St Cecilia, pray for us!

Another dedicated Catholic musician's troubles, (I have GOT to get over myself, and realize how much worse I could have it, since I have none of the other worries, family, health, etc., that add to church musician's lack of hope):

I've been director at [my parish for] sixteen years. When I first started, I was not long out of graduate school, and I knew NOTHING about what Mass was really supposed to be. I went through the usual foolishness of choosing hymns "that the people could sing" for every Mass. The Church had Worship III and a subscription to the Breaking Bread/Music Issue, which came from the Withywindle of Catholic music -- the center from which all the queerness comes (Tolkien geek reference).

The choir sang lots and lots of a capella music, and we continued to grow musically. We were stuck in the Siberia of the early Mass, which few people under 60 attended. I tried to make the music as good as possible -- we did a lot of classical (including Renaissance) repertory. Eventually the folkie for whom the church had bought the Music Issue etc. passed away, and they replaced him with someone who directs a local gospel choir and isn't even Catholic rather than turn it over to me. Yes, they said they were afraid I would "scare the children" -- probably by teaching what the Church actually says the music is supposed to be. Well, don't get me started on that. My title of "Director of Music" became meaningless at that point as far as I'm concerned, and I've just been trying to salvage my little corner of the liturgy -- the early, early Mass. My choir have been pretty faithful, but even they felt the schiaffo when the parish passed me over for direction of the shepherdless sheep of the 'high" Mass.

However, a new wrinkle in the program was that I got involved with "those Latin nuts" who not only sing Gregorian chant, but actually love it. Fortunately I had learned to read the neumes in music school, so I wasn't completely lost; but this put a major crimp in their appreciation of the parish music program. This all came to a head when my little schola sang a couple of months ago. We sang the Introit, Communion and Offertory, and also sang an alternatim treatment of the Offertory antiphon with a polyphonic component by Josquin. After Mass, I told the pastor we would sing again for Assumption. He said, "No, that's way too soon. I don't want any more of this stuff. Maybe twice a year."

But why, Father?

"Because I'll get E-mails."

(Oh, the HORROR! He might actually have to explain something.)

I knew then that our efforts had been in vain, but I decided to shoot the moon with this year's budget. I requested (and solicited funds from certain parishioners for) scholarships to entice solo-quality singers to join the program. I asked for money to go to the Colloquium and the St. Cecilia Chant Workshop. And I requested money to buy copies of the Graduale Romanum and the Graduale Simplex for the Schola. I was going to make the Schola the main musical group in the Parish.

Next week I have to defend said budget before the richest (and least musically astute) man in town. He's been head of the PFC for thirty years or more, and the parishioners bow and scrape in front of him as if he were the Tsar of All The Russias. So they tell me they want a hymnal. The richest man in the city, for whom the bulletin budget is less than pocket change, is tired of spending the money for "something that gets thrown away." They tell me they don't want any more Latin. And they tell me I'm asking for too much money -- although it's less for me to attend the Colloquium than it was for the folk group guy to attend the NPM hootenanny every other year.

I can't rescue the parish from her lay leaders. They not only don't think there is a problem with sacro-pop, they regard it as "traditional" music. So I am just an inconvenience -- a gadfly who has organized the program, produced the music bulletins, whipped up a choir from unprepossessing material, and so on and so on. And while I don't intend to die on Budget Hill, so to speak, I'm going to make sure they know why they should not buy a hardcover hymnal. Now, if they make me go back to the Withywindle Pulp Hymnal, I'll deal with it. I'll choke back the gag reflex when I encounter the neutered and bowdlerized glosses in the hymns. But I will also continue to teach the choir and cantors what is supposed to be, and maybe the next pastor will be more courageous.

My apologies for the vituperation. I'm so done with them! It makes me ill to think of the coming season. As is the case for many of you, however, I can't afford to quit my job. We are poorer than church mice after some of the health issues we've had to deal with the last few years. So I'll do what I have to do, even if it means an early grave. At least then I'd be good for insurance money.