March 28, 2014 Comments Off on Praying a Musical Landscape
OK, I confess. For me a good mass is all about the music. When I hear mass, I need good music. When I was spiritually starving, it was the study of music, especially the works of the great Renaissance masters that put me back on the track to Christianity. And then, many years later in my journey to find St. Luke’s whose tradition was musical and liturgical, was a gift for which I have never stopped giving thanks. Given the choice, I could do without a sermon and just have great music.
OK, now that I have alienated our (and I suspect many other) clergy let me unpack this a little. I would like to offer an opportunity for all of us in the great season of Lent to spend a little time meditating on the very gifts and rewards our musical tradition provides. The next time you are at mass, take a moment and meditate on how you feel about the sounds you hear around you. What do we do when we sing or listen to music? Are you drawn to the chanting of the prayers and gospel readings? Do we find ourselves talking during the Offertory? Do we take time to really pay attention to the texts we either sing or hear? Do we pray the Kyrie, Sanctus or Agnus Dei as the choir sings it? If you don’t, give yourself permission to give it a try, I think you will be surprised at what you experience. As a resistant church returner, If I could find my way in, anyone can. You don’t have to be a singer or a musician to participate in our musical tradition.
As with any good sermon, composers of sacred music are inspired by the word of God, the teachings of Christ and the encompassing presence of the Holy Ghost, even if they aren’t entirely aware of it themselves. Composers of motets and mass ordinaries draw from the same tool box of inspiration as a priest preparing a sermon. The only difference is that the composers express themselves initially through a tonal language that becomes the vehicle in which language is the passenger. Although composers communicate their message more subtly, their interpretations of the message of prayer, scripture, meditation, self-examination, and joyfulness (even during Lent), can shine through in often surprising and very satisfying ways. In their work can be found not only great musical ability, but a clear and, I believe, a two-way, connection to the divine. The great composers and poets are, in addition to their obvious musical abilities, a conduit for a greater message and purpose. That such beauty could be created without a connection to God and a deeply held system of belief seems impossible to me. The creation of Art in any form is one God’s greatest gifts, and that we celebrate it here is a blessing.
– John Bradley
A Conductor Meditates on Wilderness, the Desert, and Finding His Way Back to an Authentic Experience of Music
March 16, 2012 Comments Off on A Conductor Meditates on Wilderness, the Desert, and Finding His Way Back to an Authentic Experience of Music
The desert and wilderness seem to be a consistent theme in our Lenten meditations, and I would like to reflect on this with respect to music, especially the music we hear or sing during the celebration of our masses during this season. From a geographic perspective, one is most commonly drawn to the familiar and unsettling definitions of wilderness and desert, I would instead like to draw us toward the beauty, mystery and magic that is found in both of these landscapes, both metaphorical and physical. There is a quietness and solitude that can elicit, if the soul is open and available, a new understanding of both oneself and that which surrounds us. It is no accident that people of faith from many world religions, from the Fathers of the Church, to the Nepalese Buddhists, to Native American shamans, have had visionary experiences while alone and wandering in the wilderness and desert. We, when in our own familiar surroundings, are often too distracted by the background noise of our lives giving potentially important spiritual experiences less of a chance of penetrating our ever so intricately constructed barriers. What we hope to experience are thoughts and meditations that might not normally surface when we don’t take time, or are invited to make the time in a season such as Lent. It is in these precious moments of authenticity that we allow ourselves to observe, reflect, and process the word and real presence of God, when he himself, or through the hands of others, speaks to us.
The first thing we notice when entering our church for mass on Ash Wednesday is the absence of familiar iconography and the addition of the Stations of the Cross. We for a time are asked not to depend on the comfortable and familiar, but the occasional and disquieting images of the events leading up to the crucifixion of Jesus. The music of the season follows suit, from the congregational hymns either sung with a very subdued organ or – especially moving for me – with no organ at all, to the choral offerings which call us to reflect upon the nature of the season. When the first lines of the introit are sung the stage is immediately set for a season of introspection and self-examination. Perhaps the most poignant change in the Liturgy of the Word is the Tract at the Gospel procession. Taken from the psalms, it replaces the Alleluia; supplanting exuberant praise with quiet reflection.
At the imposition of the ashes, we hear the Great Penitential Psalm. Our tradition at St. Luke’s is to use the composition by Italian composer, Gregorio Allegri. Hearing it in Latin this year was especially moving and appropriate. The text speaks of repentance, self examination, a desire for redemption and perhaps most importantly, asking God how best to achieve it. It sums up the entire Lenten journey in a single text. And so it begins. Each year it is the same, an open door inviting us to embark on our own inward journeys into the desert and through the wilderness.
I don’t want to dwell on the specifics of our choir’s magnificent Lenten repertoire; that goes without saying. I would rather explore what the experience of the musical journey of Lent can offer. Identifying a new way of allowing music to move me is especially important because, as a conductor, it is a luxury that I am not always allowed to enjoy. During Lent, in my journey into the desert, I endeavor to relinquish my control over music in favor of my availability to music. I give myself the gift and opportunity to step back from the mechanics of music making and loose myself in the experience of music itself. I react not only to the text, but the color and texture of each piece. Is it jubilant or somber? Is it richly textured or sparsely constructed? Is it brightly toned in multi-colored light or in the deeply complex and yet subtle hues of deep shadow? Like looking at the colors of a finely wrought stained glass window, the same host of possibilities exist with sound. Sound is as sacred and holy a sensation as taste, smell or touch and is especially enhanced by a quiet and open experience. I inhale the sounds and hold them in my soul allowing the experience of it to expand and transform. It is the subtle beauty like that of desert and wilderness that transports me to the place where the composer invites me to see the face of God. It is possible for me to worship without music, but I would rather not. There is something in this particular gift that moves me in such a highly personal way. Sometimes intimate knowledge of a thing can diminish its inherent spiritual experience. We have all said: “Well, I guess I just know too much about it”. During this season the goal is to get beyond the artistic vocation, conservatory education, and technical experience, and put myself in the place beyond academic knowledge and into that place: the wilderness and desert of personal reflection and self-awakening experience.
– John Bradley