The Spirit of the Lord

In terms of what they like to call a "spiritual journey", the magnificent Elgar piece "The Spirit of the Lord" has a strangely symbolic place in my history.  

Often thought of as a standard, if long, example of an Anglican Cathedral anthem, a classic case of musica anglicana if you will, that reputation does not really represent the full picture.  It is not an anthem (it is the prologue to an oratorio, "The Apostles") and it was not written by an Anglican (Elgar was of course a Catholic, and he selected biblical texts in a very effective if idiosyncratic way to create the Oratorio).  Having said that, it is no surprise that the Church of England's musicians should find such appeal in a work of such power and quality, and therefore that it has indeed become such a favourite with Anglican choirs. 

Given the reaction from the Anglican establishment that had greeted the choral work on a similar scale that Elgar had written only a few years before The Apostles, there is, if I may say so, some degree of wry amusement that may be allowed.  Elgar's use of Blessed John Henry Newman's The Dream of Gerontius with its very clear expression of Catholic theology on purgatory, was a source of much Anglican angst.  The Dean of Gloucester banned the work from his cathedral in 1901, and the Dean of Hereford in 1902 decreed that it could only be performed in his cathedral with substantial edits.  One of the more acknowledged masters of musica anglicana, Sir Charles Villiers Stanford, said that the piece "stinks of incense".

As a music undergraduate heavily involved in church music, I heard The Spirit of the Lord played on many CDs, but I didn't ever manage to hear it "live".  Then, in my early years in London thereafter, one quiet Sunday afternoon - which, logically, must have been Pentecost - I heard it sung at Westminster Cathedral.  As all who know the work can understand, it was a powerful experience, helped of course by hearing it sung in that wonderful building by the best cathedral choir in England.

The quiet, meditative introduction; the quiet, unison setting of the words of Our Lord; the concise, effective summary of some of the key tasks to be performed in the name of the Father expressed in warm and powerful singing and orchestration : it is a very moving piece for those who choose to listen carefully to its seven minutes. 

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to preach the Gospel to the poor: he hath sent me to heal the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to preach the acceptable year of the Lord; to give unto them that mourn a garland for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified. For as the earth bringeth forth her bud, and as the garden causeth the things that are sown in it to spring forth; so the Lord will cause righteousness and praise to spring forth before all the nations.

The mystical introduction to the piece helps emphasise the other-worldly, spiritual genesis of this mission to good works.  Workers in the vineyard, yes, but not just any old vineyard: we are commissioned to work in the vineyard of the Lord.  There are many charitable things we can do, many excellent and important roles to be performed, but we are to carry them out for a reason and in a wider context.  We are not to be social workers in fancy dress, nor are we do-gooders who get together to sing songs and use fancy words once a week.  The calling we have comes from God Himself, and as such is intricately bound up with our place in his Church, our tasks being both spiritual and practical.

What a strange co-incidence it was then, that at our last Pentecost Sunday as Anglicans, the anthem at St Mary's was this very piece, this music written by a Catholic but so popular with Anglicans, this piece that expresses a spiritual calling, a mission, the undertaking of tasks, even a call to obedience. 

Is it too much in the way of wishful thinking to imagine that in the words being sung in unison there was a sign of there even being a call to the unity within which we would find ourselves a few months later, upon being received into the Catholic Church?  Perhaps it is, but the symbolism most certainly fits.  I heard the music "live" for the first time in the mother church of Catholic England, and it was one of the last pieces I heard sung in a church before I joined the Catholic Church - you will understand why I see significance in it.

Another Catholic musician much loved in Anglican cathedrals, and who wrote a famous piece of music often performed at Pentecost, was Thomas Tallis.  His setting of Loquebantur Variis Linguis is a staple of church music on this day throughout the country.  Tallis, and his contemporary and pupil Byrd, remained devout Catholics throughout their lives, notwithstanding the severe religious turmoil that battered sixteenth-century England. Both wrote music in English and in Latin and displayed a tremendous talent for adapting their composition skills to the needs of the particular monarch's religion at the time : both wrote glorious polyphony, florid expressions of the glory of Catholic church music, both wrote equally beautiful but very different and much plainer music for the protestant tastes of the newly born Church of England.

Byrd shared Elgar's ability to join disparate parts of biblical texts in one piece of music, whereas Tallis generally preferred to set texts from liturgy.  Here then is that Tallis piece, a setting of the second respond at Matins on the third day after Pentecost, in his typical polyphonic responsory style (where a number of parts weave around a plainsong cantus firmus sung by the tenor part) :



Loquebantur variis linguis apostoli, alleluia.
Magnalia Dei, alleluia.
Repleti sunt omnes Spiritu Sancto,
et ceperunt loqui variis linguis.
Magnalia Dei, alleluia.
Gloria Patri et Filio et Spiritui Sancto.
Alleluia.

The apostles spoke in many tongues, alleluia,
Of the great works of God, alleluia.
They were all filled with the Holy Spirit,
and began to speak in many tongues
of the great works of God, alleluia.
Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit.
Alleluia.

Alleluia!

At the Easter Vigil last night in St James's, in common with the rest of the Church, we completed the Triduum and began the great rejoicing of Easter.

The Vigil on Holy Saturday evening has, in my experience, often been the least well attended of the Triduum liturgies.  Perhaps this is down to fatigue, perhaps it is down to the lateness of the service or to the fact that it is on a Saturday night.  Although St James's was not quite as packed as it had been on Good Friday, where there were certainly 500+ in church, we managed an extremely respectable turnout indeed, with perhaps 300-400 there.  Not bad for a cold Saturday evening, in an eerily deserted "Bank Holiday Weekend" Central London.  How pleasing to note that people still came to church despite Giles Fraser's fascinating earlier assertion on Radio 4 that people should not enter a church building on Holy Saturday. 

There was limited lighting in church, but then at 9pm exactly, all the lights went out, and across the gloom, one could just make out the procession leaving the sacristy and heading to the back of church.  The new fire was lit inside (an advantage of having a tall building and plentiful space behind the back rows of seating).  The effect of the light on the fire on the gothic arches of St James's was beautiful. 

Fr Irwin, who had sung the Ecce Lignum Crucis so well on Good Friday, chanted Lumen Christi as the newly lit Paschal Candle was borne up the centre aisle.  He went on to sing the haunting, enchanting and joyful Exsultet, in the much-talked about new bee-friendly translation of course.

As the series of readings continued, the choir made their presence felt with some stunning chant singing.  In the dim light of the candles, flickering around that stunning building, the beauty of the chant of the Canticle of the Red Sea, the Cantemus Domino, was overwhelming, as was the Palestrina setting of Sicut Cervus



After the Easter Alleluias and the Gospel, we moved onto a tour de force of a homily by Monsignor Jamieson.  He talked of the challenge of maintaining and nurturing faith, holding on to the incredible importance of the events we marked last night in this negative and doubting world.  The Devil was negative, the Devil was against things, whereas we as Catholics defined our stance in positive terms, most notably that, as Fr Colven had said on Good Friday, Jesus had died for all, and that death had no more dominion over him and need hold no fear for us.  

Easter was a positive message, he said, and we as positive Catholics should hold on to its place in our lives.  Not only at moments of great joy when we remember to give thanks, nor only at moments of great trial when we want to ask for help, but all the time.  Unlike antitheists, who are against those who believe in God, and unlike Protestants, who define themselves by negative comparison against Catholics, we must be positive, and bear Easter in our hearts. 

Around ten adults were then confirmed (a few were also baptised) in a very moving few moments.  With the exception of what happened at Candlemas, which had a familiar Ordinariate-influenced feeling to it, this was the first time that some of us had witnessed the phenomenon of numerous individuals joining the Church.  Come to think of it, for me at least, it was the first time that I had witnessed (as far as I remember), people being baptised and confirmed at the Easter Vigil, surely the most appropriate time for it to happen. 

After communion, the opportunity to sing our first great Easter hymn of the year "Jesus Christ is Risen Today!  Alleluia!".  This put us in mind of the singing of the Reginae Caeli to that tune, something that we hope to have the opportunity to do soon, for that is very much Anglican Patrimony. 

After mass was over, and the Vierne finale from Symphonie no 6 concluded, our little Ordinariate group repaired to the home of one of our members (along with a friend from the Oxford Ordinariate Group, one of at least two from that group who was present with us in church last night) to celebrate the Resurrection with a glass of something.  We return to St James's in a few hours, when we continue our celebrations with the Mozart Mass in C K337, and with the Byrd Haec Dies.



Surrexit Christus!  Alleluia!