Grassroots Liturgist

In the Parable of the Prodigal Son, have you ever wondered at which point the father forgave the son who had offended him in every possible way?   Was it when he threw the extravagant party?   Or when he ran out to embrace his son?   Or when he first saw his son returning to the family home? For me, it was long before that.   We are told that the father saw his son while he was still a long way from home – he was scanning the horizon, yearning for the return of his beloved, if wayward, son.   Would he be doing that had he not already forgiven his son?   But it wasn’t until his son returned and fulfilled the other necessary conditions for reconciliation (contrition, confession and penance) that the joy of the reconciliation – symbolised by the lavish celebrations – could commence.   The son was burdened by the weight of guilt at his offence.   That burden was lifted by the reconciliation with his father, and the joy of the father's love could...

To be honest, this post has been churning in my head for twelve months.   The title has gone from “What does the Football World Cup teach us…” to “What does the [rugby] Six Nations...” to “What does the Cricket World Cup….” All of these sporting events are festivals; a celebration of their sports.   Assiduous preparations are made, invitations are sent out (though these invitations require credit card numbers) and the whole thing is eagerly anticipated.   Some of the greatest stars of their realm are assembled from all over the world and a wondrous drama unfolds. But what has often struck me most is the crowd.   For them, the drama doesn’t start when the match starts.   They have all been eagerly anticipating this moment for days or weeks, the excitement building up as the day draws near.   They will know everything there is to know about their team and its players, eagerly feeding their hunger for more knowledge through news outlets and social media; ...

I belatedly got into Game of Thrones, having initially dismissed it as a Lord of the Rings wannabe - I really must learn to be more open-minded. One recurring character is The Hound - a massive (though not as massive as his big brother, The Mountain), brutal, vulgar warrior whose casual disdain for other people is as blatant as the obscenities that spew from his mouth.  His story arc, however, seems to be taking him through something of a spiritual awakening.  At the beginning of series 7, he and a small group come across a deserted cottage and inside are the remains of a father and daughter who had killed themselves rather than starve to death in the fast-approaching winter.  What made it all the more poignant for The Hound is that he had, in an earlier programme, visited his own brand of cruelty on their already wretched lives.  And now he felt the nagging discomfort of guilt.  So much so that, in the middle of the night, he got up to bury their remains. A...

One thing that I try to keep to the front of my considerations when planning liturgy is to remember that the music must serve the Mass - the Mass is not there as a vehicle for the music.  To this end it is so important that we understand the Mass more and more - through both study and prayerful participation - so that our music is sensitive to the ebb and flow of what is happening during the Mass. Back in the day, when attending yoof Masses, the "Sign of Peace" was often followed by "Let there be peace shared among us".  It was always sung enthusiastically but (and leaving aside the fact that there is no provision for this in the General Instruction to the Roman Missal) it was a rude interruption on what is a very solemn part of the Mass.  It just doesn't fit!  Immediately following this lively rendition we were expected to behold, in prayerful wonder, the Lamb of God in the Blessed Sacrament.  As human beings we cannot go from such exuberance to such wondrous...

At the end of the month I am attending the annual Summer School run by the Society of St Gregory (the national society of liturgy and music for the Catholic Church in the British Isles).  One of the workshops is called " Accompanying on a budget: Two guitars and a tin whistle?  Whatever your resources, you can be effective ".  I rather wish that this session had been available some years back when we first started the Vigil Music Group, as some of the things that I expect will be suggested in the workshop came to us slowly over a period of time. For example, it was only after we had two flautists, both simply hammering out the melody line, that it dawned on me that this was such a waste of the available talent.  So we began to introduce harmonies for at least one of the flutes, which made a massive difference all round; it made the music that much more rich and beautiful for the liturgy (a good thing), but it also permitted a greater artistic expression for the mus...

I was lucky enough to catch the BBC Radio 3 programme, Private Passions, while driving in my car the other week.   The guest was Eamon Duffy, Catholic historian and Professor of the History of Christianity at the University of Cambridge. The whole programme is worthy of a listen, but at 23 minutes 42 seconds into the programme he is asked about the current state of music in the western Catholic liturgy.   He begins his response with, “That’s rather a depressing question”.   He singles out James MacMillan for praise and vaguely refers to (I’m guessing a very few) other Catholic composers, but otherwise he paints a very grim scene indeed.   I highlight a few key things that were said below…… #      “….we sing in Church the kind of music we would never dream of listening to and that we only otherwise hear at school assemblies….” #      “…[there has been] a radical impoverishment and a loss of the sense of the numinous.”   ...

It was some time in the summer of 2012 that, out of the blue, our recently-arrived parish priest asked me to start a music group to minister to our Saturday Vigil Mass; a group that, in particular, he wanted to attract young people to be involved in the life of the Church. First, a little background information.   For about six or seven years, since moving to the area, I had been involved in the music ministry at the Sunday morning Mass at one of the two parishes in our small town.   It was very low-pressure stuff; there was already in place a very talented musician/singer/composer who planned everything and I merely turned up and added some strumming on my guitar, some vocal harmonies and, occasionally, a solo or two.   However, due to family circumstances, we started to attend the Vigil Mass at the other Church and my guitar rarely left its case for several years.   The new Parish Priest became aware of my musical inclination because I had been asked to pl...