The Great Catholic Music Debate

A funeral I attended recently illustrates a musical dilemma that fuels the ire of Catholics on Facebook whenever the subject of liturgy comes up.

To set a tone of solemnity, two women chanted a Latin prelude as mourners entered. The casket was wheeled in with family members processing to the opening hymn, “Here I Am, Lord” (by ex-St. Louis Jesuits member, Dan Schutte), a classic of the post-Vatican “folk” musical repertoire.

The offertory song was Michael Joncas’s “On Eagles’ Wings,” another “folk” favorite, and one that has become a staple at funerals in churches of pretty much all denominations.

Two hymns of more traditional pedigree, “Adoro te Devote” and “The Strife Is O’er” were sung during Communion. There was also an instrumental interlude: Schubert’s “Ave Maria,” played on what sounded like a hammered dulcimer.

The final prayers of commendation were followed by another Latin chant. And the recessional hymn was “Be Not Afraid” (by Schutte’s former colleague, Bob Dufford).

The musicians did a fine job, though it can’t be said that these disparate elements fitted together all that well. But the music had been chosen by the family, and the selections demonstrated a basic fact of human nature: At times of emotional intensity and spiritual significance people like to hear familiar songs that comfort, encourage, and, in various ways, uplift them.

This emotional dimension is often not top-of-mind among Catholics who think about liturgy. That’s especially true for those of traditionalist sentiment (amply represented among my Facebook friends).

These people are drawn toward what they would call a more “sanctified” worship experience in which hymn preference skews to the classical and time-honored, if indeed hymns are included at all. Many urge abandoning hymnody altogether in favor of singing the Mass propers.

It goes without saying that the “folk” repertoire is anathema, seen as a flawed product of the worship form referred to contemptuously as “guitar Mass.” Countless Facebook postings (and articles linked to them) are replete with tales of wandering into some parish where the dreaded guitar group still prevails, and having to endure the pain and embarrassment of liturgical desecration.

Facebook traditionalists also comment on the poor quality of this music—poor in both composition and performance. Their complaints are often justified. Who hasn’t sat through at least one teeth-grinding rendition of “I Received the Living God” offered by a slipshod, three-chord guitar ensemble?

What the tradition-minded have difficulty recognizing (and find dispiriting when they do) is that many Catholics like the “folk” stuff. After decades of hearing this repertoire at Mass, as well as during funerals, weddings, prayer services, and other faith-related events, they have come to associate these songs with fond memories, moments of intense religious immersion, or family joy. Question their taste if you will, but for them this is what church sounds like.

Among the traditionalists, much hope has been invested in the expectation that changes in Mass language (accomplished by the Third  “Typical” Edition of the Roman Missal, introduced in 2011) would bring a wave of new Catholic hymns that are more conducive to the longed-for sense of sanctity.

But while composers have developed new Mass settings, and reworked old ones to fit the revised liturgical text, there has been disappointment on the song side. A few modern hymns have appeared that hearken back to pre-Vatican forms, or include Latin flourishes. Publishers have integrated older pieces into their hymnals as well. On the whole, however, a new repertoire has not been forthcoming.

This is understandable if you consider the costs involved in publishing, and the money tied up in established catalogues. It also reflects the reliance of publishers on songwriters of proven ability to write for “the market.” This last concern accounts for the sameness discernable in contemporary liturgical music. It’s no easier for a new songwriter to penetrate the Catholic music scene—or the protestant one—than it is to break into the commercial music business. This is disheartening, since you would expect hymn publishers to be on the lookout for authentic spiritual insights expressed in fresh musical ways. What they’re actually on the lookout for is songs that fit a conventional formula.

And so, music for Catholic worship divides itself between what can be called (for lack of more edifying terms) “post-Vatican folk” and “reformist retro.” Generally, the preferences for these two genres find expression in different parishes, or different Masses, on the weekly schedule. But sometimes, contrasting styles bump up against each other, as at the funeral I attended.

That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, even if it does make for some musical awkwardness.

One might hope for more careful attention to stylistic blending, perhaps in the ordering of selections. It would also be a good idea to cull out those “folk”-style songs that, because of structural flaws or lyrical weaknesses, don’t lend themselves readily to congregational singing. There are many of those, sad to say.

More sensitive instrumental execution would also help, particularly when “folk” pieces are accompanied by piano or organ. It’s hard for keyboard instruments to convey the “feel” of a song written for guitar unless you’ve got an exceptionally good player (next to impossible for pipe organs, which pretty much blow away the “folk” sensibility under any circumstances).

Given these caveats, a mixed menu of songs does suggest an inclusiveness that reflects the universality of the Church. A liturgy whose basic form is recognizable in wildly disparate cultural settings around the world surely can survive the juxtaposition of “Panis Angelicus” with “Earthen Vessels.”

I was not always so accepting of “post-Vatican folk.” I had spent my childhood in and out of various protestant congregations. Grand, anthemic, march-like hymns were what church sounded like to me (“Up from the grave He arose, with a mighty vict’ry o’er His foes…”). I’d also been exposed to Gospel music, particularly Gospel music slicked up for the mainstream audience by pop artists like Peter, Paul, & Mary.

When I first encountered the “guitar Mass,” this music struck me as amateurish. But, I’d been writing songs for some years, and so my creative instincts were engaged (not to mention my creative ego). I said to myself, “Hey, I can write this stuff.”

And I did. This led me into music ministry. This then fostered my conversion to Catholicism. And, for this, I’ll always be grateful.

I was highly critical of the genre at first, much put off by the boom-chinga-chinga strumming pattern typical of so many unrehearsed, limited-skill guitar players. But I discovered over time that, mixed in among all the sing-songy tunes, and insipid lyrics, there were a few pieces that stood up respectably as musical works of faith expression.

Bernadette Farrell’s “Christ Be Our Light,” David Haas’s “Deep Within,” Tim Manion’s “I Lift Up My Soul,” and Roc O’Connor’s “Trust In the Lord” deserve special mention. These aren’t necessarily the greatest congregational pieces, but when presented properly, such songs draw from “folk” simplicity, an evocative power that can actually be quite moving. There are other examples too (we mustn’t ignore John Michael Talbot, one of the leading lights of “post-Vatican folk.” But he’s less a songwriter than a crafter of aural textures, atmospheric musical backgrounds intended to encourage prayer and meditation).

It’s often asserted by traditionalists that this music is too us-focused. The songs put human beings at the center, rather than emphasizing God.

I think this is something of a “straw man” argument. Aside, perhaps, from certain Marian hymns (which deal with the unique attributes of the Blessed Mother), pretty much all Church music is us-focused—and always has been. It is, after all, about the relationship between God and his creatures, i.e., us. (If you want to sing exclusively about God, take up Evangelical praise music: “Our God is an awesome God …”).

Another criticism is that many songs speak too much for God, and put words into his mouth which are decidedly human, and often highly ideological. This complaint is valid. You do come across instances of trying to make God endorse certain political, social, or economic propositions. It’s been observed that “post-Vatican II folk” is the Democratic Party platform set to music. There’s much truth in this.

The explanation for most conflicts in lyrical viewpoint, however, is the fact that so many of these songs are based on psalms or canticles. In those Bible passages, God speaks, but perspective constantly shifts (usually without notice) between his words and those of the Scripture author.

One of the things that has hampered Catholic songwriting is a slavish literalism in rendering scriptural language into lyrics. This is why rhymes sound so forced (or are non-existent) and melodies tend toward the wishy-washy. It’s a fundamental mistake which the great hymn writers of the past avoided; they took Biblical concepts, and recast them artistically into coherent verse that was well-structured and rhymed powerfully.

You hear much about the “liturgical inappropriateness” of “post-Vatican folk” and how it displaced Latin, which the Church insists must retain pride of place in our traditions. But I think most of the discomfort with this genre comes down to the simple reality that a lot of these songs just flat-out stink, and there are so many bad musicians playing in church.

The poverty of musicianship is accountable to limitations of talent and budget that are the facts of life in your average parish. Hiring an accomplished music director, and building a first-rate choir, take money.

Song quality is a different matter. The post-Vatican period saw a grassroots movement of liturgical simplification (and confusion) in which the musical motifs of the then-popular Urban Folk Revival were adapted to religious ends. (This was also the period when the so-called “Jesus Movement” brought a similar aesthetic sensibility into Evangelical circles.)

The publishing ministries created during these years were able to enshrine this music as the common coin of “modern” worship, mostly due to a lack of any competing stylistic vision that had a strong constituency. It’s hung on ever since.

The charge has been heard that this was an effort to “dumb-down” Catholic liturgy, and weaken the Church (speculation which often detects the hand of Freemasonry at work). In truth, religious leaders were groping—trying to find their way in a period of great social turmoil—with scant direction from Rome. They saw contemporary music as a tool for keeping young people, then under the sway of ’60s youth rebellion, within the Catholic fold.

That has had decidedly mixed results. I think the Church would have been much better off embracing the musical conventions that were so well established in American Protestantism while bending them in a distinctively Catholic direction. When I was a young person, those soaring, noble protestant hymns, and rousing Gospel tunes, were the aspects of church life that had strongest appeal to me.

But all of this is water under the musical bridge.

Today, the so-called reform-of-the-reform is nudging “post-Vatican folk” out of its position of prominence, while “reformist retro” is on the rise. This may be a good thing in the long-run—if the revival of traditional forms prompts a recommitment to musical quality, and if we see greater resources devoted to good composition, and solid professionalism, in church musicianship.

If not, we may hear more Latin, but its presentation will likely be as cloying and amateurish as that of the tackiest guitar group.

Meanwhile, I would hate to see the whole post-Vatican musical “baby” thrown out with the liturgical “bathwater.” Even as fewer guitars are strummed at Mass, many small gems remain in the “folk” repertoire—songs that may be unsophisticated, even simplistic, but that continue to touch people’s hearts in a time when our Church is under varieties of stress that require faith, confidence, and unity.

Put in musical terms, you could call this: harmony. And all the carping only destroys that harmony.

Perhaps, the funeral I attended holds the key to our musical future: balance—albeit with less eclecticism, more discernment, and some charity for the sensitivities of others. Whether your preference is for “post-Vatican folk” or “reformist retro,” I believe there’s a place in God’s Church for all sounds. We are instructed, after all, not to debate our music, but to make a “joyful noise.”