Vatican II

An Environment of Worship that Fosters Devout Attendance and Active Participation

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This article argues for an environment of worship that encourages the full participation of the people and complements the symbolic meaning of the actions of worship, particularly the sacraments. It is written in the context of Roman Catholic worship but reflects the concerns of nearly all highly liturgical traditions. Many of these have been emphasized throughout the Christian church, given the recent phenomenon of liturgical convergence.

We are all aware that today’s liturgy requires a different kind of space than the liturgy of yesterday. But different in what ways? Just what adjustments are required? It may be helpful to reflect on some of the differences between past and present needs. Both new buildings and remodeling require attention to them.

Before Vatican II, the church building was, above all else, a place for devoutly attending Mass. Mass was celebrated as a drama in the sanctuary to be watched by those attending. The primary mode of communication was visual, signaled in architecture by the central, elevated, and normally very large high altar, and signaled in a rite by the dramatic elevations of the host and chalice at the peak moments in the Mass. Any number of secondary elements served that visual concentration: precision movement by celebrant and ministers, symmetrical side altars and candles, deep sanctuaries drawing the eye forward and upward. Virtually everything else was subordinated to that central function of the church building as a place for devoutly attending Mass. Devotional services outside Mass took place before the altar and normally culminated in benediction. Other services either took place outside of church (e.g., anointing of the sick) or were carried out in relative privacy in corners with a bare minimum of ceremony (e.g., penance, baptism).

Today’s liturgy is the result of a reform that sought to replace devout attendance with active participation. Today’s ideal worshiper is not a spectator, but one who is part of what is taking place. The people in the pew concelebrate the liturgy with the ministers in the sanctuary (see #54 of the Instruction of the Roman Missal for the strongest possible statement of this understanding of the people’s role at the liturgy). This displaces the visual as the primary mode of communication. To be sure, watching is an indispensable element of participation in any public act. But watching is not the only element in active participation. People are expected to sing, respond vocally, listen, and, above all, to feel as a real part of what is taking place.

The absolute centrality of the altar has also been displaced by the restoration of the importance of the proclamation of the Word and the communal celebration of sacraments other than the Eucharist. Respect for the presence of Christ on the altar has been balanced by respect for his presence in proclaimed word and worshiped assembly and for his action in all the sacraments.

The arrangement of the church building requires that these enrichments of the Catholic perspective be taken fully into account. Many experts now prefer to speak of the environment for worship rather than speaking of church buildings and furnishings. The term is indeed appropriate. Liturgy is an activity that communicates on many levels and in diverse ways, and it is only when all of these various modes of communication (hearing, feeling, seeing, smelling, tasting, sensing movement) are integrated and work together that the liturgy can work well. There is a genuine ecology of worship that should unite Word and sacrament, people and ministers, Christ and church.

When that ecology is neglected, we have to cope with a liturgy that is confusing and distracting, because it does not clearly signal what we are doing. For example, any number of recently built or recently remodeled churches have a large altar in the center of the sanctuary, flanked on either side by a lectern and music stand. This says, and says loudly, that the Word is only a mere appendage to the sacrament, on more or less equal par with commentary, announcements of parish schedule, and the songs of the liturgy. It is not enough to reduce the size of the music stand. The prominence of the Liturgy of the Word, not only for Mass but also for the other sacraments and for common prayer, requires that we rethink the proportion between altar and lectern. If our worship is to signal the importance of the Word, then the place of proclaiming the Word will have to look important. One of the ways to make it look important is to scale down the size of the altar. As long as the altar is located in the dead center of the sanctuary and is as large as it normally is at present, the altar will be perceived as the only important focus of attention. The conventional elongated altar is an inheritance from the medieval Mass-with-back-to-people and is totally unnecessary now that it can be seen in front of the celebrant.

In fact, our oversized altars confuse the kind of sign that the altar is supposed to be. The point of turning the altar around was not simply to make it visible, but to make it visible as the Lord’s Table around which we gather. But our very large altars inevitably mean that the gifts are swamped in a sea of linen and unnecessary decorations. The average large altar makes the Eucharist look more like starvation rations with window dressing than the banquet of the kingdom. A smaller altar, say four feet wide, would force the removal of flowers and candles to other places where they belong and allow the gifts to look more like a generous banquet.

The height of the floor on which the altar stands is an equally critical matter. The point of turning the altar around and moving it forward is to create a sense of unity with the congregation. That sense is destroyed when the altar stands in an excessively elevated sanctuary or when it stands on steps that are too high. In contemporary liturgy, dramatic elevation of the altar is a distraction. An altar is easily visible without seeming remote if the floor beneath it is elevated six inches for every thirty feet of distance between altar and people. In other words, an altar that stands a hundred feet from the back pew should stand on a floor twenty inches higher than the floor of the nave. If it stands higher, the congregation senses distance and remoteness from the altar.

Scaling down the altar and placing it lower than it once was is a real departure from the practice of the past, and some may see this as demeaning the altar. Emotions aside, it must be observed that the altar does have a different function now than it did in the past. In the old liturgy, it was the liturgical center. Now, the importance accorded to work, to the congregation, to the communal celebration of the other sacraments means that it is a liturgical center, functioning in relation to the lectern and to the people gathered around it.

Also, the primary mode of according a sense of importance to the altar in the old liturgy was its dramatic visibility. Now, the importance of the altar can be dramatized ritually with the shift of ministers from the lectern to the altar after the liturgy of the Word, with the offertory procession, with the visibility of the gifts on the altar, with speaking aloud the eucharistic prayer. We no longer need to rely so exclusively on elevation and size to make the altar appear as a thing of importance. Some new churches are being built with the altar to one side of the sanctuary.

This solves several problems at once. The lectern can come into its own, suggesting the importance of Word as well as a sacrament. The vexing problem of the celebrant’s chair is also solved. When the chair is at the side, its use makes the celebrant seem to be in temporary retirement from the celebration. When it is placed directly behind the altar, the chair either has to look like a throne or the congregation must live with looking over the top of the altar at a bodiless head. In this plan, the chair requires no pedestal or only a very low one, and the celebrant can be readily seen by most of the congregation. The greatest advantage of this plan is that chair, lectern, and altar together constitute a strong focus of visual attention. Credence tables, music stands, and devotional appointments can be readily seen as the secondary items that they are. Radical as this plan may look at first sight, it is also the one that most readily accommodates either a statue or a tabernacle at the side without distracting attention from the liturgical action itself.

Contemporary liturgy requires a larger and lower sanctuary than we normally had in the past, and not only because there are more ministers running around the sanctuary than there used to be. The ministers represent the church at the altar, and so the sanctuary should be experienced as an extension of the place where the people are. In some older churches, this is an architectural, financial, or emotional impossibility. In such cases, some kind of makeshift will be inevitable. But in other churches, the only barrier is imagination.

Another acid test of liturgical ecology is the placement of the font. There is a general awareness that baptism should be celebrated as much as possible as an action of the entire assembled church. It is often indicated by placing the font somewhere at the head of the nave or in the sanctuary. Placing the font at the front does mean that people can see more readily, and there is much to be said for this concern. But there are requirements beyond mere frontal visibility. One of the most important is room for candidates (or parents), sponsors, and ministers around the font. Not all sanctuaries readily provide this sort of room. The font should also be visible to the eye as a thing of importance and dignity. This does not necessarily require that it be of immense size. But when the font draws no more attention to itself than a music stand or credence Table or is rivaled by the tabernacle, it does not have the proper place of importance in the sanctuary.

There is still something to be said for having the font at the back of the church, near the entrance. There is nothing to be said for its being kept in the small and generally invisible baptisteries of the past. If the main aisle is wide enough, the font should stand there. Placing the font in the back suggests in a dramatic way that baptism is an entry into the church, especially if it can be used for holy water, instead of the conventional little bowl. There is an almost superstitious fear of having people touch the font or the water in it, a curious inversion of piety that makes the water more important than those who are baptized. This should be firmly resisted. The real difficulty with the font in the back is not that people cannot see, but that they generally cannot turn around comfortably during a baptism. If pews had a little more space between them, it would be possible to turn around without peril to nylons and knee bones. It should also be noticed that the word font means “fountain” or “pool,” not the sink suggested by the style of the average font. Indoor plumbing has been around for a while, and it is time that the church makes use of this convenience. Priests and catechists deplore the fact that most ordinary Catholics are so tied to the baptismal symbol of washing that everything else escapes them. A real fountain with moving water would suggest life, movement, celebration, as no font without running water can.

Active participation demands that processions play an important role in the liturgy. There is nothing like a parade to get people involved in a civic event, and the procession is the religious counterpart of a parade. A generous aisle that cuts through the midst of the assembly is a must, as is generous space between pews and sanctuary. Almost every rite of the church, to say nothing of the need for room for such necessities as wheelchairs and bassinets (this writer does not approve of the leprosarium called a “cry room”), demands that there be free room for movement.

Closely related to the processional space is the entrance and exit space. A truly appropriate entry to a church would say loudly and clearly that this is a place of significance and a place that gives welcome. Outside, even a small patio entrance would do this. Inside, there should be room for conversation, informal greetings, and real entrance rites. It is not surprising that priests are often reluctant to begin a wedding, a funeral, or a baptism at the entrance to the church. Many of them are not places where most of us would care to linger, much less pray in! Some newer or remodeled churches have the sacristy near the door. Then, not only the space, but also the ministers give welcome to the people, who have come to pray with them. Places used for genuine social occasions, like theaters and good restaurants, have just such generous entrance spaces. Places that have a more utilitarian purpose (like supermarkets and take-home eateries) allow you to move as quickly as possible from the parking lot to the counter. The question is, do we want the church to seem like a spiritual supermarket or a place that houses a serious social occasion?

Many people complain that new or remodeled churches are “cold,” and the complaint is genuine. Some are cold because of insufficient attention to lighting and color or because of poor arrangement. Some are cold because of puritan housecleaning that removes all touches of the past. With careful planning, such things as statues and vigil lights can be placed where they are still accessible for devotion, but not a distraction from communal worship. Some innovations are utterly tasteless—like tabernacles resembling microwave ovens or the refusal to use old and perfectly serviceable pieces of furniture that do not match the new decor. Any room that has all new furniture has certain sterility and flatness because it conveys no sense that this is a room whose users have a common past.

But it should also be realized that the newer church building is much more suitable for public, communal celebration than it is for private devotion. Nothing is colder than an amusement park in the winter or a good restaurant in the early morning, because those are places meant to be filled with people socializing. The more a space is functional for public gatherings and communal celebration, the less it is apt to be a pleasant place for solitude. Our newer churches probably require devotional chapels or corners that invite private prayer and reflection. This would be a far happier solution than the compromises that now afflict our churches—old high altars left in place for the reservation of the blessed sacrament, vigil lights burning before abstract Madonnas, and all the rest. Compromise is an excellent political principle, but it is liturgically disastrous. Good liturgy calls for wholehearted affirmation, and a church that is neither here nor there is anything but a strong affirmation of what we are about.

If a parish does not have a sense that certain things from the past are liturgical distractions, then perhaps its liturgical sensibilities need further education. Improvement of the celebration and understanding of the liturgy may be more necessary than remodeling the building. Better, perhaps, to make a few absolutely necessary changes and to live with a makeshift for a while, than to do a full-scale remodeling that will saddle the next four generations with the problems of their grandparents. Remodeling ought to be done with an eye to further and later improvements. If compromise is inevitable, and sometimes it is, then it should be carried out in such a way that those who are able to make further improvements will not have to undo everything that has been done in the present remodeling.

The Church Building as a Home for the Church

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The church building is the home for God’s people, providing identity and a place in the world. The article illustrates how the change in liturgical understanding since Vatican II has changed the understanding of what a church building wants and needs to be for God’s people.

What does the building want to be? Architect Louis Kahn, whose work ranges from the Sears Tower in Chicago to the Unitarian Church in Rochester, New York, introduced this question into the discussion about architecture. Although the question has been posed in a variety of disguises throughout the history of architecture, Kahn’s phrasing stands in stark contrast to the modernist preoccupation with function: What should a building do? In light of Vatican II, its reformed liturgy, ecclesiology, and view of the world, Kahn’s question may be asked more specifically: What does the church building want to be?

We may answer the question by showing how the church building has undergone a change in identity from the house of God to the home of the church. An appreciation of this change is now fundamental for designing church buildings and worship spaces. The new paradigm for the church building is, in light of the reforms, the home.

House of God—Home of the Church

Adapting an older church building to the liturgical reforms is often difficult and frequently unsuccessful. This indicates the radical shift in the identity of the parish building. The older buildings were not meant to house worshipers. They were meant to house God, and this was consistent with the theology inherent in the liturgy and popular piety of the times.

With the Counter-Reformation of the sixteenth century, the Roman church aggressively attempted to defend against the confusion introduced by the Reformation, especially regarding the Eucharist. For example, the Council of Trent reaffirmed the doctrine of transubstantiation, which holds that the substance of the bread and wine undergoes a radical transformation at the moment of the consecration and becomes the body and blood of Christ, even though appearances remain the same. Reaffirmation of this doctrine renewed devotion to the consecrated host, a devotion that had its genesis in medieval church history and nourished later as the reception of Communion waned. What people felt no longer worthy to receive, they could worship and adore from a distance. Thus, the consecration at the Mass became the raison d’etre of the Mass.

Parallel with this devotion, preaching took on a life of its own outside the Mass. Architects then designed churches to feature the sermon and the consecration. The pulpit became prominent; acoustical projection became essential. However, except when the pulpit was in use, the focus was the high altar where the consecration could be seen. With the increasing focus on the consecrated host, the tabernacle found its place on the high altar. Thus, even after Mass, one could prolong that moment of consecration by gazing at the tabernacle, which typically was placed where the priest would have elevated the host. The tabernacle often included its own balcacchino where a monstrance, which also served to keep the faithful focused on the consecrated host, could be enshrined.

The architecture of the church—from the reredos that embellished and augmented the tabernacle to the plan of the building—reinforced the importance of the tabernacle and the theology it symbolized. The lines of the church from the main entrance led the eye to the sanctuary, up a flight of stairs, to the high altar upon which the tabernacle rested, augmented by an elaborate backdrop. Here was the locus of God’s presence, where one could witness the sacred moment and sustain it in worship and prayer.

In effect, the Tridentine church became a tabernacle to house the tabernacle that housed God. One came to church to pray to God who resided there. God’s court could be found there, too, hence the various side altars and shrines for the Virgin and various saints. The church was a place to make a sacred social call in God’s earthly dwelling.

We should not be too quick to denigrate such piety. It was practiced for centuries and was supported by a formidable theology. The greatest and most sophisticated architecture gave expression to it. Such architecture served the spiritual needs that today we run the risk of ignoring, forgetting, or denying.

The Essential Recovery

That piety, however, neglects the essential character of the eucharistic liturgy that the church needed to recover. To Christians, the divine presence is not manifested primarily in objects and images, but in the community of believers, especially when they gather for the eucharistic liturgy.

Despite the long tradition of seeing the consecrated host as the primary manifestation of God’s presence, the documents of Vatican II, along with subsequent documents, emphasized the primary importance of the assembly. The assembly not only has the right and duty to be present at the liturgy, but it also has the right and duty to take an active role in it. The liturgy, which formerly was a rite performed by one man for a passive congregation, became a ritual celebration demanding the activity of all present—from actively listening to the Word of God to moving around an altar in song and prayer. Sacred objects, instead of helping to focus attention on a consecrated host, now facilitate the liturgical action. In short, what was formerly the house of God has become the house of an active congregation.

The difference between the house of God and the house of the church reflects the difference between two significantly different kinds of prayer. Since Vatican II, both private passive prayer and active public prayer have been encouraged. However, they require different times and, perhaps, even different spaces. The house of God is suitable for private prayer, which calls for quiet and solitude. Even when devotions are done in common, they are essentially passive. Gestures, movement, and active responses are typically detrimental. Such prayers engage the imagination, experience, and emotions and may be deliberately inspired by sacred images and objects.

True community prayer is exactly the opposite. Because it requires the faithful to gather together as a community, it is predisposed to socializing. Entering the church quietly, saying a prayer, and waiting for Mass to begin is no longer appropriate. Community worship requires the active participation of people: to greet each other; to sing and pray with one voice; to wish each other peace; to break bread and share it; to drink from the same cup. The eucharistic liturgy still engages the feelings and imaginations of the congregation, but this occurs less through extraneous visual images beheld by the individual and more through the word, action, and symbols of the liturgy made available to the entire assembly.

Where Is the Sacred?

This shift in the nature of the church building also reflects a shift in the way the church perceives herself—from militant and triumphant to personal and serving. With Gaudium et Spes the person received renewed recognition and importance. With Lumen Gentium the people of God recovered their identity as a church of disciples and servants. With Sacrosanctum Concilium the Sunday assembly assumed a vital significance as the visible manifestation of the body of Christ gathered again to remember and reenact the saving work of the Lord.

The church needs a new architecture to house its people, its liturgy, and its other activities. This new architecture must have a “good feeling in terms of human scale, hospitality and graciousness. It does not seek to impress or even less to dominate.” A monument or temple of exaggerated proportions is no longer deemed appropriate.

The document Environment and Art in Catholic Worship suggests another possibility. “The congregation, its liturgical action, the furniture and other objects it needs for its liturgical action—these indicate the necessity of a space, a place or hall, or a building for the liturgy.”

Since the council, architects like E. A. Sovik and Frederic Debuyst have designed such halls and parish buildings fully equipped with portable altar, movable platforms, stackable chairs, office rooms, classrooms, and what Sovik calls the centrum, a space large enough for a congregation to meet for any number of reasons, only one of which is the eucharistic celebration. The new space is meant to facilitate and house the activities of a parish or faith community. The main centrum becomes a space that can be adapted to the needs of a large group, but primarily it provides space for the celebration of the Eucharist.

One might question the appropriateness of this multipurpose hall for the liturgy. As Environment and Art in Catholic Worship indicates, “such a space acquires a sacredness from the sacred action of the faith community which uses it.” At the same time, the community of the church and her liturgy find their home in the space because the space is sacred. This is not a simple matter of cause and effect, but a matter of the mutual relationship between the space the community. What is sacred about the space must be sustained by its design and “feel.” To use the metaphor from modern architecture, the model of the multipurpose hall is in danger of becoming nothing more than a machine for worship. To paraphrase Frank Lloyd Wright, the church building is a machine for worship, but architecture begins where the machine ends.

Look Homeward

Environment and Art in Catholic Worship, with its emphasis on hospitality, graciousness, and human proportion, suggests that the church building should be a home, a dwelling. A home is more than shelter, more than skin to house the inner activity. Like Heidegger’s understanding of “thing,” a dwelling gathers “world.” It is the space where life occurs. It serves as a reference and orientation point. The home, the dwelling, becomes for the household part of the fabric of its life together. Home is the place where the person creates his or her world. It is the place where the person is at home in the world. This is not a matter of convenience, appliances, or decoration, but a matter of meaning, harmony, and integrity.

What are the characteristics of the home that might be pertinent to the church building?

First, the home is both public, or at least a semi-public, and a private place. It shelters, facilitates, and becomes integral to the ritual activities of the household. At the same time, it allows and fosters spontaneity, individuality, and solitude. As the place that gathers the world, establishes and maintains meaning, it must be instrumental in gathering family and friends and in gathering the self. It must help designate the subsets of the world that stand for the world and that are progressively more intimate: friends, family, lover, self. It thus articulates one’s relationship with the world.

Second, the building becomes home when the household takes possession of it. This is not accomplished by the exchange of title deeds. The classical Romans had the custom of carrying and moving their household gods with them. The household “moved in” when the gods were established in the house. The household moves in when the spirit of the family meets the genius loci, the spirit of the place, and the two are wedded, shaping each other and accommodating each other. The family takes possession when those tokens, those things which stand for the family, are established and when the new place embraces the rituals and the uniqueness of the individuals who contribute to the household’s spirit. This is not an immediate occurrence, but one that takes time and that resists manipulation.

Third, the home must stand over and against its surroundings as well as respond to them. As the subset of the world, it is of the world and opposite to the world. To maintain a sense of the mutual relationship between the home and the world, the home includes something of its surroundings: plants and animals, for example. The house, built of materials like stone and wood, assumes characteristics of its environs, while open windows for view and air allow for interpenetration of the world within and the world without.

The fourth follows from the third. Even as the home articulates the distinction between outside and inside, it must also celebrate the transition from one to the other. Entry into the home is carefully arranged so that it becomes something of an event. One removes outer garments, proceeds through a vestibule, and so on. The home is supported architecturally by a porch and a door that is an integral part of the structure, but more than a machine for gaining entry. All this conspires to promote a feeling of hospitality and welcome. The dwelling opens its arms and enfolds the one who enters and then sends them on their way.

Fifth, the house needs a center around which the household gathers. In some cultures and at certain times, this was the hearth or the fountain in the middle of the courtyard. Perhaps now it is the kitchen. But it must become the center for the group’s most intimate and significant experiences. It must provide a means for preserving former experiences and for documenting the history of the household. The hearth is perhaps the best example of this. Favorite chairs were placed around the hearth. Pictures and family relics were displayed on the mantelpiece. The center is the place within the space that gathers the household, gathers meaning. It is the center of the world; the place where the family is most at home; the place where the family leads its guests to be at home with them.

Thus, the house as home facilitates relationship and communication as well as the withdrawal from them. It is a place replete with meaning and memory, a place that encourages and ritualizes the activities which are sacred to family.

Moving In

The church building is a public facility, but people who use the church building are bound together by a faith which makes them more a family than a random collection of people on independent paths.

Although there is a communal aspect to the church building, the design of the building must allow for the need to withdraw, to be alone, to pray. The building which houses the people of God and becomes the facility for their prayer and worship must accommodate both public and private prayer.

To be at home in the church building, the community must take possession somehow and move in. The household gods must be established, so to speak. The spirit of the community and the genius loci must embrace. This is achieved in a number of ways and on a number of levels. First, the design of the church must communicate the presence of God, whether the community is assembled or not. Through its eloquent beauty, it must bespeak the presence of the holy. For Catholics, the “household God” moves in when the blessed sacrament is reserved and the red lamp burns. The blessed sacrament testifies to the lasting presence of God. The “household gods” move in when the patron is adopted and the beloved Virgin finds a home.

In terms of its surroundings, the church building, like the home, must stand over and against its environs and, yet, relate to them. By separating the space for the people of God, the building thus groups the people and gives basic architectural expression to the unity of those who assemble there, but which does not extend beyond the walls to those who do not believe. Yet the church serves as a witness to the world. To be entirely self-enclosed, with no relation to the world, would frustrate the community’s essential duty to the world.

A sense of welcome and hospitality must be woven entirely into the fabric of the building. This does not take the place of a welcoming community, but architecture has the capacity to help make hospitality possible and more likely. Moreover, even when the community is not assembled, the solitary visitor ought to feel welcome to enter and pray. A church, especially in a busy urban area, has the responsibility to be a place where one can withdraw momentarily in order to recollect oneself. Such a welcome can be achieved through the combination of several elements: a vestibule; light; warmth; color; familiarity; and a place for coats, hats, bags, and so on.

Hospitality is not merely a matter of functionality. The design of the church must embrace the community and the individual. It must reveal the God who summons a people to gather. The break in the boundary, the entrance, must serve as the invitation and the point where the building begins to reveal itself.

Finally, the church building needs a center where the most significant actions of the community can be experienced. This center is where the Eucharist becomes “the summit toward which the activity of the church is directed” and “the fount from which all the church’s power flows.” Although this place is conducive to and may be used for other events such as concerts, other artistic performances, meetings, and prayer groups, its vital importance as the space for the Eucharist must not be compromised or violated. Any activity that divorces the sacred experience of the liturgy entirely from the space is a questionable practice. Space acquires its sacred nature from the activity of the community, but the sacred is not so transient a characteristic that it can be disregarded immediately after the sacred activity is completed. Like the house, the church building becomes part and parcel of the sacred activities of the community and cannot be violated without violating the sensitivities and the dynamic of the community.

The Second Vatican Council reestablished the church as a people called to holiness and to be witnesses of the good news to the world. It also reestablished the Eucharist as the activity of that people, a ritual that asserts their identity in relation to God. In light of this, what the church building wants to be is a dwelling for this people, the place that allows them to be, the center of their lives, which holds and communicates the meaning of their lives. Nothing is so expressive of this meaning as the eucharistic liturgy, and the church building that houses this sacred activity becomes an integral component of it. More than a platform or a facility for their activity, the church building becomes the place where this people gathers its world and its greater meaning, which is not finally thought, but felt. It is where religion is articulated and restored through the community’s experience of God. The church building is that existential foothold where the community is at home.

Roman Catholic Service Music Since Vatican II

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Roman Catholic liturgy, like that of many of the more liturgical churches, features texts that are sung in each liturgy or service. These are called ordinary texts. Often these texts are sung. Settings of these texts, and other frequently used texts, are called service music or liturgical music. This music is part of the liturgy itself, not something that interrupts or is added to the liturgy. Since the Second Vatican Council in the early 1960s, Catholic churches have had more freedom in choosing service music. This has resulted in vast numbers of new compositions, many of which are valuable for churches in many worship traditions.

The repertoire and use of ritual music within the English-speaking Roman Catholic church today cannot be fully understood without understanding that, since the reforms of the Second Vatican Council in the mid-1960s (when liturgy moved from Latin to the vernacular), there has been no “official” national hymnal for the United States churches. This is a unique situation, unlike that in the English-speaking Canadian Roman Catholic churches, which have published two versions of the Canadian Book of Worship, and the Australian Roman Catholic church, which also published a national hymnal in the mid-1970s. The General Directives within the Roman Missalprovide instruction regarding the structure and elements of the Mass, but the only musical settings provided in the Missalare chant melodies for the eucharistic prayer and its acclamations, melodies which are not widely used.

This means that the publication of new music and worship books for U.S. Roman Catholics has been determined by publishing houses that are largely independent of the church and in competition with each other. Today there are a number of independent publishing houses in the United States associated with Roman Catholic worship, including GIA Publications (GIA), Pastoral Press, J. S. Paluch Company, and North American Liturgy Resources (NALR). Other companies that are affiliated to an archdiocese but that retain a good deal of publishing independence include Liturgy Training Publications, Chicago (LTP), and Oregon Catholic Press, Portland (OCP).

When a church as large as the English-speaking Roman Catholic church, with a rich liturgical tradition, changes from Latin to the vernacular in all the components of its ritual, a huge increase in the amount of new music generated is inevitable. This growth is only strengthened when combined with competition between independent publishing houses. Thus, it is not surprising that over the past 25 years music has been written and published that represents all manner of styles, quality, and appropriateness. The lack of an “official” worship book and the resulting eruption of new compositions has also meant that the United States Catholic church today utilizes a repertoire of bewildering complexity and uneven quality. A myriad of settings of the various parts of the Ordinary is currently in use in Roman Catholic churches across the United States. (One difficulty in an article such as this is the definition of terms across denominations. The Ordinary of the Mass refers to those parts of the liturgy which Lutherans and other Protestant groups often refer to as service music, that is, those parts of the ritual that are normally used each week, or at least whenever Eucharist is celebrated.) The evolution of the various weekend liturgies within one parish into organ masses, guitar masses, traditional masses, folk or contemporary masses, and silent masses (meaning the absence of music) has further aggravated this confusion. Another factor is the wide diversity of ethnic expression within the Roman Catholic church in the United States. There are many parishes today that have at least one-weekend liturgy in Spanish, and there are also a growing number of parishes that primarily reflect African-American culture in their liturgy.

Until now the choice and use of music within an individual parish have depended mainly upon the particular missalette, hymnal, or songbook which that parish uses and upon the liturgical style and interest of the clergy and musicians. In addition, it is not uncommon today for a parish to supplement published music with unpublished compositions by musicians within the parish. Musical settings of the Ordinary of the Mass consequently become nationally known through grassroots acceptance rather than because of any official mandate. This acceptance-by-acclamation system has allowed and encouraged the composition and distribution of many more settings than would otherwise have been available. While it could be argued that the number and diversity of these settings have provided for a good deal of creative interchange, the situation has also created a somewhat fragmented English-speaking church, in which neighboring churches or even the various liturgies within one parish have such different repertoires that they often can find no common eucharistic settings.

There are currently nine English-language texts of the eucharistic prayer approved for use by the Bishop’s Committee on the liturgy (BCL), the official committee that oversees and approves the publication of musical settings of those texts. For seven of the texts, the congregational responses consist of the Holy, the Memorial Acclamation (with four optional responses), and the Great Amen. Two of the prayers, both intended for use with children, include additional acclamations for the congregation. Because of the length of the Roman Catholic Eucharistic prayer texts (some of which can easily run for 5 minutes), there has been an increasing desire over the past ten years among composers, liturgists, and parish musicians for permission to publish musical settings that provide additional sung acclamations for the congregation.

Beginnings of Liturgical Renewal

In the early days of the liturgical renewal, the division into “organ-based” and “guitar-based” acclamations in settings of the Ordinary was very clear and distinct. The first guitar-based acclamations were very much like popular folk songs that utilized ritual language. Settings such as the “Missa Bossa Nova” (Peter Scholtes) published in the Hymnal for Young Christians (FEL, 1966) were widely used. Little thought was paid at this time to the connection between sung acclamations and the eucharistic prayer, or for the need to sing all the congregational parts within the prayer. The most popular of the early “organ-based” acclamations was “Mass for Christian Unity”, composed by Jan Vermulst and published by World Library Publications (in 1964) for their People’s Mass Book.

With the North American Liturgy Resources (NALR) publication Neither Silver or Gold (1974), a group of Jesuit priests calling themselves the St. Louis Jesuits introduced an influential body of guitar-based music written for liturgical use. Their compositions marked a shift toward music based more directly on scriptural texts, specifically texts from the Sunday Lectionary. Neither Silver Nor Gold also contained a number of eucharistic acclamations written in a through-composed form (similar in form to settings written for organ at that time). A “Holy, Holy, Holy” and a “Doxology—Great Amen” written by Daniel Schutte, S.J. and Robert Dufford, S.J., became immensely popular throughout the English-speaking Roman Catholic church at that time (and continue to be widely used today). As guitar-based eucharistic acclamations, these settings were a step forward. However, in their initial form, the acclamations provided no option for keyboard or other instruments and lacked a memorial acclamation, ensuring that musicians would not for some time have a complete set of eucharistic acclamations that were nationally known and could be easily accompanied by either guitar or keyboard.

Also in 1974, an English translation of The Performing Audience by the Dutch composer, Bernard Huijbers, was published in the United States. This book greatly influenced the way that liturgical music in general and eucharistic acclamations, in particular, would be composed. In The Performing Audience, Huijbers describes the concept of elemental music as a model for good liturgical compositions. Elemental music consists of simple, diatonic melodies and intervals that are mainly step motion. Leaps are to be predictable and limited in range, mainly thirds and fifths. Together with Huub Oosterhuis, a Dutch priest and text writer, Huijbers composed a number of “Tableprayers” utilizing elemental music. These were through-composed, musical settings of alternative eucharistic prayer texts. While the prayers themselves were not widely used in the English-speaking church, they helped to influence a number of other composers in the creation of later eucharistic prayers.

The “Community Mass” by Richard Proulx, which became known throughout the English-speaking world through the GIA Publications’ hymnal, Worship II (1977), set a new standard for quality eucharistic acclamations. Singable, elemental melodies, well-crafted keyboard accompaniments, and a wide variety of instrumental parts made the acclamations very useful for liturgical celebrations accompanied by the organ. Unfortunately for guitarists, Proulx’s “Community Mass”, as well as his “Festive Eucharist” and Alexander Peloquin’s popular “Mass of the Bells” were not well-suited for guitar accompaniment. It was (and still remains) very common within the same parish for one or more weekend liturgies to utilize the St. Louis Jesuit acclamations on guitar while other liturgies use the “Community Mass” on organ.

Also at the same time, Fr. Michael Joncas composed a musical setting of the Institution Narrative in his collection of music, Here in Our Midst (NALR). Although the composition did not include the entire eucharistic prayer, it served as a beginning effort pointing toward a sung eucharistic prayer setting.

More Recent Developments

Marty Haugen’s “Mass of Creation” (GIA) was published in 1984. This was the first published Mass in the United States that attempted to provide a setting of the Ordinary that could be accompanied either by organ, piano, or guitar. It sought to begin the process of breaking down the divisions between guitar and organ repertoire. One of the factors that helped in the popularization of “Mass of Creation” was the inclusion of a sung setting of Eucharistic Prayer III.

In 1986 Sr. Theophane Hytrek received permission from the BCL to publish the “Mass for St. John the Evangelist” (GIA). This was the first set of eucharistic acclamations published in the U.S. that included additional optional sung acclamations for the congregation within the eucharistic prayer. The approval of this Mass led to the composition and publication in the United States of many similar settings by other composers.

The past ten years have seen an enormous increase in the number of musical settings of the Ordinary, reflecting a wide variety of styles. The popularity of these settings has to a large degree been dependent upon the use of the hymnal or missalette in which they appear. GIA Publications’ hymnals, Gather, Worship, and Lead Me, Guide Me, have popularized Proulx’s “Community Mass,” Haugen’s “Mass of Creation” and “Mass of Remembrance,” David Haas’ “Mass of Light” and Michael Joncas’ “Psalite Mass.” The Oregon Catholic Press missalette Breaking Bread has exposed congregations to Owen Alstot’s “Heritage Mass,” eucharistic acclamations by Bernadette Farrell and Paul Inwood, and, more recently, Bob Hurd’s Spanish-language setting “Missa de Americas” and gospel-style setting “Alleluia, Give the Glory.” The most popular acclamations from North American Liturgy Resources’ songbook Glory and Praise continue to be those of the St. Louis Jesuits.

Prospects for the Future

Twenty-five years ago, no one would have predicted the amount and diversity of music that would be in use within Roman Catholic parishes today. It is therefore entirely speculative to suggest what might be the sound of Roman Catholic worship in the next century. However, there are a few tantalizing developments that might suggest the future evolution of liturgical music.

In 1992, a study group of composers, text writers, liturgists, and theologians convened by Archbishop Rembert Weakland produced the Milwaukee Report. Among other things, the document called for an increased understanding of the nature of “Christian ritual music” by all those involved in the creation, publication, and use of worship resources. Composers were called to fashion music that is “embedded within the rite,” music that finds its meaning and full expression as ritual. If this call is taken seriously, it will mean the creation of ritual music in musical forms that are more sensitive to the structure and dynamics of the liturgy, forms that are flexible, elemental, and dialogical. Some examples might be “gathering rites” that offer the option of conjoining a hymn or song with a kyrie or sprinkling rite, or “Communion rites” that yoke a fraction song (possibly an adaptation of a “Lamb of God”) with a Communion song. Rather than moving seemingly from one disjointed element to another, such a model creates (in the words of liturgist Ed Foley) a seamless “macro-rite.” Another recommendation of the Milwaukee Report was that composers, publishers, and parish musicians begin to discern which settings of ritual music have won widespread grass-roots recognition, and seek to give those settings quasi-official status so that a universal repertoire of ritual music can begin to evolve. Naturally, there is little clarity and much debate about how and to what degree such a move should happen. The Milwaukee group called on composers and publishers to “flesh out” existing ritual music publications rather than create endless new settings. This might mean setting a number of the eucharistic prayer texts to the same congregational acclamations.

Over the past six to eight years there has been a significant increase in the sharing of music between liturgical publishers. A notable result of this sharing is that a number of musical settings of the Ordinary are now appearing in all the major publications and becoming more widely known. As this trend continues, it is likely that an unofficial national repertoire of service music will evolve.

International, Interdenominational, and Multicultural Cross-Fertilization

The North American Roman Catholic church has reaped enormous benefits from its interaction with Protestant composers and text writers, and from the contributions of artists in other English-speaking countries. In the past few years, Lutheran composer Richard Hillert, English composers Bernadette Farrell, Paul Inwood, and Christopher Walker of the St. Thomas More Group, and Tony Way of Australia have all contributed settings of the Ordinary to the North American Catholic church repertoire. Liturgical compositions from such Protestant composers as Hillert, John Bell (of the Iona Community in Scotland), Carol Doran, Hal Hopson, Austin Lovelace, Don Saliers, and new settings of texts by such Protestant text writers as Timothy Dudley-Smith, Fred Pratt Green, and Brian Wren (all of Great Britain), John Bell and Graham Maule (of the Iona Community), Ruth Duck, Sylvia Dunstan, Tom Troeger, and Jaroslav Vajda have all been published by unofficial Roman Catholic publishing houses such as GIA Publications and Oregon Catholic Press.

In seeking models for dialogical ritual music, many U.S. and Canadian composers have looked to the music of other cultures. The music from the Taizé community, music collected and written by John Bell and Graham Maule for the Scottish community of Iona, and the South African music in the collection Freedom is Coming have been especially popular. The use of such music will certainly influence the musical forms and sounds of future North American liturgical compositions.

The number of Spanish-speaking Roman Catholics has been increasing dramatically in recent times. Publishers have done an uneven job at best in addressing the needs of Catholic parishes with Spanish-speaking liturgies. At the present time, composers and publishers are beginning to become more aware of the need for a more extensive and useful liturgical repertoire in Spanish. Hispanic composers Donna Pena, Lorenzo Florien, and Cuco Chavez, and the Anglo composer Bob Hurd have been providing significant music for Spanish-speaking parishes.

Music in Twentieth-Century Worship

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The trend toward a return to primal traditions in theology and worship practice was intensified in the mid-twentieth century, partly due to the influence of the “New Reformation.” Along with a return to biblical authority, we have seen a revival of Reformation worship forms and practice, including even neo-baroque organ design. The total result is a blend that includes three traditions: the apostolic heritage, historic medieval contributions, and Reformation distinctives.

The Liturgical Movement

The liturgical movement includes a renewed interest in liturgical symbolism, especially in vestments, church design, and furnishings. The liturgical movement has had considerable influence on Calvinist and free churches, some of whom have been guided by the same objectives mentioned above: to unite their own distinctives with the traditions of the apostles and the medieval church. To illustrate, the Worshipbook (1974) of the United Presbyterian Church contains a Communion service which can be said to combine the early form of John Calvin with elements of eucharistic worship from earlier centuries. The text of the service is an amplification of Calvin’s Geneva service of 1542. In the music section of the book, the historic songs of the mass (Kyrie, Gloria, Credo, Sanctus, Agnus Dei) are included so that they might be added to that service.

Though some evangelicals may doubt that they have been influenced by the liturgical movement, these trends will be noted in many groups:

1. Increased interest in more sophisticated church architecture and furnishings, whether or not it includes the consideration of theological principles in symbolism.
2. Development of more complete worship forms, with more congregational participation.
3. More frequent observance of the Communion. Many evangelicals do so once each month, rather than quarterly—the historic norm.
4. Increased observance of the liturgical year, especially as related to Advent and Holy Week.

The Evangelical Influence of Vatican II

Eugene L. Brand describes the liturgical movement as “the label given to efforts across the breadth of the Western church to restore full and vital corporate worship that centers in a eucharistic celebration where Sermon and Supper coexist in complementary fashion” (“The Liturgical Life of the Church,” in A Handbook of Church Music, ed. by Carl Halter and Carl Schalk, 53). As such, much of its impetus came from encyclicals of Pius X and Pius XII and from other church leaders both in Europe and America. The Second Vatican Council of 1962 marked the climax of the movement for Roman Catholics with the release of the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy. All observers agree that its reforms have been “evangelical” in nature. These are some of the most significant:

1. Worship is to be social and rational, not personal and mystical.
2. A return to vernacular languages.
3. Full congregational participation, including the use of “Protestant” hymns.
4. Inclusion of several Scripture readings from both Old and New Testaments.
5. Inclusion of a sermon on a regular basis.
6. “Concelebration” of the mass—the people with the priest.
7. A retreat from extremely sacerdotal theology. (The revised Sacramentary includes four versions of the eucharistic prayer; only one closely resembles the old Roman Canon.)

There is now more similarity between the services of Lutherans and Episcopalians (even of liturgical Presbyterians) and those of Roman Catholics than there has been at any time since the Reformation. As a result of their new freedom, many Roman Catholics now participate in the worship services of evangelicals. Some regularly attend small Bible study groups, and even extra liturgical, charismatic worship services.

The New Pietism

What we identify as “celebration” today may be partly a reaction to the liturgical movement of yesterday. Laypersons who are expected to take a larger part in worship may well insist that it should consist of activities that they enjoy. For this reason, we may call the contemporary style “the new pietism” (the emphasis is on religious experience), or even “the new worship hedonism” (the emphasis is on enjoyable experience).

There are other contributing influences which should be noted:

1. Existentialist philosophy—emphasis on the “now” experience which may sometimes be suprarational.
2. McLuhanism—“the medium is the message.” McLuhan foresaw the weakening of words as communicative symbols and noted increased interest in audio-visual media.
3. Secular theology—a decline in the significance of traditionally sacral expressions in the awareness that the church is sent forth “into the world.”
4. Roman Catholic reforms—Vatican II encouraged its communicants to be rational, social, and joyful in worship.
5. Relational theology—the importance of our relationships with other persons, both in and out of the church.
6. The philosophy of “linguistics”—a consideration of the meaning of words.
7. A reappearance of the aesthetic concept of music as “revelation” (see Mellers, Caliban Reborn).
8. The growth of Pentecostalism.

The resultant expressions in contemporary worship can also be listed:

1. Emphasis on celebration—a total experience in which there is an appeal to all the senses by means of new worship forms and expressions, more emotional music, multimedia, drama, new symbolism, physical movement, etc.
2. Updated translations of Scripture; fresh, more personal language in liturgy, hymns, prayers, and sermon.
3. Congregational participation not spectatorism.
4. Renewed emphasis on Christian fellowship in worship (in the tradition of the “kiss of peace”) and in daily life.
5. Cross-fertilization of the sacred by the contemporary, in text as well as music.

“The new pietism” appeared first among the liturgical churches and more liberal communions, and its total impact may have been more revolutionary among them. After all, the movement simply validated the ancient heritage—of joy in worship and in fellowship with other persons. Furthermore, it was moving counter to the interest of some evangelicals who were seeking to develop a greater sense of reverence in public worship.

One of the first expressions of the new music in contemporary worship was Geoffrey Beaumont’s Twentieth Century Folk Mass, which appeared in 1957. As a member of the Light Music Group of the Church of England, he stated their philosophy succinctly and boldly: Worship should include not only the timeless music of master composers but also the popular styles of the day, which are so much a part of people’s lives. Soon thereafter, youth musical ensembles were appearing among evangelicals in Great Britain, patterning their styles after those of the Beatles and other folk and rock groups. Their objectives were to communicate the gospel and to express Christian response in word/music languages that were comprehensible to young people, both inside and out of the organized church. Before long, liturgical churches and traditional denominational bodies in America were following these examples in an endeavor to make worship services more relevant and celebrative.

Among typical American evangelicals, popular expressions in witness music had not changed dramatically since the advent of the gospel song about 1850. To be sure, there had been modest variations in style in the mid-twentieth century—including “Southern quartet” forms, “western” hymns, a few songs in a mild Broadway-musical style, and the beginning of a country ballad hymnody. But, by and large, evangelicalism had not shown great interest in new music since the days of Billy Sunday and Homer Rodeheaver.

There was, however, considerable awareness of the need for fresh expressions in the church, and considerable (but not universal) support for new translations of the Bible and new phraseology in prayer. Evangelicals used the available new Scripture versions and even sponsored some of their own. The musical breakthrough came with a few gospel folk songs by Ralph Carmichael that appeared in Billy Graham films and with the youth musical Good News, released by the Southern Baptists in 1967. The latter was soon followed by a flood of similar works, written for various age groups, using contemporary popular music forms and frequently performed with the recorded accompaniment of a full professional orchestra.

Soon shorter musical works began to be published in the same idioms. Older titles (and even new works in older forms, like Bill Gaither’s gospel songs) continued to appear, but in upbeat arrangements—with strong syncopated rhythms, a goose-bump-raising orchestration, and a series of “half-step-up” modulations—which added up to strongly-emotional expression.

In the last ten years, we have also seen an unparalleled rise in the number of professional performances of popular religious music by traveling artists. A large number of youth groups are on the road, like Re-Generation (with Derek Johnson) or the Continentals (sponsored by Cam Floria). Older professional singers (e.g., Hale and Wilder, the Bill Gaither Trio, Andrae Crouch, Ken Medema, Bill Pearce, Suzanne Johnson, Jimmy McDonald, and Evie Tornquist) give full programs of music, sometimes in churches and sometimes in auditoriums. And there is a new breed of professional Christian musicians, some of whom have crossed over into the pop market, most notably Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith. Many of these young performers write their own songs and perform them almost exclusively. All of this activity has been a great boon to the religious music publishing and recording businesses and has created a multimillion dollar market-centered largely in Nashville, Tennessee. It is safe to say that we have just witnessed the most significant new development in Christian witness music since Ira Sankey popularized the gospel song more than 100 years ago.

No doubt there is much that is good in the new spirit and expressions of worship. But, as in so much of life, every plus is a potential minus if we do not maintain a healthy balance. It is well to give vent to emotional expression, providing it does not lead to emotionalism and irrationality. The new humanism is good when it helps us be more aware of ourselves and our neighbors in full-orbed worship and fellowship, but bad if we substitute transcendent human experience for a full understanding of the transcendence of God. The creativity that new forms offer may lead to a loss of meaning and identity if we forsake completely the historic expressions that are part of our religious roots. Finally, the “new enjoyment” may lead to a worship hedonism that is another form of idolatry—worshiping the experience instead of God.

Roman Catholic Worship from the Council of Trent to Vatican II

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The Council of Trent (1545–1563) initiated a period of liturgical standardization in the Roman Catholic church. Catholic worship remained largely uniform throughout the world until the appearance of the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy of the Second Vatican Council (1963).

The Council of Trent (1545–1563) sought to bring about a conservative reform by radical means. The fathers of Trent were concerned to end avarice, corruptions, and superstitions in worship, but their minds were directed to defending the status quo whenever possible, partly because the lack of liturgical scholarship allowed them to believe, for example, that St. Peter had composed the Roman canon and that to change existing practices was to abolish that which was apostolic. Furthermore, changes would be seen as conceding that the Protestant Reformers were right after all.

The method of reform chosen was that of liturgical standardization, a possibility with the advent of the printed book. The revision of the liturgical books was entrusted to the curia and proceeded with the breviary (1568), the missal (1570), the martyrology (1584), pontifical (1596), bishops’ ceremonies (1600), and the ritual (1614). The means of enforcing global uniformity was entrusted to the new Congregation of Rites, established in 1588. So began almost four centuries of liturgical uniformity, reaching even to China (and thus devastating evangelization of that country). The “era of rubrics” that ensued found theological safety in rigid liturgical uniformity.

At the same time, much of the worship did not change, because books and bureaucrats could control only so much. A brilliant period of baroque architecture spread around the world, inspired by the work of Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1598–1680) and the example of the Jesuit church in Rome, Il Gesu. Joseph Jungmann speaks of the baroque spirit and the traditional liturgy as “two vastly different worlds”(The Mass of the Roman Rite [Westminster, Md.: Christian Classics, 1986], vol. 1, 142). New devotions came to the forefront, especially benediction and exposition of the Blessed Sacrament; the cult of the saints came to focus largely on the Virgin Mary. Devotions to the Sacred Heart of Jesus and visits to the Blessed Sacrament became popular. In France, the new standardized books were resisted for three centuries, coming into consistent use only in the late nineteenth century after experimentation with much local variety and vernacular uses.

The Enlightenment of the eighteenth century failed to make much of a mark, despite the efforts of the Synod of Pistoia (1786) to make reforms that were two centuries too early. The nineteenth-century saw the beginnings of the first liturgical movement, led by Prosper Guéranger (1805–1875) and a series of monastic leaders, notably Lambert Beauduin (1873–1960), Virgil Michel (1890–1938), and Odo Casel (1886–1948). This lasted until after World War II and was acknowledged in the conservative encyclical Mediator Dei (1947). A later liturgical movement began after the war, deriving its agenda largely from Protestant worship (vernacular, cultural pluralism, active participation, preaching at Mass, popular hymnody) and centered largely in countries with Protestant majorities.

More recently, Vatican II in its Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy (1963) moved Roman Catholicism to embrace these newer reforms. The result has been a revision of the Tridentine liturgical books in less than 25 years and translation of them all. The introduction of the vernacular has been accompanied by much more flexibility and a variety of options in the rites. While these reforms have been widely welcomed by the laity, Rome seems presently concerned with preventing adaptation or inculturation from going too far. Even so, the distance traveled since Trent has been enormous.