This article continues themes presented in
Three Reasons to Avoid Bad Hymns
my earlier article published in October.
OU’VE JUST SETTLED into the pew. The organ begins its prelude—perhaps a Bach chorale, or a Franck meditation, or even a simple hymn tune in gentle variation. Your mind, cluttered with the week’s anxieties and tomorrow’s obligations, begins to quiet. The sacred space itself—the architecture pointing heavenward, the icons and statuary directing your gaze toward the eternal, the flickering sanctuary lamp reminding you of His Real Presence—all of it conspires to lift your heart toward God. For a few precious moments, you’re being drawn into something transcendent. Then a voice crackles over the sound system: “Good morning! Please turn to hymn number 437 in the blue hymnal. That’s hymn 437. Our opening song will be Gather Us In.” And just like that, you’re back at the DMV or in the isle of your local Walmart.
The Problem with Announcing Hymns • The practice of announcing hymn numbers during Mass has become so ubiquitous in American Catholic parishes that most Catholics have never experienced a liturgy without it. Cantors, lectors, and even priests interrupt the sacred action to inform the assembly which page to turn to and which book to grab. We’ve been told this is necessary for “active participation,” that essential principle recovered by the Second Vatican Council. But here’s what we’ve lost in the bargain: the very sense of mystery and transcendence that Sacrosanctum Concilium sought to restore. The Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy reminds us that “in the earthly liturgy we take part in a foretaste of that heavenly liturgy which is celebrated in the holy city of Jerusalem toward which we journey as pilgrims” (SC 8). The Mass is not a community gathering that requires emceeing. It is not a concert that needs introduction. It is the re-presentation of Calvary, the marriage supper of the Lamb, the intersection of heaven and earth. Every gesture, every silence, every chanted text participates in this cosmic drama. When we announce hymn numbers, we’re not facilitating participation—we’re disrupting it. We’re taking people who were beginning to ascend Jacob’s ladder and yanking them back down to the bottom rung. We’re reminding them that they’re not at the wedding feast of the Lamb; they’re in a building with hymnals and page numbers and sound systems that crackle. We’re grounding what should be a celestial experience in the mundane mechanics of finding the right page in the right book. And we’re doing it, ironically, in the name of helping people participate.
What the Church Actually Said About Participation • “Active Participation” (participatio actuosa) that phrase from Vatican II that has been used to justify everything from liturgical dance to puppet shows—doesn’t mean what many assume it means. Sacrosanctum Concilium called for “full, conscious, and active participation” (SC 14), but this participation is fundamentally spiritual and interior before it is external and vocal. The Catechism reminds us that “the liturgy is an ‘action’ of the whole Christ (Christus totus). Those who even now celebrate it without signs are already in the heavenly liturgy, where celebration is wholly communion and feast” (CCC 1136). Our participation in the Mass isn’t primarily about turning to the right page. It’s about uniting ourselves to Christ’s perfect sacrifice, about offering our lives with His on the altar, about joining our voices—whether singing or silent—to the eternal hymn of praise that the angels and saints sing before God’s throne. Pope Benedict XVI, in Sacramentum Caritatis, warned against reducing participation to mere external activity: “The beauty of the liturgy is not mere aestheticism, but rather the manner in which the beauty of God’s love shines forth” (SC 35). When we interrupt the liturgy with administrative announcements, we obscure that beauty. We prioritize efficiency over mystery. We choose logistics over liturgy. The 1967 instruction Musicam Sacram is clear: “Great importance is to be attached to the teaching and practice of music in seminaries, in the novitiates of religious of both sexes and in their houses of study, as well as in other Catholic institutions and schools” (MS 51). Notice what’s missing? Any mention of announcing hymn numbers. The assumption is that proper catechesis and preparation render such interruptions unnecessary.
The Aesthetic Argument • Beyond the theological and liturgical problems, there’s a simpler issue: announcing hymns is ugly. It’s jarring. It breaks the spell. Imagine attending a performance of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. The orchestra has assembled. The conductor raises the baton. The opening notes of the final movement begin—and then someone walks on stage with a microphone: “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re now going to perform the final movement. Please turn to page 487 in your program. That’s page 487. The text is in German, but you’ll find an English translation at the bottom of the page. This movement is about joy and brotherhood. We hope you enjoy!” You would walk out. Or at least, you would wonder whether the organizers had any respect for either Beethoven or the audience. Yet this is precisely what we do at Mass, week after week, and we’ve convinced ourselves it’s necessary. We’ve confused active participation with micromanagement. We’ve mistaken pastoral care for treating our congregations like children who can’t be trusted to find a hymn without explicit verbal instructions. The liturgy has a rhythm, a flow, an organic structure that unfolds according to its own interior logic. The entrance procession isn’t just the priest walking down the aisle—it’s a procession toward the altar, a symbol of the Church’s pilgrimage toward the heavenly Jerusalem. The organ or choir provides the sonic accompaniment to this procession, and the congregation, through song or prayerful attention, participates in this movement toward God. Announcing the hymn number interrupts this movement. It shifts attention from the sacred action to the practical mechanics. It transforms participants into mere performers following stage directions.
Solutions That Work:
If announcing hymn numbers is unnecessary and disruptive, what’s the alternative? The good news is that Catholics have been solving this problem for centuries, and the solutions are neither complicated nor expensive.
The Hymn Board • The simplest solution is a hymn board—a wooden or metal frame, usually placed near the entrance of the church and sometimes duplicated near the sanctuary or in side aisles, displaying the hymn numbers for that day’s liturgy. These boards have been standard equipment in Protestant churches for generations (because the Protestants, whatever their theological errors, generally understand that worship shouldn’t require a running commentary). They’re equally appropriate for Catholic churches. A well-designed hymn board is visible from the entrance, allowing people to note the hymn numbers before they even sit down. It’s unobtrusive, requiring no sound system, no interruption, no verbal announcement. People glance at it, note the numbers, and settle into prayer. Simple. Dignified. Effective. For larger churches or those with sight-line issues, multiple boards placed strategically throughout the nave ensure that everyone can see the information without straining. The cost is minimal—a basic board can be constructed for under $100, a more elegant brass or wood version for a few hundred dollars. This is an investment in liturgical peace that pays dividends every single Sunday.
Simple Worship Sheets • The most accessible solution for many parishes is a single-sheet worship aid—a simple 5×7 or cut-in-half 8.5×11 page listing the hymn numbers, page numbers for the readings in the missal, and perhaps the psalm response. These sheets can be professionally printed or produced in-house using a basic photocopier. An example of one we used last year can be found by clicking here. This approach beautifully complements existing hymnals and missals rather than replacing them. Parishioners pick up a sheet on the way in, and they have everything they need referenced in one place. No announcements necessary. No fumbling between books wondering what comes next. The information is right there, quietly provided, allowing the liturgy to flow without interruption. The beauty of this solution is its simplicity and low cost. A parish secretary or volunteer can create a template once (or use mine below), update it weekly in a matter of minutes, and print copies for pennies each. For parishes operating on limited budgets or with minimal staff, this is often the most practical starting point. It requires minimal investment but yields significant liturgical benefits.
* Google Doc • TEMPLATE
—Click Above to Download the Worship Sheet Template.
Complete Worship Aids • For parishes willing to invest more substantially in their liturgical preparation, complete worship aids represent the gold standard. These are booklets—usually 8.5×11 or 8.5×14 folded in half or stapled—containing everything needed for that day’s Mass: the Scripture readings, the antiphons, the hymn texts with music, and any particular prayers or responses. Everything is right there, in order, in one complete package. Yes, this approach requires significantly more work. Someone must design the layout, select and typeset the music, ensure proper copyright permissions, update it weekly, and arrange for printing and folding. It’s more costly than simple reference sheets. But I firmly believe complete worship aids provide the most benefit to both the liturgy and the assembly. From a musical standpoint, complete worship aids offer unparalleled flexibility. You’re no longer confined to whatever happens to be in your parish hymnal. You can program the Mass using the best musical setting for each moment—drawing from the Church’s inexhaustible treasury of sacred music. The proper antiphons can be included alongside metrical hymns. Your selections can be adapted precisely to the liturgical season, the specific feast, or the particular needs of your community.
The treasury of hymns available to us is truly inexhaustible. Sometimes I find myself frustrated by how few hymns we can actually sing during the liturgy, because there are so many magnificent texts available for any given feast. A single Sunday might offer dozens of theologically rich, beautifully crafted options—and we can only use four or five, maybe six if I’m lucky. Complete worship aids at least give you the freedom to choose the very best for each occasion, rather than settling for whatever happens to be printed in your hymnal. This flexibility also allows for gradual liturgical formation. If you’re beginning to incorporate sung antiphons—as the Church has always intended—you can start with simple psalm-tone settings and gradually increase the difficulty as your parish becomes accustomed to chanting. (More to come on implementing this transition in a future article.) You meet people where they are while gently leading them toward the Church’s full liturgical vision. This kind of patient, intentional formation is nearly impossible when you’re locked into a single hymnal’s contents.
From a pastoral standpoint, there’s no fussing around throughout the liturgy. No flipping between missalette and hymnal. No confusion about whether we’re using the red book or the blue one. No wondering whether to look at page 437 or hymn number 437. Everything flows seamlessly from one element to the next. Parishioners—especially visitors or those unfamiliar with Catholic worship—can simply follow along without anxiety. The Eastern Catholic churches, with their rich liturgical heritage, have long understood this. They often use beautifully printed service books for major feasts, complete with music, text, and rubrics. The congregation doesn’t need anything announced because everything is provided. They’re free to pray, to sing, to worship—not to fumble through multiple books while someone barks instructions over a microphone. Many parishes produce complete worship aids weekly, tailoring them to the specific Sunday or feast day. Parishioners pick one up on the way in, follow along during Mass, and either take it home or return it to a basket on the way out for re-use. This is precisely the kind of work that serves the liturgy rather than disrupts it—an act of love and care for the assembly, a practical way of ensuring that people can participate fully without being subjected to verbal stage directions throughout the Mass.
A Plea for Beauty:
Before we discuss what to avoid, permit me a heartfelt appeal: if you’re constructing your own hymn board, purchasing one, or creating worship aids, please—I beg of you with all my heart—make it beautiful. The church is a sacred space. The liturgy, as I’ve exclaimed throughout this article and many others, is the manifestation of heaven touching earth. If angels could be jealous, our ability to attend the Holy Sacrifice of the Lamb and receive our Lord in Holy Communion would have them green with envy. Fortunately for us, they’ve chosen a life of perfect holiness with God and don’t experience those sinful emotions. But the point stands: we are privileged beyond measure to participate in this sacred mystery. Anything being used in the liturgy—anything at all—deserves to be curated with the utmost dignity and reverence, with beauty and transcendence, or at least a sincere heart striving toward that ideal. I’m not saying you need to hire a professional artist or master craftsman to create these materials for you. I understand budget constraints, limited resources, the realities of parish life. But please don’t make whatever solution you choose more distracting than the problem you’re trying to solve. The hymn board shouldn’t be an eyesore. If you’re building one yourself, take the time to sand it properly, stain or paint it to complement the church’s interior, ensure the numbers are clearly legible and proportioned well. If you’re purchasing one, invest in quality that matches the dignity of the space. A cheap plastic board with crooked numbers is worse than no board at all—it announces to everyone who enters that we don’t really care about beauty, that “good enough” is sufficient for the house of God. The worship aids and sheets shouldn’t be rushed, sloppy, or typographically careless. Proofread them. Eliminate typos. For the love of all that’s holy, don’t use the fonts Calibri, Chalkboard, Comic Sans. Choose a typeface with dignity—something like Garamond, Caslon, or Minion Pro for body text; perhaps Trajan or Goudy for headings. Pay attention to spacing, margins, hierarchy. Make sure the paper quality is appropriate. If you’re printing weekly worship aids, use decent cardstock, not flimsy copy paper that feels cheap in the hand. I like to think I’ve become pretty good at creating these worship booklets, and if you think a future article on best practices to create beautiful worship aids would be beneficial, please do let me know. I always say that the music of the liturgy, if done properly, should almost go unnoticed. There should be such a smooth flow, such natural connection and execution, that it feels perfectly organic—as if it could be no other way. These practical solutions should complement this ideal. They should recede into the background, providing necessary information without drawing attention to themselves. They should serve the liturgy rather than disrupting it.
Beauty matters. Details matter. The way we treat even the most utilitarian elements of worship communicates what we believe about God, about the Mass, about the dignity owed to sacred things. If we’re going to eliminate announcements in order to preserve the liturgy’s transcendent character, let’s not undermine that goal by introducing poorly executed alternatives that scream “we threw this together at the last minute.” Do it well, or the cure becomes worse than the disease.
Solutions to Avoid:
Not every technological solution is a liturgical improvement. In our rush to solve the problem of hymn announcements, we must be careful not to create new—and worse—problems.
Projection Screens and Televisions • The single worst solution to the hymn announcement problem is to install projection screens or televisions in the church displaying lyrics, hymn numbers, or worse, videos and images. This innovation, borrowed from evangelical megachurches, is an abysmal liturgical disaster.
First, nothing destroys the beauty of a beautiful church quite like massive television screens. You can have stunning stained glass windows depicting the mysteries of our salvation, magnificent statuary of the saints who intercede for us, a high altar directing every eye toward the sacrifice of Calvary—and then ruin it all by mounting glowing rectangles on the walls. Screens are visual pollution in sacred spaces. They’re designed for living rooms and conference halls, not for houses of God. They announce, unmistakably, that we’ve prioritized convenience over beauty, efficiency over transcendence.
Second, screens demand attention in ways that traditional church furnishings do not. You cannot ignore a glowing rectangle in your field of vision. What’s more, they turn the church into a theater and the congregation into an audience watching a presentation. The focus shifts from the altar—where the sacred action is taking place—to wherever the screen is mounted. This is the exact opposite of what liturgical architecture should accomplish.
Third, and most fundamentally, projection screens are pieces of technology that ground us to our modern earthly ties precisely when the liturgy should be lifting us beyond them. The Mass is meant to be a foretaste of heaven, a participation in the celestial liturgy. Glowing screens—with their harsh blue light, their pixelated text, their unmistakable modernity—anchor us firmly to the twenty-first century. They’re a constant reminder that we’re not in the upper room or on Calvary or in the heavenly Jerusalem. We’re in a room with electronic displays, just like the airport terminal or the shopping mall or the sports arena.
Here’s an uncomfortable truth worth contemplating: when we all come face-to-face with the Lord on our judgment day, and if we’re fortunate enough to be welcomed through those celestial gates, our television isn’t coming with us. The liturgy is preparation for eternity. It’s meant to form us in habits of prayer, in attentiveness to the sacred, in the kind of adoration we’ll hopefully practice forever in the presence of God. Screens teach us the opposite—they teach us to consume visual media, to expect constant stimulation, to require technological assistance for basic acts of worship. Is this really how we want to prepare souls for heaven?
Some will argue that screens make participation easier, especially for visitors. But the solution to welcoming visitors is not to install a television in a sacred space. It’s to provide them with a worship aid, to train ushers to help people find their way, and to trust that the liturgy itself—celebrated with dignity and beauty—is welcoming in a way that technology can never be.
Excessive Printed Instructions • Another temptation is to over-explain everything in printed materials. Some worship aids become so cluttered with rubrics, explanations, and instructions that they read less like a prayer book and more like an IKEA assembly manual, offering detailed commentary on every gesture and symbol throughout the Mass. That said, straightforward posture cues—“Please stand,” “Please kneel,” “Please be seated”—included in a way that’s not distracting can be perfectly appropriate, especially in worship aids for special occasion liturgies such as Christmas and the Easter Triduum. These are times when parishes tend to have more people attending Mass for the first time, or for the first time in a while. Simple, clear rubrics help these occasional attendees follow along without drawing undue attention to themselves or disrupting their neighbors with whispered questions. The key is keeping these instructions minimal and functional. The liturgy has an organic structure that, with even minimal catechesis, becomes intuitive. Provide the essential information people need to participate, but resist the urge to narrate every action or explain every symbol. Trust your congregation. Allow them to learn by doing, by being present, by gradually growing into the rhythms of the Church’s prayer.
By Way of Pastoral Sensitivity • I anticipate an objection: “But what about visitors? What about people who don’t know their way around a hymnal? What about the elderly who can’t see the hymn board? Aren’t we being uncharitable by refusing to announce hymn numbers?” These are legitimate pastoral concerns, and they deserve thoughtful responses rather than dismissal.
For visitors: A well-designed worship aid solves this problem completely. If a visitor walks in and receives a booklet containing everything they need, they don’t need announcements. Better yet, train your ushers—those unsung heroes of parish life—to help visitors find their way. A quiet word at the entrance (“Everything you need is in the booklet we just gave you, and here’s a hymnal if you’d like to keep one at your seat”) is far more welcoming than a voice on a microphone.
For those with visual impairments: This is a genuine challenge, but it’s one that requires personalized accommodation rather than disrupting the liturgy for everyone. Larger-print worship aids, strategically placed ushers who can quietly assist, or even the gentle help of a neighboring parishioner—these are solutions that respect both the dignity of the person and the dignity of the liturgy. Some parishes have found success with large-print hymnals kept near the entrance for those who need them.
For those unfamiliar with the liturgy: Patience and repetition are your friends. The Mass is not something that anyone masters in a single visit. It’s a lifetime of formation, a gradual apprenticeship in the Church’s prayer. The best way to form people in the liturgy is not to announce everything that’s happening, but to celebrate the liturgy with such beauty, dignity, and consistency that its structure becomes familiar over time. People learn by being present, by watching, by listening, by slowly growing in confidence.
The point is not to make the liturgy difficult or exclusive. The point is to protect its essential character as sacred worship rather than reducing it to a community event that needs a master of ceremonies. There’s a difference between being pastorally sensitive and being pastorally condescending. We honor our congregations when we trust them to rise to the occasion, when we provide them with the tools they need and then allow the liturgy to do its work.
A Practical Path Forward • For music directors, priests, and liturgy committees considering this change, the transition away from announcing hymn numbers presents an invaluable opportunity to offer further catechesis on the beauty, reverence, and dignity of the liturgy. This isn’t merely a logistical adjustment—it’s a chance to form your congregation in a deeper understanding of what the Mass actually is. Priests can use this as a simple starting point for broader liturgical formation. A homily explaining why we’re eliminating announcements can naturally expand into teaching about the Mass as heaven touching earth, about the difference between active participation and mere activity, about the power of sacred silence and uninterrupted ritual. This is pastoral leadership at its best: not managing systems, but forming souls. A bulletin article can introduce the change effectively—you might even reference this very article and expand on its themes for your particular parish context. Explain not just what you’re doing, but why it matters. Help people understand that this change serves their spiritual good, that it protects the liturgy’s sacred character, that it trusts them to rise to the occasion rather than treating them like children who need constant verbal guidance. The change will feel abrupt at first. There will be moments of confusion as people glance around wondering if they missed an announcement. Some may even think it’s an error on your part. This is why communication is critical—don’t simply stop announcing hymns without any explanation. If you’re relying solely on a bulletin article, mention it in the announcements before Mass begins (yes, ironically, announce that you’re going to stop announcing) to ensure everyone makes a point to read it. Give your congregation the courtesy of understanding what’s changing and why. While I believe every parish should implement this change immediately, it’s essential to do so responsibly. Ensure that one of the methods discussed above—a hymn board, simple worship sheets, or complete worship aids—is already in place before you stop announcing. Don’t just automatically cut people off from knowing what’s being sung. That’s not pastoral care; it’s pastoral negligence. The goal is to eliminate disruptive verbal announcements, not to create chaos or exclude people from participation. Done well, this transition can become a turning point in your parish’s liturgical life. It signals that you take the Mass seriously, that you trust your congregation, that you’re willing to invest in proper preparation rather than relying on quick fixes. It opens the door for further improvements: better music selection, increased use of propers, more careful attention to liturgical details. One good change leads to another. One act of liturgical integrity invites the next.
A Closing Challenge:
If you’ve made it this far, you’re likely either nodding in agreement or preparing a vigorous rebuttal. Either way, I’ll ask you to do one thing: attend a Mass—anywhere—where hymn numbers are not announced. Notice what happens. Notice the uninterrupted flow of the sacred action, the seamless progression from one element to the next, the sense of entering into something larger than yourself. Then ask yourself: Is this not what we’ve been missing? The arguments presented here rest not on personal preference but on the Church’s own liturgical vision, articulated in Sacrosanctum Concilium, Musicam Sacram, the General Instruction of the Roman Missal, and countless other magisterial documents. The Church has never called for announcements during Mass. It has called for beauty, for reverence, for “full, conscious, and active participation”—a participation that begins in the heart and rises toward heaven, not one that requires constant verbal stage directions.
We can do better. We must do better. The faithful deserve to experience the liturgy as the Church intends it: as a foretaste of heaven, an encounter with the living God, a sacred drama that unfolds with its own intrinsic beauty and power. Removing announcements doesn’t create awkward pauses; it allows everything to flow together as it should. In the words of Pope St. John Paul II: “The celebration of the Liturgy is an act of the virtue of religion that, consistent with its nature, must be characterized by a profound sense of the sacred. In this, man and the entire community must be aware of being, in a special way, in the presence of Him who is thrice-holy and transcendent.”
Stop announcing hymns.
Trust the liturgy.
Trust your congregation.
Let the Mass be the Mass.
If you have other methods or recommendations for avoiding hymn announcements while maintaining the beauty and reverence of the sacred liturgy, I’d be grateful to hear them. And if you have arguments—or hate mail—in favor of announcing hymns that I haven’t addressed here, please don’t hesitate to contact me: daniel@gloriadeo.org
