Episcopal Mass
Music of the Episcopal Mass A Humorous approach Jacob Sconyers On Sunday,
December 3 I attended the Solemn Mass at the Church of the Advent, in the North
End. Now, you have to understand that I am religiously challenged, at best. I’ve
been to my share of weddings and funerals, but growing up I averaged one regular
church service every year or two. When I did go, it was either to Hardshell
Baptist or Dunkard Bretheren services, with my father or mother’s side of the
family, respectively. Both these denominations focus heavily on simplicity and
egalitarianism. The churches are usually one room, wooden affairs with a simple
lectern. The music draws heavily on the English folk tradition, and the service
is delivered in a straightforward manner. Imagine my trepidation, then, when I
walked into this church, with its high, vaulted ceilings and an enormous,
emaciated, and slightly malicious-looking Christ figure suspended thirty feet
among my head. As I came through the entrance, the prelude began. It sounded
like nothing less than the soundtrack to a horror movie, as the slasher is about
to leap out and dice an innocent schoolgirl. The organ wailed in threatening,
building minor chords and did nothing to allay my trepidation. I quickly found a
seat in the back of the room. Then, what did I behold, but a procession of
similarly robed, somber looking men waving banners, crosses, and other crystal
and gold implements above their heads. As the leader passed me he began swinging
a golden canister about his head, and noxious fumes poured out. My eyes and
throat burned, and I thought some sort of crazy cultists had gassed me.
The
moment passed, however, and I realized that they were the leaders of the church,
and it was nothing but incense. After parading in laps around the sanctuary, the
procession moved to a raised platform upon which they performed strange rituals
before an enormous granite-looking monolith. I later found out that this
monolith was the altar, the first of many things in this service the churches of
my childhood would have found wicked and sinful. Following the procession came
Hymn 360, which all 100 of the parishioners present sang, while accompanied by
the organ. It seemed to my untrained ear to go from major to minor and back to
major, but the major ending was significantly more solemn than the joyous
beginning. Then came Hymn 486 (not to be confused with RU486), which was also
sung by everyone and accompanied by organ. It blended seamlessly into the Cantus Missae. In fact, I didn’t realize a new piece had begun until it ended and the
Kyrie eleison followed. The Kyrie is something I am at least marginally familiar
with, having studied it in HT 2. It was sung by the choir, without
accompaniment. I think I heard some fugal elements in this piece, when different
vocal sections would follow each other with identical musical lines. The
minister (priest, friar, monk, reverend, etc. I don’t know what to call him in
their denomination) performed the Collect of the Day, which was very similar to
recitative operatic style. It was definitely musical, but it held one note
predominantly and moved almost entirely rhythmically. This would have been
unheard of in any church I had set foot in before. A Bible reading followed,
about the end of the world. This was to be the topic of the day. The choir and
organ then performed Psalm 60 in a musical style more melodic than the Collect,
but still predominantly rhythmic. This was followed by another apocalyptic Bible
verse. These allusions to the end of days put me on a familiar footing: they
were a favorite in the Hardshell church. Little did I know what was coming. A
period of call and response chant between one of the officials of the church and
the congregation came next.
