Seen on a final exam today:
"'The Wife of Bath's Tale' teaches the reader how to be truly gentile."
N.B. The noun form of "gentility" is "genteel."
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
"Contemporary"* music and divine liturgy
I've been thinking much lately on the current cultural trend toward so-called "contemporary" music in liturgy, and the more that I think on it, the more discomfited I become.
A frequent argument cited by proponents of "contemporary" music is relevancy. "We need to be more relevant if we're going to reach people effectively" is the philosophy which translates in practice to the adoption of Top Forty-esque music in liturgy. This argument is frequently cited in discussions involving youth and liturgy.
The premise seems flawed to me on two levels: one, a misunderstanding of the proper function of liturgical music; and two, a reversal of the attitude with which liturgy should be approached.
As for the first, the function of music in the liturgy is to be an organic part of the celebration of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Raucous instrumentation, whooping and hollering, hand-clapping and motions are all at odds with the formal, elegant, highly structured rituals of Mass in the Catholic church. Not that there is not a time and a place where all of those things are not inappropriate, and not that those things are intrinsically bad; they're just the liturgical equivalent of redecorating the entire White House with Pucci prints and Ikea furniture. Whenever something jars my focus away from the celebration of the Mass, it becomes liturgically problematic. If the congregation feels unsure whether or not it should applaud after a piece of music, it is liturgically problematic. The focus has shifted from the communal celebration of Mass to a performance, which reduces the congregation to the role of audience.
"But the people can't sing Gregorian chant!" is another frequent complaint, to which I reply "Nonsense!" I've taught a group of teenagers who can't read music how to sing the chant "Ave Maria" in under fifteen minutes. I find that the structure and tessitura of chant is easy to understand even for non-musicians -- people who can't read music can still see on the page whether a line rises or falls and feel naturally where a line resolves. Chant is simpler to sing than 95% of "contemporary" music, which generally has irregular rhythms, uses odd harmonic structure, and has a broad or uneven tessitura. Much of it is sung in a range that's very uncomfortable for women's voices, as it's too low to be sung comfortably in the range where it's written but high enough that singing it up the octave isn't pleasant, either. The lower male voice suffers, too, as the music as written is too high but down the octave is too low. In the services I've attended where I have not had a hymnal in front of me, I've found it easier and faster to catch on in a chanted service than I have in "contemporary" services where the words to the songs are flashed up on a large screen.
To the second, the idea of relevancy, when explored by its proponents, seems to entail an injection of God into the modern culture. I believe this raises two questions: one, is God not already present in our culture, at least liturgically speaking; and two, since God is timeless, why the necessity to make His worship "timely"? I submit that the driving force in the relevancy argument is actually the reverse: an attempt to inject secular culture into sacred liturgy.
As Paul instructed us, we are not to be conformed to this world. Using the musical language of secular culture conforms our worship immutably to worldly standards. Liturgy should be sacred -- set apart -- in all its components so that we understand just what it is that we do.
One of the theological concepts I so love in the Eastern Catholic Church is the knowledge that the liturgy is where Heaven and Earth meet, and the liturgical space and music and prayers all acknowledge that reality. The Western rite could certainly use a dose of that uniformity of purpose and intention. The Divine Liturgy in the Melkite church I regularly attend feeds my soul in its embrace of the mystery and sanctity of God in a way that pop-culture Masses are simply incapable of doing.
*I chose to put the word contemporary in quotation marks because as it is a term of art as applied to liturgical music. Contemporary comes from the Latin con tempore, meaning with the time. Arguably, the work of living composers is contemporary by definition, but I have yet to hear someone calling for Arvo Part's "O Antiphons" in the name of contemporary music! Contemporary, in the current discussions of liturgy, is applied solely to music which shares the lyrical style, structure, and setting of pop/rock/Top Twenty hits.
A frequent argument cited by proponents of "contemporary" music is relevancy. "We need to be more relevant if we're going to reach people effectively" is the philosophy which translates in practice to the adoption of Top Forty-esque music in liturgy. This argument is frequently cited in discussions involving youth and liturgy.
The premise seems flawed to me on two levels: one, a misunderstanding of the proper function of liturgical music; and two, a reversal of the attitude with which liturgy should be approached.
As for the first, the function of music in the liturgy is to be an organic part of the celebration of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Raucous instrumentation, whooping and hollering, hand-clapping and motions are all at odds with the formal, elegant, highly structured rituals of Mass in the Catholic church. Not that there is not a time and a place where all of those things are not inappropriate, and not that those things are intrinsically bad; they're just the liturgical equivalent of redecorating the entire White House with Pucci prints and Ikea furniture. Whenever something jars my focus away from the celebration of the Mass, it becomes liturgically problematic. If the congregation feels unsure whether or not it should applaud after a piece of music, it is liturgically problematic. The focus has shifted from the communal celebration of Mass to a performance, which reduces the congregation to the role of audience.
"But the people can't sing Gregorian chant!" is another frequent complaint, to which I reply "Nonsense!" I've taught a group of teenagers who can't read music how to sing the chant "Ave Maria" in under fifteen minutes. I find that the structure and tessitura of chant is easy to understand even for non-musicians -- people who can't read music can still see on the page whether a line rises or falls and feel naturally where a line resolves. Chant is simpler to sing than 95% of "contemporary" music, which generally has irregular rhythms, uses odd harmonic structure, and has a broad or uneven tessitura. Much of it is sung in a range that's very uncomfortable for women's voices, as it's too low to be sung comfortably in the range where it's written but high enough that singing it up the octave isn't pleasant, either. The lower male voice suffers, too, as the music as written is too high but down the octave is too low. In the services I've attended where I have not had a hymnal in front of me, I've found it easier and faster to catch on in a chanted service than I have in "contemporary" services where the words to the songs are flashed up on a large screen.
To the second, the idea of relevancy, when explored by its proponents, seems to entail an injection of God into the modern culture. I believe this raises two questions: one, is God not already present in our culture, at least liturgically speaking; and two, since God is timeless, why the necessity to make His worship "timely"? I submit that the driving force in the relevancy argument is actually the reverse: an attempt to inject secular culture into sacred liturgy.
As Paul instructed us, we are not to be conformed to this world. Using the musical language of secular culture conforms our worship immutably to worldly standards. Liturgy should be sacred -- set apart -- in all its components so that we understand just what it is that we do.
One of the theological concepts I so love in the Eastern Catholic Church is the knowledge that the liturgy is where Heaven and Earth meet, and the liturgical space and music and prayers all acknowledge that reality. The Western rite could certainly use a dose of that uniformity of purpose and intention. The Divine Liturgy in the Melkite church I regularly attend feeds my soul in its embrace of the mystery and sanctity of God in a way that pop-culture Masses are simply incapable of doing.
*I chose to put the word contemporary in quotation marks because as it is a term of art as applied to liturgical music. Contemporary comes from the Latin con tempore, meaning with the time. Arguably, the work of living composers is contemporary by definition, but I have yet to hear someone calling for Arvo Part's "O Antiphons" in the name of contemporary music! Contemporary, in the current discussions of liturgy, is applied solely to music which shares the lyrical style, structure, and setting of pop/rock/Top Twenty hits.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Update from last week...
The student who chose not to do her Shakespeare project (very uncharacteristic of this young lady!) came back on Monday, apologized for her abrupt behavior, and asked if she could have another opportunity, which I was pleased to give her. She recited perfectly; it must have been une attaque des nerfs on Friday that got to her.
It makes me feel better that she did come and get her "do-over" of her own volition. I think it's important for me as a teacher to respect the decisions of my students -- there is great learning to be had from unwise choices and none from insulating students from the consequences of their poor decisions -- but it's very difficult to step back and let these precious people suffer the effects of their own choices.
It makes me feel better that she did come and get her "do-over" of her own volition. I think it's important for me as a teacher to respect the decisions of my students -- there is great learning to be had from unwise choices and none from insulating students from the consequences of their poor decisions -- but it's very difficult to step back and let these precious people suffer the effects of their own choices.
Ora et labora
Yesterday was an absolutely gorgeous and unseasonably warm (78 degrees in November!) day. When I got home from work, I noticed that the yard, deck, and driveway were covered with leaves, so I changed clothes, brought the dog outside with me, and grabbed a rake.
As I raked, I was mindful of the gift that work is. My husband and I are currently involved in a Bible study that focuses on financial stewardship, and the past week's study was about work. One of the verses in the study was Genesis 2:15 -- "The LORD God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it." The principle in the lesson was that God created work before sin entered into the world. Work is made difficult by sin, but work itself is not a punishment for sin.
In the spirit of that verse, and in the spirit of stewardship (all that we have belongs to God and we are temporary caretakers of His gifts), I began to be thankful for the gift of strength and ability to do manual labor. I was thankful for the ability to care for the home that my husband and I share. I was thankful for the amusement of watching our silly dog bound ecstatically through the leaf piles.
I worked and thought on a Benedictine motto: "Ora et labora" (pray and work). Both essential elements of the Christian life, they felt to me artificially separated by the "and". A twist on the motto sprang to mind: "Labora est ora" (work is prayer). If our work is for God, as Paul states in the Epistles, then it is, indeed, prayer and not punishment.
As I raked, I was mindful of the gift that work is. My husband and I are currently involved in a Bible study that focuses on financial stewardship, and the past week's study was about work. One of the verses in the study was Genesis 2:15 -- "The LORD God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it." The principle in the lesson was that God created work before sin entered into the world. Work is made difficult by sin, but work itself is not a punishment for sin.
In the spirit of that verse, and in the spirit of stewardship (all that we have belongs to God and we are temporary caretakers of His gifts), I began to be thankful for the gift of strength and ability to do manual labor. I was thankful for the ability to care for the home that my husband and I share. I was thankful for the amusement of watching our silly dog bound ecstatically through the leaf piles.
I worked and thought on a Benedictine motto: "Ora et labora" (pray and work). Both essential elements of the Christian life, they felt to me artificially separated by the "and". A twist on the motto sprang to mind: "Labora est ora" (work is prayer). If our work is for God, as Paul states in the Epistles, then it is, indeed, prayer and not punishment.
Friday, November 04, 2005
All things counter, original, spare, strange...
Today was the last real day of classes for the term. Tomorrow is the day that I'll be spending at school grading papers and preparing the final exam.
The term went by, as is usually the case, far too quickly. This term seems to have been sped on its merry way by a marked abundance of special schedules, accelerated days, and approximately twelve hundred assemblies and Masses and whatnot. I know that my original syllabus had far more time spent on Shakespeare than what actually occurred. Next year I will plan for four weeks of Shakespeare and perhaps get the three that I want.
The students presented their live performances of scenes from Henry V in class yesterday and today. Some were better than others. Some were amazing. Some were heartbreakingly rough. One chose not to do hers at all. I haven't decided whether or how to respect that choice, since it will mean a failing test grade and possibly a failing grade in the course.
I'm always surprised by what this assignment reveals about the students. It's not that complicated: memorize and perform 30-60 lines of Shakespeare. There's a written component that consists of turning in a copy of the script with the blocking written on it, a few sentences about their costume/production concept, and a rewriting of their lines into their own words. Not, to me, a massive assignment.
Some students embrace it wholeheartedly. Others fear it worse than they'll fear anything else in their whole high school experience. Students who like to "play the game," as it were (figure out the Magic Combination to the Teacher's Brain and Make an A!) go all to pieces over this assignment. Students who don't find much redeeming value in test-taking and paper-writing suddenly produce amazing results.
Every year, a few kids get stage fright so badly that they just freeze and forget their lines; I let them come and get some points back by reciting for me alone. Usually, if the student knows the lines, he or she will be able to do it for the audience of one with no stress.
I had something different this year, though. A student had a real mental block with the assignment. I've had him in class for twelve weeks, and he's always been a very quiet, reserved young man. He came in this afternoon after school to try to finish his speech for me, and he just couldn't do it. After a few abortive attempts, he suddenly started talking about how he was having trouble with the memorization and how it was confusing and frustrating for him, not like math which comes easily to him. He kept talking about how he "sees" what he has to do in a math problem, and he couldn't see anything in the lines he had been desperately trying to memorize for the past week.
We had a great conversation about math and English, different learning styles, what was happening in the lines he had to read, and what's interesting or important in Shakespeare for a modern audience. He finally read his lines (not entirely correctly, but with a smile on his face) and left.
I'm still not sure why I decided to go back to my classroom this afternoon instead of racing to beat the Friday afternoon rush hour, but I'm glad that I was there for him when he stopped by.
The term went by, as is usually the case, far too quickly. This term seems to have been sped on its merry way by a marked abundance of special schedules, accelerated days, and approximately twelve hundred assemblies and Masses and whatnot. I know that my original syllabus had far more time spent on Shakespeare than what actually occurred. Next year I will plan for four weeks of Shakespeare and perhaps get the three that I want.
The students presented their live performances of scenes from Henry V in class yesterday and today. Some were better than others. Some were amazing. Some were heartbreakingly rough. One chose not to do hers at all. I haven't decided whether or how to respect that choice, since it will mean a failing test grade and possibly a failing grade in the course.
I'm always surprised by what this assignment reveals about the students. It's not that complicated: memorize and perform 30-60 lines of Shakespeare. There's a written component that consists of turning in a copy of the script with the blocking written on it, a few sentences about their costume/production concept, and a rewriting of their lines into their own words. Not, to me, a massive assignment.
Some students embrace it wholeheartedly. Others fear it worse than they'll fear anything else in their whole high school experience. Students who like to "play the game," as it were (figure out the Magic Combination to the Teacher's Brain and Make an A!) go all to pieces over this assignment. Students who don't find much redeeming value in test-taking and paper-writing suddenly produce amazing results.
Every year, a few kids get stage fright so badly that they just freeze and forget their lines; I let them come and get some points back by reciting for me alone. Usually, if the student knows the lines, he or she will be able to do it for the audience of one with no stress.
I had something different this year, though. A student had a real mental block with the assignment. I've had him in class for twelve weeks, and he's always been a very quiet, reserved young man. He came in this afternoon after school to try to finish his speech for me, and he just couldn't do it. After a few abortive attempts, he suddenly started talking about how he was having trouble with the memorization and how it was confusing and frustrating for him, not like math which comes easily to him. He kept talking about how he "sees" what he has to do in a math problem, and he couldn't see anything in the lines he had been desperately trying to memorize for the past week.
We had a great conversation about math and English, different learning styles, what was happening in the lines he had to read, and what's interesting or important in Shakespeare for a modern audience. He finally read his lines (not entirely correctly, but with a smile on his face) and left.
I'm still not sure why I decided to go back to my classroom this afternoon instead of racing to beat the Friday afternoon rush hour, but I'm glad that I was there for him when he stopped by.
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