Lähdekoodi sivulle The Singing Church (speech)

Professor Ivan Moody, University of Eastern Finland
[[Kuva:kanttori_11_mk.jpg|250px|thumb|<center>Prof. Ivan Moody and Maria Takala-Roszczenko, Tampere 15.11.2014<br><small>(''Kuva © Mikko Kärki'')</small></center>]]
“The Singing Church”

There has been a great deal of very lively discussion, especially since the invention of the internet, about exactly what church singing should be. Online discussion fora are filled with the lamentations of choir directors in conflict with priests because they disagree on the kind of music necessary for the services, with desperate searches for ways to keep a choir to a high standard, or even incentives simply to persuade choir singers to attend rehearsals. There are complaints from proponents of exclusively monophonic singing that the complexities of Russian polyphonic music render them unable to pray, and there are complaints from the proponents of harmonized music that monophony is the same as monotony.

Much of this discussion is circular, and no answer is ever reached, because these situations recur time and time again and the circumstances will be different enough in each case for it to be impossible to arrive at a single, uniform answer. Much of it could be solved by a more sensitive pastoral approach on the part of the clergy; certainly, liturgical services of any kind depend, as well as know, on a smooth working relationship between priests and chanters, but very often there is a lack of knowledge on the chanter’s part as to what the priest is doing within the altar at any given moment, or on the priest’s part as to the complexities of tuning, dealing with choir folders or switching languages.

One of the themes that occurs very frequently in the midst of all this practical discussion is that church music is not valued in the same way icon painting is. In general, we do not put up with badly painted icons. Why, then, should we put up with badly sung music? This kind of argument is countered by those who object to the “professionalization” of the kliros, arguing that it is the laos, the people, who should be responding in song to the priest, and there thus arises the demonstrably false narrative of the cantors having taken over the liturgy from the people, conveniently ignoring the fact that there have always been elements of liturgical singing reserved for specialist singers.

In some respects this arises from the treatment of the music sung at services as “white noise”. If the members of the congregation cannot understand the texts being sung, either for linguistic reasons or simply because they are not declaimed clearly enough, not only are they not being fed the spiritual treasures of the Church’s hymnography, but they instinctively “tune out”, as though the singing were merely a radio playing in the background while some more important activity is being carried out. 

None of this, of course, makes for a singing Church. It results in a division, a division between the liturgical action, the icons and the music that should all be collaborative parts of the same service, the same liturgical address to God. How, then, might we arrive at a symphonia so that the Church does indeed begin to sing?

Over the past months, while I have been teaching at the University of Eastern Finland, I have tried, as a general principle, to encourage students to ask themselves a single question: “What should we sing in church?”. Reflection on this question has been, I believe, stimulating and thought-provoking, because answering it honestly requires serious thought about what we are doing as church singers and a serious reassessment of our own presumptions, preconceptions and prejudices. 

I have recently been teaching a course on the theology of church music, which has necessarily involved looking in some detail at what the Fathers of the Church have to say about music. In some respects we learn very little from them, because so often what is suggested by their descriptions no longer corresponds to our liturgical reality. On the other hand, we learn a great deal about the high seriousness with which they approached this subject. 

Here, for example, is St John Chrysostom, who tells singers that they must imitate the angels:

“How do I understand that words proceed into deeds?  […] from the fact that imitating the angelic choir, and endless hymnology is offered to God […].  Above, the hosts of angels sing praise; below men form choirs in the churches and imitate them by singing the same doxology. Above, the seraphim cry out in the thrice-holy hymn; below, the human throng sends up the same cry. The inhabitants of heaven and earth are brought together in a common assembly; there is one thanksgiving, one shout of delight, one joyful chorus.”  
	[Homily I in Oziam, seu de Seraphinis I; PG 1vi, 97]

Clearly, if we are to be brought unto a common assembly with the angels, we cannot be arguing on the kliros or with the priest about which tone is correct, or whether a polyphonic setting of the Cherubic Hymn is more appropriate than a long monophonic Znamenny version. Our minds, and our hearts, should already be in concert with the angels, and then we may pay prayerful attention to the words we are singing. St Proclus of Constantinople writing in the 5th century, wrote that:

“The lyre of the psalms is beautiful; the harp of the Spirit is inspired by God. The prophetic song is both joyful and fearsome. The singing of psalms is always salvific, melodiously lulling the passions to sleep. What the pruning hook is to thorns, a psalm is to sadness. A chanted psalm shears away despondency and cuts off sorrow at its root. It sponges away the passions and silences lamentations. It removed worldly cares, comforts the suffering, moves sinners to repentance, awakens one to piety, makes cities of the desert, and chastens those in cities. It unifies monasteries, advocates virginity, teaches gentleness, lays down the law of love, blesses love for the poor, prepares for endurance, raises to heaven, fills the church with the faithful, sanctifies priests, repels demons, prophesies things to come, proclaims mysteries in advance, and promulgates the Trinity, saying: ‘The Lord said to my Lord: Sit at my right hand until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet.’”

If singing psalms can do all that, we clearly have a great responsibility to sing them properly. But when we read of the fallen reality of the kliros, when we read stories of psaltai duelling vocally with each other at the Great Church of Christ in Constantinople, or of chic churches which employ professional opera singers because they conceive of worship as a Prada shop window, we see clearly that reality has not always kept pace with theology.

How can we avoid this situation? I suggest that it is precisely by understanding singing in church as a ministry, by training for it as well as we can, by exercising it with humility, and, at the same time, making use of that ministry to bring the best we have to God. In this sense, we can indeed strive to be like the icon painter, and become the Singing Church.

During these days, much music written for worship has been and will be sung, in many different styles. Let us treat this as an opportunity to reflect on the problems I have mentioned, which are not new to the Church, in a positive spirit; and let us treat is as an opportunity for the celebration of the gifts of the composers, conductors, chanters and choir members who participate in this gathering, and as a reaffirmation of their ministry. 

To God alone be the glory.

'''Ivan Moody'''

* [[Laulava Kirkko (puhe)|suomeksi/in Finnish]]

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