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Wedding season is upon us. This spring, summer, and fall, millions more will be tying the knot, and those of us who are lucky enough to attend a Roman Catholic ceremony will hear a vow formula such as this:

I, ____, take you, ____, to be my lawful husband/wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.

As a friar, I will obviously never take wedding vows. (My until death moment came last August 11th, when I made solemn profession to God in the Order of Preachers.) Yet if you’ll allow me to share the story of a car I once owned, maybe it can shed some light on the beauty of a true, sacramental, indissoluble marriage between a man and a woman.

The saints are the hermeneuts of the Scriptures. Pope Benedict XVI reminds us of this in Verbum Domini: ”The interpretation of Sacred Scripture would remain incomplete were it not to include listening to those who have truly lived the word of God: namely, the saints” (VD 48).

Something strange is happening; there is a great silence on earth today, a great silence and stillness.
—from an ancient homily on Holy Saturday

Christmas Eve, like Holy Saturday, is a quiet day. Advent builds to a mighty crescendo, and then—a solemn pause. Exhausted with preparation, the Church comes to a standstill. She holds her breath, as it were, listening intently for that “tiny whispering sound,” the cry of a little baby (cf. 1 Kgs 19:12).

Imagine there’s no Heaven
It’s easy if you try
No Hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people living for today

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Resplendent in majesty, unrivaled in excellence, the angel Lucifer reflected the glory of God more than any other creature. But for all his power and glory, the most noble of angels was like the lowliest wretch of a man in one respect: he did not enjoy perfect beatitude—he could not see God as He is in Himself. For this, he was as powerless as a worm, as helpless as a babe. The gift of divine intimacy could not be demanded, but only received with the loving submission of living faith. Refusing such submission, Lucifer grasped for the gift and spurned the giver. He desired to be like God, obtaining happiness by his own power, and in rejecting Love’s offer, he bent his will into the terrifying contours that spell eternal darkness.

Last Friday an article by professional food developer Barbara Stuckey appeared in the “Life and Culture” section of The Wall Street Journal. Ms. Stuckey writes that, though she loves her job, she is “constantly frustrated by the unwillingness of most Americans to try foods that challenge their palates.” Americans, she says, tend to cling to their favorite bland foods, and these tend to be loaded with sugar. “Expanding our repertoire of foods isn’t just about exploration and new pleasures,” Ms. Stuckey explains, “It’s also the first step toward eating a broader, healthier diet.” Instead of simply bemoaning the problem, she provides practical, concrete steps to self-education that actually sound like they could be fun.

As I read the article, it occurred to me that her observations could also be applied to musical taste. Indeed, the metaphor of “taste” turns out to be very apt.

Listening to the National Symphony Orchestra’s rendition of The Sea—to use an odd but apt comparison—is like hearing an Impressionist painting. Composer Frank Bridge surveys in sound the motion, the interplay of light and darkness, and the rich colors of the ocean in a way reminiscent of a landscape by Monet, Renoir, or even Cézanne. The varying timbre of each of the suite’s four movements evokes a different aspect of the sea’s mighty character. Admittedly, Bridge is one of the lesser-known English composers, but The Sea is proof enough that he is worthy to be numbered among his more famous contemporaries, such as Ralph Vaughn Williams, Edward Elgar, and Gustav Holst.

In Lent 2011, the Dominican student brothers gave a series of conferences, viewing the Cross from a number of different angles.

In the video below, Br. Innocent Smith, O.P., analyzes the Lenten theological insights contained in the Gregorian chants of the Dominican liturgy of Compline (Night Prayer) in his talk, “Death Amidst Life: Lenten Gregorian Chant.”

Find the schedule and locations of student-brother conferences for Lent 2012 here.

The other evening a brother and I were chatting about the various songs and musicians that we have appreciated over the years. To our surprise, we discovered that we have similar musical tastes, and so the conversation had a certain air of shared nostalgia about it that was quite enjoyable.

One of the things that struck us both is how, since we entered religious life, our use of music for entertainment and relaxation has changed dramatically. Prior to receiving the habit, we had used music as a kind of continuous “soundtrack,” if you will, for our lives. Of course, we both still greatly enjoy listening to music, and we still feel a deep connection to many songs; but it is not the same as it was, and this, we conjectured, is for a few different reasons.

During this Advent season, in just about any city in America, you can find a radio station that plays Christmas music non-stop.  While most of the tunes that you hear jump the gun on Christmas cheer, a few, like “Silver Bells” or “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town” do turn the mind to the coming Yuletide festivities.  But while these secular pop songs prepare for the celebrations that accompany the feast of the birth of Christ, none of them puts the listener in the proper mood for much more than shopping or traveling.  The sentiments of expectation and longing for the much-needed Savior are conspicuously absent from most of the music commonly heard at this time of year.

The most notable exception, however, is Georg Friedrich Handel’s 1742 magnum opus, the Messiah, which is often performed, at least in part, in concert halls, churches, and inter-choral gatherings far and wide throughout Advent.  Combining Baroque rhythm and counterpoint with the inspired Word of God, this masterpiece’s popularity has endured for generations.  One of the reasons it has is that the oratorio captures the emotions of awe, joy, sorrow, and triumph surrounding the life of Jesus Christ and the destiny of each Christian.

This is true right from the very beginning of the work.  In the overture, the strings drive forth, in a jagged, uneven rhythm, the strains of the people of Israel in Old Testament times.  Listening to it, we can feel, along with the chosen people, the disappointments of trying to rely on ourselves.  How can we be freed from our sins, and reach human fulfillment?  How long, O Lord, must we wait for a Savior?  The first violin section then begins a fugue, whose recurring subject calls to mind the numerous times that the Israelites have fallen away from God’s covenant.  The characters may change as the theme is heard in different related keys, but every time, God calls us back to return to Him—and He does not turn back on His promise.

And we begin to hear this promise’s fulfillment in the next movement.  The agitated melody in E minor gives way to a slower, calmer accompaniment in E major.  Then the tenor soloist begins the fortieth chapter of the Book of Isaiah—at the point in which the text breaks from a historical narrative of the kingdom of Judah into a series of prophecies for the future Kingdom—“Comfort ye!”  In times of stress, doubt, and fear, our Lord offers us consolation.  “Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned!”  The Messiah, the Lord’s Anointed, comes, as perfect God, to conquer our sins, and as perfect man, to show us how to be fully human.  What could comfort us more than this?

The music stops for a moment—and the soloist calls out the words later used by John the Baptist: “The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness: Prepare ye the way of the Lord; make straight in the desert a highway for our God!”  This is the theme of Advent: we must order our lives, our actions, our desires, to make a clear path for Christ, so that we can be united with Him when He comes to us—both in the Sacraments and at the threshold of eternity.

By the time the music becomes more lively, as the soloist, and then the full choir, show us what will happen when Jesus does come (“Every valley shall be exalted…and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed”), we should likewise be excited to run toward Him and meet Him, and share in His divine life.  This is a joy far greater than any for which pop Christmas music can prepare us.  So put on a CD of Handel’s Messiah, or come to a concert, or participate in a sing-along version if you can.  Through this music, we can more fully anticipate the coming of our Savior at Christmas, and be prepared to exclaim, before the heavenly throne, in an unceasing chorus, “Hallelujah!”

 
Image: Caravaggio, Rest on the Flight into Egypt