GIA Quarterly Magazine
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Right Track, Wrong Direction?
Robert Batastini
a column from a recent issue of the GIA Quarterly
In 1967, my first year with GIA, I attended a national meeting
of diocesan liturgy and music commissions. The following year
the Federation of Diocesan Liturgical Commissions was inaugurated.
I attended the annual FDLC meetings without break for the next
twenty-two years. Those were years when liturgical renewal was
a high-energy endeavor, driven by some of the most committed
church people I have ever met. These liturgists passionately
believed that the liturgy was not celebrated for the sake of
its own subsistence, but rather that it was the living work of
the community of believers, celebrated as a direct consequence
of Christ’s imperative to “do this.” In those
days diocesan liturgy offices were well staffed, adequately financed,
and hubs of dynamic activity.
Those were also the years of significant
grass roots ecumenism. In villages, towns, and city neighborhoods, clergy of
various denominations formed clusters that met monthly for prayer, lunch, and
conversation—moving from one parish house to another. They dealt with
community issues and planned occasional ecumenical prayer services. We always
formed a choir made up of members from the various churches. I remember one
warmly humorous incident at an ecumenical service held in my own parish. Twelve
clergy, all in their unique vesture, entered in procession and took seats along
the back wall of the sanctuary in the order in which they had randomly filed.
Our presider’s chair was on a platform raised several steps above all
the other seats—which is where the only clergyman in a business suit,
the local Seventh-Day Adventist pastor, landed. The slightly anxious look on
that pastor’s face seemed to say, “If some of my colleagues could
only see me now!” These events held during the ’70s, recall some
of the richest experiences of my life, and they played a significant role in
forming my lifelong aspiration to be a part of bringing about communion among
Christians (borrowing on the mission of the Taizé Community). We had
high hopes.
In the parish church, the emphasis was
on the full, conscious, and active participation of the assembly. The liturgy,
once perceived as something done by the priest for the people, was being turned
full circle into an event that was done by the assembly with the leadership
of the priest and other ministers. The assembly’s song was recognized
as the principle musical element of the rites. That, at least, was the direction
in which things seemed to be going.
Approaching retirement is a happy time
for most persons, though I personally confess to being slightly less than enthusiastic
at times. Being a pastoral musician—as I am sure is the case with many
of you who read these words—is a big part of who I am, though I just
don’t seem to have the energy any longer. I’ve reached the point
in my life characterized by a degree of burnout. Or maybe it’s just that
I have always been negligent when it comes to following my doctor’s constant
admonition to exercise! Or perhaps—just perhaps—I take stock of
the present and feel in some ways as though we’re just not very far from
where we were nearly a half century ago.
Today, many diocesan offices have closed,
and the ones remaining have suffered significant budget cuts. The FDLC is but
an echo of the vibrant force in shaping the liturgy of the church that it once
was. I have not heard mention of a group of local Protestant and Catholic clergy
gathering regularly for prayer and lunch in years—perhaps a quarter century—though
I hope this still occurs in some communities.
As much as I rejoiced when in 1970 we
adopted the ICET translation of the Mass Ordinary—the same translation
being used by Lutherans, Episcopalians, and, over the years, most mainstream
Protestants—I today lament the fact that we are changing our texts and
will no longer pray these central eucharistic dialogues, hymns, and acclamations
in the same words as other Christians. We take so few apparent steps toward
the reconciliation of all Christians that a step backward, even if only symbolic,
seems like one giant step against the people of God.
As for full, conscious, and active participation
of the assembly, I’m afraid that I repeatedly see that “priest
doing for the people” has become “priest and other ministers doing
for the people.” I do not witness much liturgy done by the people. Musically,
we commonly hear the amplified voice of the cantor more than any other voice
in the room, including the combined voice of the assembly. If there is an expanded
music ministry present—choir, ensemble—and if this music ministry
is equipped with sound amplification, it often comes closer to performance
than at any time since the days when the choir did all the singing by design.
Some of this performance unabashedly seeks to entertain. This has been going
on for so long in some places that the response “we’ve always done
it that way” is beginning to be applied.
The active repertoire of the Catholic
Church in the United States is broad and diverse. Yet I still see so many communities
that attempt to define themselves in terms of musical style. “We’re
a contemporary community.” “We are traditional, and proud.” Often
they divide their Mass schedule into musical styles—for example, piano
Masses and the choir and organ Masses. It’s more about the music than
the prayer, and in some instances, it’s more about the musicians than
the gathered community.
Full circle? Observe any presider for
ten minutes, and you’ll know whether or not his mindset is one of “doing” for
the assembly or “leading” the assembly itself in doing the liturgy.
From my observations, it would be generous to say that the mix is 50/50. When
you are embedded in the assembly, ask yourself if the song feels like it is
your song, or does it feel like it to belongs to others: cantor, choir, ensemble,
or Father Who-Never-Shuts-Off-His-Wireless. Ask yourself if it really matters,
except to yourself, whether or not you sing.
into the liturgical renewal, a concern developed that things were getting off track. Along came a spate of conferences and workshops labeled as “back to basics.” I feel so strongly about the nature of communal worship as something done by the community that today I might change the metaphor to being on track but headed in the wrong direction. The worse fallout from all of this is in the form of those who claim that the liturgical reforms of Vatican II were a mistake. Go back to basics and read those documents once again. Then ask yourself how well the reality of liturgy in 2007 reflects the intent of those reforms. Is it time, once again, to get back to basics?