A revolution has occurred in music and the arts in the Roman Catholic Church since Vatican II: Churches have been renovated to styles more conducive to the new liturgy; new music has been written for liturgical texts, and the arts have found a new place in Catholic worship.
Before Vatican II, the rubrics (ceremonial directions) for Roman Catholic rituals were very specific. Documents clearly indicated what was permissible in liturgy and clearly separated the sacred from the secular. During the period when Vatican II council documents were emerging (1963–1975), the nature of liturgical music and visual elements reflected assumptions of a new celebrative spirit. Rubrics were put aside, some of them forever (e.g., the ruling that women could play no role in the ritual in the sanctuary). The influence of life, rather than law, laid the groundwork for renewal.
Worship continued in parishes during the years when the official documents for the renewal of the seven sacrament rituals were being written. Facilities were renovated, some more than once, and new facilities were built. Many new possibilities were attempted in the liturgy itself, including many that proved to be ineffective. For example, the offertory procession sometimes seemed like a parade that interrupted the ritual process. At times an eagerness to keep the Mass celebrational resulted in an overly flamboyant visual and/or musical texture. The use of felt banners that proclaimed “theme” slogans in words distracted from rather than inspired the prayer text. Multimedia presentations, dance, drums, drama, bells, harp, sitar, and balloons all permitted time and space to be explored in the ritual process, but also tended to drain power from the liturgy itself. In retrospect, it seems that music and art had to go through a “throwaway phase,” that is, a time when permanence was viewed as negative while flexibility and newness, or eclecticism, were believed to offer the richest access to the spiritual. Many of these innovations were dropped.
Along with the spirit of renewal, social and cultural issues entered sacrament ritual life. The blatant male references in rousing old hymns became offensive rather than conducive to prayer in communities sensitive to inclusiveness, peace, and justice.
It was fortunate that the final documentation for the sacramental rituals coincided with the 1976 bicentennial of the United States. The heightened awareness of our history awakened the interest of church communities in their beginnings. For communities housed in fine examples of historical architecture, the task became not simply a renovation, but also restoration. Commitment to both directions led to the mutual enhancement of worship spaces and ritual processes. When these are considered separately, an emphasis on one can be detrimental to the other. For example, the architectural integrity of many turn-of-the-century revival-style church interiors was diluted when they were painted white in the name of “relevance.” Fortunately, in many cases, this served as an undercoat for the rich Victorian colors of the postmodern period. In music, early efforts to update chants by replacing Latin with English have been preempted by works such as the chants of Taizé.
For anyone assisting a faith community in building new worship spaces or renovating a worship space, it is natural to ask, “Why do you go?” Earlier, the natural Roman Catholic answer would have been “out of obligation”; now the answer tends to be something like “because here I find support for my life … a family.” From one community to another, the sense of family has become the common element that holds together the communal expression of faith. Although the same approved new texts are used in all churches (the Mass went from one eucharistic prayer to a choice of nine), the climate of liturgical expression varies. Some communities prefer orderly services guided by professional leaders in structured environments. There, ministers of music and art might be on the staff. The music planned for a ritual would be rehearsed; its score and text would be reproduced and handed out by ministers of hospitality as people enter the ritual space. The visual elements, whether permanent or seasonal, are envisioned as architectural environmental art. In such a community, the family is celebrating something special in a special way.
Another community might find the idea of family liturgy better supported by an informal style and setting. The music and art could be disposable, created for the moment of celebration, and not meant for critical review or repeated use. To serve the ritual need of such a community, the environment might be loosely structured; there might be chairs instead of fixed pews, a flexible modular platform for the sanctuary, the use of children’s art. For this community, the family celebrates something special in a seriously playful way. These are the extreme ends of the spectrum. Between them, there are many variations.
The kind of questions that arise today in relation to the texture of liturgical music, art, or architecture are:
- What is the nature of the celebration?
- Does the opening music signify a processional entrance or a call to prayer?
- Is the music presented for or participated in by those present?
- Is the music knitting those present together or merely supporting a text?
- Are the words that accompany the music relevant?
- Are actions or objects the focal elements of the ritual?
- Is the ritual power embodied in the ordained men or in those present who share a common initiation?
- Is the building a withdrawal from the world, or planted in the world?
- Does the building look like a church?
- As one journeys from the parking lot to the sanctuary, what is revealed by what is seen and heard?
- Did the sacrament event provide entertainment or transformation?
These and other related questions will provide a stimulus for the continuing renewal of worship practices within the Roman Catholic church.