This is a syndicated post from The Chant Café. [Read the original article...]
I have to admit that Palm Sunday isn’t exactly my favorite
day of the year. There’s just so much that can go irreparably wrong. I’m lucky that
I now work in places where this liturgy is well organized, so the circus-like
atmosphere is minimized, but learned reactions are hard to undo, so I’m a
grump.
day of the year. There’s just so much that can go irreparably wrong. I’m lucky that
I now work in places where this liturgy is well organized, so the circus-like
atmosphere is minimized, but learned reactions are hard to undo, so I’m a
grump.
In spite of my cantankerousness, though, there is one thing
about it that always gets to me, one of those moments of art that batters my
heart whether I want it to or not. It concerns the transition from the
procession to the Mass itself.
about it that always gets to me, one of those moments of art that batters my
heart whether I want it to or not. It concerns the transition from the
procession to the Mass itself.
This liturgy, as we all know, begins with fireworks, with the
chant Hosanna filio David. Then there
are upbeat narratives such as Pueri Hebraeorum
that eventually give way to the unbounded praise of Gloria, Laus, et Honor. The choir and congregation take the part of crowds who welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem. Then, as the procession enters
the church, or comes to a close, the schola chants Ingrediente Domino, another narrative, but one of a more subdued musical
character. It’s as if the music is leading us down the mountain, into Jerusalem
and into the Passion narrative.
chant Hosanna filio David. Then there
are upbeat narratives such as Pueri Hebraeorum
that eventually give way to the unbounded praise of Gloria, Laus, et Honor. The choir and congregation take the part of crowds who welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem. Then, as the procession enters
the church, or comes to a close, the schola chants Ingrediente Domino, another narrative, but one of a more subdued musical
character. It’s as if the music is leading us down the mountain, into Jerusalem
and into the Passion narrative.
Ultimately, though, the Introit finishes off this
process, taking us from red to purple hues. “Oh Lord, remove not thy help to a
distance from me…deliver me from the lion’s mouth.” The hushed beginnings of
this mode 8 melody have something of desperate urgency in them which ultimately
crescendos into begging. Earlier the congregation and schola sang the words of
the narrator and the crowds, but whose words are these in the Introit? There is
something of Gethsemane in them, as if they are meant to be the words of Jesus
himself. It’s a powerful effect and yet a smooth transition from the pomp that preceded it to the Passion that is to follow. Start at 1:31:00 in the following video to hear both Ingrediente and the Introit:
process, taking us from red to purple hues. “Oh Lord, remove not thy help to a
distance from me…deliver me from the lion’s mouth.” The hushed beginnings of
this mode 8 melody have something of desperate urgency in them which ultimately
crescendos into begging. Earlier the congregation and schola sang the words of
the narrator and the crowds, but whose words are these in the Introit? There is
something of Gethsemane in them, as if they are meant to be the words of Jesus
himself. It’s a powerful effect and yet a smooth transition from the pomp that preceded it to the Passion that is to follow. Start at 1:31:00 in the following video to hear both Ingrediente and the Introit:
Anyone who thinks that all
Gregorian chant is relatively monotonous ought to study this succession of
antiphons for Palm Sunday in order to test their theory. I always know this
transition is coming, but I can never get through the first line of Domine, ne longe without a quiver moving
up my back and meeting the lump in my throat. And then I realize it’s probably
not such a good idea to be grumpy about complicated liturgies after all.
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