form of the Roman Rite, and that adaptation or use of these compositions requires some keen strategy in the Novus Ordo, as I will discuss below. Nevertheless, this repertoire must not be regarded as some dead, historical artifact, but as a living tradition.
We live in an age of unprecedented access to an embarrassment of musical riches. Not only do we have access to scores of composers spanning several centuries—something that was highly uncommon through much of musical history—but we have online databases such as IMSLP and CPDL where these scores can be instantaneously perused or utilized free of charge. There has never been a time when your average person has had such a vast musical library at their fingertips. As people of faith, we should be immensely grateful for the many talents that have been given and cultivated through the centuries. God, in his providence, gave individuals the intellects, resources, and time to compose these great works, and, like the “good and faithful servants,” they cultivated these gifts and produced works that will continue to provide intellectual and spiritual edification for generations to come.
I remember as an undergraduate how awestruck I was by the great stylistic variety could be found in settings of the Ordinary of the Mass: the Gregorian Masses of the Kyriale, Machaut’s Messe de Nostre Dame, DuFay’s Missa L’homme armé, Des Prez’s Missa Pange Lingua, Byrd’s Mass for Four Voices, Palestrina’s Missa Papae Marcelli, Charpentier’s Messe de minuit pour Noël, the great Viennese choral-orchestral Masses by figures such as Mozart or Haydn, the a capella Masses of Rheinberger and Bruckner, the thunderous Masses for double-organ and choir by Vierne and Widor, Herbert Howell’s anachronistically 20th Century ‘renaissance’ Mass in the Dorian Mode, Britten’s Missa Brevis, or, for example, this lovely Missa Pacis of contemporary Polish composer Dawid Kusz. Even in this extremely small sampling of the Masses that have been written throughout the millennia, I am absolutely overwhelmed by the kaleidoscopic variety. Furthermore, if we consider the history of western, classical music, it is amazing to note that, before the symphony, concerto, or opera rose to prominence, the greatest composers of the world poured their innovative and creative juices primarily into the Ordinary of the Mass. The same great composers who are most prominently recognized in music history textbooks composed in this genre, and still today, many great living composers are producing settings in this “ever-ancient-ever-new” genre.
With the introduction of the Mass of Paul VI (Novus Ordo) in 1970, it is easy enough to understand why some may have mistakenly believed that any pre-existing settings of the Ordinary of the Mass were no longer admitted into the liturgy. Firstly, for all intents and purposes, many Catholics (at least in the Western Hemisphere) thought that the use of Latin in the liturgy had been banned wholesale, when in reality, the vernacular was merely allowed and admitted into the liturgy, whilst Latin remained the preeminent liturgical language. Secondly, the heavy emphasis on congregational participation led many to believe that these complex compositions were proscribed because they required a trained choir (rather than a broad congregation) to execute them. Thirdly, and perhaps most substantially, the general flow and sequencing of the Mass of Paul VI differed from that of the Tridentine Mass and this had considerable ramifications for the timing of the Ordinary of the Mass.
Above, I listed three perceived obstacles to the use of the polyphonic settings of the Ordinary of the Mass in the Novus Ordo: the Latin language, the emphasis on active participation, and the sequence and flow of the Mass. Regarding the Latin language, I have spoken to that above, reiterating that, just because the local vernacular language has been permitted for liturgical use, liturgical Latin has never been formally suppressed or usurped. I will speak now to the second perceived obstacle which is that of congregational participation. (If you are curious for a more in-depth treatment on this topic, click here.) Without going too deep into this, I will argue that participation is not always synonymous with physical movement or vocalization. In fact, a person who is characterized as a “good listener” generally sits still and refrains from interrupting or offering excessive commentary when someone is telling them something of great import. Additionally, I would argue that, in the case of the Ordinary of the Mass, there may be times in which listening may draw invite deeper participation than singing. For example, on certain occasions, the exuberant Gloria from Schubert’s Mass No. 2 in G might be able evoke the ecstatic joy of the text more aptly than a congregational setting. In my own personal experience, many of my most heightened moments of “prayerful participation” happened when I was listening rather than vocalizing. There is an axiomatic tendency in Catholic theology to avoid “either/or” mindsets and embrace a “both/and” mindset instead. In our case, there is a danger of falling into the intellectual trap of a false dichotomy or “sucker’s choice” between the following extremes: “the congregation can’t sing any of the ordinary because that is the choir’s domain,” or the inverse which states, “the choir can’t sing these any of the ordinary because that will prohibit congregational participation.” There is a viable middle ground between these two extremes, and clergy and musicians must always be attuned to the unique needs and circumstances of their own congregations. I will discuss this in greater depth below when I address pastoral considerations for introducing choral settings of the Ordinary.
Let us now turn to the third obstacle to the implementation of polyphonic ordinaries in the Novus Ordo, which concerns timing. In the Tridentine form of the Mass, the movements of the Ordinary of the Mass were sung while the priest was engaged in other actions or reciting prayers. In this sense, the activity of the choir and the activity of the priest could be understood as parallel streams of motion. For example, as the choir sang a long setting the Sanctus, the priest would be reciting the Roman Canon silently during the singing. On the contrary, the Novus Ordo does not allow for nearly as much concurrent movement between the choir and altar. If the same long setting of the Sanctus is sung in the Novus Ordo Mass, the priest does not begin to recite the Canon (or Eucharistic Prayer) until the music has concluded. In effect, this means that longer settings of the Ordinary will prolong the length of the Mass. While these considerations are important they are by no means a death knell for polyphonic Masses in the Novus Ordo, as I will discuss below in connection to some pastoral considerations.
Having discussed the “what” and “why” factors regarding the cultivation of the great repertoire of Masses through the ages, let us turn our attention to the equally important consideration of how we go about that. The success of this endeavor is heavily contingent upon our ability to use pastoral tact and engender good will and excitement toward choral Masses. It is important to take stock of how much exposure a congregation has had to the practice of the choir singing a polyphonic ordinary, and to that end, it is important to know what reservations they may have about it. While tastes and subjective preferences vary, we should aim, inasmuch as it is possible, to help people to see this treasury as the true good that it is. Furthermore, we should do whatever is in our power to assuage any fears that the introduction of these works will “take something away” from the congregation. While there are many particulars that must be left to the judgment of clergy and musicians, I have a few specific topical considerations:
(1) Part or Whole: • In most cases, it would be quite shocking for a congregation to go from having a completely congregational Ordinary one week to having a completely choral Ordinary the next week. I would argue that it is optimal to begin simply by using individual movements such as an occasional Kyrie, Gloria, or Agnus Dei. Alternatively, you can even start with some more “bite-sized chunks,” for which I refer you to Jeff Ostrowski’s fine article on Choral Extensions. Even if your congregation is seasoned in the use of choral Ordinaries, we must perennially exercise prudent judgement to maintain good will. For example, there are instances in my own experience in which I will sing the Kyrie, Gloria, Sanctus, Benedictus, and Agnus Dei of a Mass, but I will omit the Credo and have the congregation recite or sing it.
(2) Comfort Level With Latin: • For some congregations, hearing motets or other works in Latin may be de rigueur, whereas in other congregations, the introduction of this ancient tongue might be very novel. In situations where there is a developed choir and the congregation has not been accustomed to hearing Latin, I would not recommend introducing it by means of the Ordinary. Instead, I might introduce it through a motet at communion. This allows you to introduce the Latin language in a context where it cannot be perceived as “taking anything away” from the congregation.
(3) Occasion: • If you are introducing parts of a polyphonic ordinary to your congregation, it will make more sense to them if it is initially used to demarcate a special occasion or season. For example, it might seem very strange to the congregation if they randomly hear a polyphony Kyrie one time on the 31st Sunday of Ordinary Time; whereas, if you sang a polyphonic Kyrie each Sunday in Lent to denote a penitential season, it might make more sense. Likewise, if there is a special feast or solemnity—such as the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica, which we will celebrate this year on Sunday, November 9—the singing of a robust setting a Gloria might be quite effective in highlighting the festivity.
(4) Length of work: • Again, recall that the vast preponderance of choral Masses composed were originally written for the Tridentine Mass, meaning that they were sung alongside concurrent liturgical actions. As such, a seven-minute Sanctus may have been perfectly timed for a Tridentine Mass, but it may be perceived as excessively lengthy for a Novus Ordo Mass. Again, this is not to say that it can’t be done, it simply means that the disposition of the congregation must be carefully considered.
(5) Affectation of Mass: • When introducing polyphonic Mass movement, strive to find works with an appealing affectation that corresponds to the occasion. For example, the austerity of Machaut’s Messe de Nostre Dame might be more difficult for many to digest on Easter morning than a spritely, major movement of a Mozart Mass.
(6) Capabilities of the Choir: • Sing as you can, not as you can’t! We must remember, a number of these Masses composed were composed for urbane milieus with robust budgets and resources, and as such, some works may not be accessible to all skill levels. Part of the beauty of this repertoire lies in the fact that there are varying difficulty levels within the repertoire. It is important for choirmasters to choose works according to the abilities and disposition of the ensemble. In addition to ensuring that it sounds good and brings true beauty to the Mass, we want to ensure that it is a rewarding experience for the choir.
We have been given a tremendous “talent” or treasure in the great corpus of choral Ordinaries that hail from various centuries and nations. We cannot bury this talent, but we must cultivate it and multiply it. Above all, this is an act of loving and a participation in God’s generosity toward the human race—and it is important that this attitude of charity inform every decision as we seek to share these great gems. Let us lovingly share the wealth of our Lord and someday hear the words: “well done, good and faithful servant.”
