Lenten Reflections on Modernism

This blog will soon be closing for Lent, as I retire into the contemplative life of a hermit. I shall move to a shed on the Costa Blanca, where my only companions will be my four faithful hippopotamuses: Dolan, Pickles, Batmanghelidjh, and Auntie Moly. As a modern St Francis - or maybe St Augustine of Hippo - I shall exchange spiritually nourishing ideas with these highly intelligent creatures, but, except possibly on some Sundays, there will be nothing new to read on this blog.

Auntie Moly has a spiritually nourishing idea.

So, to give you material for reflection during Lent, here are some thoughts on modernism in a religious context.

Pre-Vatican II. A spiritual experience. Note the clouds of incense.

Post-Vatican II. Worshippers don't even know where they're going.

The revolution in Catholicism can be traced to three events, which collectively are known as "Vatican II". First, there was the Beeching report, saying that churches should be modernized, some being closed down and the others becoming soul-less. The results can be seen above - in the "modernist" service we don't even know which way the priest's going to be facing. "Extraordinary form" services still exist, but the Spirit of Vatican II is against them, and they are often only available to the lucky few in churches run by enthusiasts.

Traddy worship. Note how Fr Boycott's vestments are liturgically appropriate.

Bad vestments with the priest's name on the back!

Second, there was the move to bad vestments, and the rush to complete all one's worship in one day. Before Vatican II, a Mass could easily last five days, with intervals for lunch and tea. Experienced worshippers would use terms such as "night-watchman" (usually a disparaging reference to a deacon who came in for the night-time vigil), and "state of the pitch" (a reference to the quality of the unaccompanied Gregorian chant). These concepts have now largely disappeared.

An asperges from Pope Pertwee.

A guitar Mass with Pope Capaldi.

Finally, there was the Medicus Quis. In the olden days, Pope St Pertwee's main recipe for salvation was to "reverse the polarity of the neutron flow," which in theological terms means "turn back, O Man, forswear thy foolish ways." He often found salvation via the ventilation shaft (whence came the "rushing wind" of the Holy Spirit), and his services never employed guitars; only rarely did he use gimmicks such as the sonic screwdriver.

Pope Capaldi, on the other hand, relies almost exclusively on the sonic screwdriver. A demon appears? Zap it. A penitent needs a blessing? Zap him (oops. you weren't supposed to use the same setting, Father). Alleluia, zap-zap!

I hope these little thoughts will help you to stay saved during Lent. At least the hippopotamuses appreciated them.

Music in church

I don't usually blog about music, since I don't know much about it. On the other hand I do know what I don't like.

The Mallard - a metaphor for this Sunday's music.

This Sunday I went to a Mass at which the music hit a new low. The best way to deal with a trauma is to tell people about it, so here goes. I've changed the names in order to protect the guilty.

The musicians:

Mr Anguish, organist. 
Mrs Bedlam, singer and conductor. 
Mr Cacophony, singer and guitar-player. 
Mr Dissonance, singer and flute-player.

A, alone, would have done a very competent job. The first hymn was "Praise, my soul, the King of Heaven", which I normally enjoy very much. However, C and D were also allowed to play their instruments, and this was a bad idea. We got to the chorus, "Praise Him, praise Him..." and there was a screech such as you get from the wheels of a train when it is going round a tight curve. Yes, D, the flautist, had decided to show off a little. Maybe it was in the wrong key, maybe it wasn't in any key, but the high-pitched screeching was horrible, and probably infringed numerous health and safety directives.

"Eeek!"

The other hymns were unremarkable. The final one was Bernadette Farrell's "Christ be our light", which is not ludicrous enough to be a candidate for the Eccles Bad Hymn Award, although it can be extremely irritating in its banality.

No, the real offence came during the sung parts of the Mass (Kyrie, Gloria, etc.) There's a basic question here: why are people who are musical always assumed to be able to sing? You don't ask James MacMillan to give us a rendering of Donald, where's yer troosers? when he's finished conducting his latest work, so why should a guitar-player be rebranded as a singer? We had C's big moment, when he led the singing of the Gloria. Even I could tell that he was singing no better than anyone else in the congregation, and a good deal worse than some.

Another mallard, this one singing "Gloria in Excelsis Deo!"

You may think I've got it in for C, but his guitar-playing was also intrusive. When you are about to sing the Agnus Dei (even in English), do you really want it introduced with a massive TWANNGGG! on all the strings simultaneously, as if you were about to sing "Eviva España!"? And another TWANNGGG! to conclude?

A similar TWANNGGG! can be obtained by getting up quickly from one of these seats.

B was fine as a singer, although as a conductor she didn't always make it clear when the choir was supposed to sing along, and when the congregation could join in - this confused the priest as well. The overall effect was dire.

The counselling I was given.

Of course one should never criticise bad music in church, even when it distracts from worship, devotion, and thoughts of God. But how do you tell a musician, politely, "Er, you're not very good, are you?"