What It Is

By Mitchell

What it was, in a sense, was much ado about nothing. What it is, is something more.

By now most of you know the comings and goings at St. Agnes this week. Going are Fr. George Welzbacher, the pastor, and Fr. Robert Altier, the associate pastor. Coming are Fr. John Ubel, the new pastor, and Fr. Randal Kasel, the new associate pastor. (For those of you interested, here's the story as it finally appeared in the Pioneer Press this weekend.)

Considering the events of the last few months, there was more than one person who lept to conclusions, who foresaw, as Fr. Zuhlsdorf heard one person term it, a "St. Agnes Massacre." Most of those people feel into one of two categories. Many of them were people from outside the parish, or even outside the state. They knew of St. Agnes' reputation, they had some knowledge of the friction evident in the debate about the Virtus sex-ed program, and they assumed that a purge of the parish had begun. They foresaw all kinds of calamities, from the end of the Latin Mass to the introduction of altar girls. To be generous, most of those people had no real knowledge of the inner workings of the archdiocese or the personality of the parish, and therefore might not be expected to understand why such a wholesale change would be quite unlikely.

The second category is a little harder to define, and for that reason a little more interesting. Most of the people in that second category were people who had been associated in one way or another with Fr. Altier, whether within the parish itself or in one of the groups for whom he provided spiritual guidance. These are the people who found themselves most at odds with Archbishop Flynn over the Virtus program, who had been the most vocal in expressing their distrust of the archdiocese, and who were most wounded when the archbishop "silenced" Fr. Altier earlier this year. Those people saw their friend and counselor being exhiled to a meaningless post - a nursing home, of all things - and the pastor who had defended him being punished with transfer to a smaller parish (some said it was even outside the diocese), saw it as yet another attack on their othorodox beliefs, saw the archbishop and his minions in the shadowy background pulling strings, ready to lower the boom, fiddling with St. Agnes while the Church burned (the heretical St. Joan of Arc parish, priests speaking out against an amendment banning same-sex marriage, and so forth).

By most authoritative accounts, they were wrong. Fr. Welzbacher, citing increased age and the desire for a less-stressful position, apparently requested the change in assignment. Fr. Altier, the gentleman and loyal priest that he is, appears to have accepted the assignment in obedience. The new pastor, Fr. Ubel, and the new associate, Fr. Kasel, are both men of exemplary skill; good, holy men who are expected to interject new blood into the parish while keeping the unique character that has produced a world-famous liturgy and over 25 vocations to the priesthood in as many years.

So, pray tell, what was all the stink about?

*****

I was talking with a friend the other day, a man who has some knowledge of the workings of the archdiocese although he doesn't currently work within the administration. It was his opinion that Fr. Altier had just pushed the Virtus issue too far, to the point where it was practically a personal attack on the archbishop, who had to do something about it to maintain his authority."

"So it wasn't a case of what he said as much as how he said it?" I asked. He nodded.

"Well, yeah," he replied. "It's all about putting yourself in opposition to the archbishop. Old Harry was pretty patient about the whole thing. His attitude is that you can do what you want, as long as you don't attract attention." The pastoral change at St. Joan of Arc, for example, came because they had become so public about their "unique" ways that it was attracting too much attention. Had they kept it to themselves without rocking the boat, nothing might have happened.

"On the other hand," he continued, "Jack Roach [Archbishop John Roach, Archbishop Flynn's predecessor] wouldn't have stood for what Altier said. He would have come down on him right then and there. Of course, he wouldn't have stood for what was going on at St. Joan, either. Roach had the reputation for being a liberal, but ultimately it was his way or the highway."

"The archbishop doesn't much like conflict, does he?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Basically he'd just like to get to retirement without anything else happening."

Of course, by his own actions Archbishop Flynn has made that pretty much impossible. And there, I think, we come to the heart of the matter.

*****

One of the great challenges in the Church in America, now and over the coming years, revolves around the actions and authority of the bishops, and their attempts to retain (and, in some cases, win back) the trust of their flocks. Now, there's always been conflict between bishops and the people, probably back to the time of the apostles. (In looking at the frequent squabbles and arguments among traditional Catholics, someone once said they were worse that Protestants, to which I replied, "Of course we are. We actually believe in something.) And there have always been differences in the ways in which bishops governed their dioceses. None of this is new.

What is new, and what the Church will have to deal with, is the great flow of information that has made it possible like never before to find out what's happening nationwide in the Church. The Internet, the blogosphere, cable and satellite TV, have all made the world much more immediate, and the exchange of information much more comprehensive. One of the results is that almost anyone with an Internet connection can, with a few keystrokes, call up diocesean newspapers and websites from all around the country, listen to speeches, read pastoral papers, and see how bishops other than their own govern their dioceses. We can turn on EWTN and watch the USCCB meetings, we can see the bishops interviewed, we can compare notes.

And so we learn that there is a great deal of disagreement among the bishops, and a great deal of difference in how they run things. We wonder why some dioceses seem to interpret the teachings of the Church in one way, while others interpret it differently. We look at Archbishop Chaput (Denver) or Archbishop Dolan (Milwaukee) or Bishop Bruskewitz (Lincoln) or Bishop Olmsted (Phoenix) or Bishop Finn (Kansas City) for example, and what they say and how they do things, and we wonder why Archbishop Flynn says and does the things he does.

This is a cause of scandal in more ways than one. Not only does it confuse the faithful, it also makes it extremely difficult for those outside the Church to tell what the Church really teaches. (I've related in the past the story of my friend, who hasn't crossed the river yet because he can't tell what Catholic Church he'd be joining - he figures, based on what he's heard, that there must be five or six of them out there.) Is the Church for homosexual marriage or against it? Is it permissible for a Catholic to be pro-abortion or not? Is the GIRM a book of rules for the liturgy, or merely a list of suggestions? So many times, it all depends on who you listen to.

I've said often in the last week that I did not believe there was a conspiracy against St. Agnes, that in fact I thought Archbishop Flynn knew exactly what he was doing and that on this one, he was right. He has the reputation for some excellent appointments during his time as archbishop, and I have a great deal more confidence in his pastoral abilities than I do his administrative ones. But one can, in the long run, hardly blame those who lept to conclusions, who thought the archbishop had it in for Fr. Altier and, by extention, them.

The perception is that Archbishop Flynn is reluctant to discipline those of the "liberal" bent while quite willing to come down on "conservatives." (I put those in quotes because I, like many, feel the terms "liberal" and "conservative" are more political than theological.) There's the heresy at St. Joan of Arc, members of Rainbow Sash receiving communion, priests publically opposing the archbishop's call for a state amendment against homosexual marriage, his own diocesean newspaper supporting Notre Dame's staging of The Vagina Monologues, possible sex scandals being covered up. (See here, here, here, here and here for more.) Add to that the arrogance with which he often appears to deal with those who disagree with him (as in this example), and you get a real sense of distrust between the archdiocese and some of its people.

Ultimately, I think it is Archbishop Flynn himself who is to blame for so much of the distrust. As another friend mentioned to me last week, "he sure has bad PR." Even in these appointments to St. Agnes, which I believe to be excellent ones, they came out tainted and distrusted.

We're told to trust our bishops, to have faith in them and obey them. But what happens when people not only lose faith in their bishop, they feel that to obey him puts them in direct opposition to their beliefs? This is how many orthodox Catholics in the archdiocese of St. Paul and Minneapolis feel. And this is what the Church will have to deal with in the years to come: well-educated, orthodox Catholics who feel that their bishops are violating their faith, leading them astray, acting against the teachings of the Catholic Church to the extent that they directly contradict what these people believe. Throw in that bit that liberals love to quote from Vatican II about the primacy of conscience, and you have a prescription for disaster.

We can't have the laity vote out bishops, of course; we're not Episcopalians, after all. Perhaps we need less autonomy by the bishops and more direct oversight by the Vatican. Perhaps the collegial union of bishops has proven to be a failure. I don't know, and I don't pretend to have the answers. What I do know is that the way it is, right now, isn't working. Our Lord said that the gates of hell would not prevail against His Church; He said nothing specifically about the Church in America.

*****

Those going to St. Agnes today to find out what actually was going on (from the horse's mouth, as it were) were disappointed. Or maybe not.

In his homily today, Fr. Welzbacher said nothing of the appointments, of the rumors that had been flying around. Instead he spoke of Jesus' message in the Gospel, as related in John 15:1: "Every branch of mine that bears no fruit, he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit." He looked at this saying in the context of the life of Paul, as it appeared in the first reading from Acts (9:30).

Paul had become an outspoken, fervent advocate of Christianity. He spoke boldly, often at risk of his life. His reward for this faithfulness, apparently, was exile. He was sent to Tarsus where for three years he did - nothing. He lived there ignored, left alone, apparently with nothing to do. It must have seemed to him as if he'd been completely forgotten by the Church, that all his works had been for naught. Perhaps some of the most fertile, productive years of his life - lost, wasted, amounting to nothing. What possible good would he be able to do, just sitting there?

Of course, we know better. Paul grew during those three years; grew in wisdom and understanding, so that when he did emerge it was with a fervor and knowledge that soon ecipsed that of the other disciples. He would go on to write most of the New Testament, travel throughout most of the known world evangelizing, teaching and converting, before suffering a martyr's death. His life was anything but a waste.

It was all part of the pruning process. Jesus promised that those who bore fruit would be pruned, that they might go on to produce more for Him. Paul's apparent "exile" was part of that process, a process that all of us who might fashion ourselves disciples of Christ will undergo at some point in time. It may be a painful, even harsh, process; and when it happens, when it feels as if we're alone and ignored, that our lives are wasting away, that we may even be being punished for our beliefs, we can look back to the life of Paul, and the words of Jesus, and know that it is not a punishment, not a waste of time. It is part of our reward, part of the favor with which Christ looks on His disciples. We listen to His words, we remember the example of Paul, and we take faith in the knowledge that through God all things work for His good.

Finally, It Can Be Told

By Mitchell

Over at WDTPRS, Fr. Zuhlsdorf reveals the name of the new pastor at St. Agnes - as had been rumored, it is Fr. John Ubel. Fr. Z has nothing but praise for Fr. Ubel, and that is high praise indeed. People reading Fr. Z, who is a straight shooter if ever there was one, should feel much relieved about the whole thing. He also sheds some additional light on the events that have transpired. I'll allow myself a pat on the back to suggest that it's pretty much as I had said the last few days, but in reality I think anyone in touch with the whole situation would have come to the same conclusion.

Hat tip to fellow Minnesotan The Roamin' Roman, who also has excellent words about the whole situation. (via Ray from our partner site, Stella Borealis)

More to come, I imagine.

Opera Thursday

By Mitchell

Sorry about that, folks. Due to the, er, unexpected storyline for the week, Opera Thursday has been postponed until next week. But if you want to do some homework, I'll give you the secret word for next week's post.

Gian-Carlo Menotti.

For those of you with the Hadleyblogger decoder ring, make of it what you will.

St. Agnes, Again

By Mitchell

Where to begin, where to begin...

By now most have heard that Fr. Altier's new assignment is as assistant chaplin at Regina Medical Center in Hastings, just outside the Twin Cities (although the way urban sprawl goes, it should be a suburb in no time). So was Fr. Altier being punished, as so many assumed? I really don't know. What I do have to offer is this piece from Spirit Daily. In it, Fr. Altier says he is looking forward to the new assignment:

The new assignment, which will last for three years, will allow him tremendous free time, he said, during which he plans to read, write, and exercise. "I've been too busy the past few years to exercise and I've put on some pounds that I may be able to take off now," he said. "There's a 'Y' below the nursing center."

Is it possible that he's merely putting on a good face to avoid creating more controversy for the Archbishop? Sure it is. It's also possible that he's being completely honest in his comments. (I can vouch to the fact that he's put on a few pounds over the years, as have we all!) I think we might be advised to take this holy man's word at face value, until and unless we hear something conclusively to the contrary.

In addition, although I can't put a finger on a link, I've heard that Fr. Altier will continue as the spiritual advisor to Catholic Parents Online, the group so outspoken for their opposition to the Virtus sex ed program.

Fr. Welzbacher is apparently returning to the parish in New Market where he was pastor prior to his assignment at St. Agnes. It is said that he requested the transfer, and I'll repeat what I've said in the comboxes of several sites today: Fr. Welzbacher is nearly 80, he reportedly has had some health issues recently, and this has been an extremely stressful assignment. Besides what happened with Fr. Altier, he had a much bigger headache shortly after he arrived, dealing with a small group of teachers in the school who didn't seem to appreciate that they worked for a Catholic institition. Those of us at St. Agnes know what kind of stress Fr. W went through during this time, and I can only imagine what kind of a toll that took on him.

I know there are sites out there that regard Fr. W's reassignment with suspicion. They speak in tones that suggest quote marks around the the words "at his request," as if this is merely the "official" story. I don't know if it is or not. I simply point out that there is no reason to think that this is not true, and there is no reason to believe this is related to the Fr. Altier situation.

As to the new pastor, I have yet to hear an official announcement. I don't like to engage in rumor, and yet the rumors I've heard have been fairly consistent. In this case I'll confine myself to linking to the report on this local blog - a report, I've been told, that can be considered reasonably reliable. Is that hedging enough? What I'm trying to say is that I think Terry's post is correct, but I haven't seen an official confirmation yet. When it is confirmed, we'll print his name.

The new associate pastor will be Fr. Randal Kasel, a son of St. Agnes parish - a good and holy man and former teacher who, I think, will do an outstanding job and will be very well received. (His brother is in the final years of seminary as well.)

My line since this started is that people must be careful to not overreact. This is not the end of the world, people. I think the reports of some kind of conspiracy have been greatly exaggerated. Is an injustice being done to Fr. Altier. Maybe, maybe not. I don't know. I do know that great good will come out of it - good for those in the nursing home who will benefit from his counsel, good for the parish in that two good priests are on the way.

Part of the problem with the whole thing is Archbishop Flynn. As a fellow blogger commented to me, he has terrible PR. It could well be that he's made all the right moves here - two good priests to St. Agnes, a less stressful post for Fr. W., and a pastoral assignment for Fr. Altier. I'm actually willing to give him the benefit of the doubt here, and as most of you regular readers know, I'm no fan of his. And that's my point - the archbishop's actions during his tenure have so polarized people (four words: St. Joan of Arc) that people are, with good reason, inclined to jump to conclusions. The archbishop has a reputation for "good hire, bad fire," meaning that his appointments are by and large quite good, but he shies away from conflict and discipline (except, as many acidly point out, when it comes to heterodox priests). Frankly, considering the simply awful content in the archdiocesan newspaper, and the lack of respect many of the "officials" in the archdiocese show to conservative groups, the archbishop has no one to blame but himself for this poisoned atmosphere. But in this case, considering the two appointments we're expecting, I think - I could be wrong about this - I can't help but think this time the arch knew exactly what he was doing, and he got it right.

You know, not all was perfect at St. Agnes. We're human, you know. This post by Terry at Abbey-Roads makes some very perseptive comments, and I'd be hard-pressed to disagree with the substance of what he says. The truth is that for some time now - at least in our experience - it's been difficult to reach priests at St. Agnes, it's been difficult to have phone calls returned, and it's been easy to feel left out. Judie and I tried, for over six months to have someone come over and bless our new condo after we moved in, to no avail (we finally called one of the priests at St. Olaf, who was delighted to come over and do it). Almost a year after we moved, St. Agnes still doesn't have our correct address. One of our contribution checks was never cashed, after more than a year. There are those who say that there was an air of detachment over there, and I can't really quarrel with that. There's virtually no adult ed (other than Fr. Altier's Fundamentals of Catholicism), no social programs, not much for adults who aren't involved in the school. (One friend gently suggested to me that the archbishop's action earlier this year might have had the consequence of Fr. Altier actually spending more time in the parish, and had the archbishop not handled the whole thing so badly, it might have been easier to acknowledge that possibility. But, of course, he handled it the same way as he does so many things, dismally.)

Please understand - this isn't intended as a laundry list of complaints, nor is it supposed to be finger-pointing at anyone. It's a big parish. And we are members in good standing. But my point is the same: that it is not perfect, that there is room for improvement, that we should not stop hoping that the parish can be made stronger, more welcoming, a better place to which one can belong. In other words, things can be better - as they can in most walks of life.

So I'm optimistic about the future, and why not? "Be not afraid." As our friend Bearing Blog says in her comment on our previous post, "I agree that there is potentially great hope in this change." We don't ignore the threat of the bad (after all, we subscribe to The Wanderer), but we don't ignore the possibility of the good, either.

As we get more information we'll continue to update on it, and we'll provide all the commentary we can. Stay tuned, again.

Grist for the Rumor Mill

By Mitchell
Updates at end of post

OK, here we go again. And just when life seemed to be calming down!

Yesterday we received an email from a good friend of this blog reporting a rumor of an upcoming change in priests at St. Agnes. The change would include the reassignments of Fr. George Welzbacher, the pastor, and Fr. Robert Altier, the associate pastor (supposedly to posts outside the diocese). This was apparently announced at the Tuesday morning Mass. Whether this was a formal announcement from the pulpit or a comment made from a parishoner is unclear. Nonetheless, the rumor was there.

Now, this is a matter of some interest to us since, in addition to the reporting we did earlier this year on the situation involving Fr. Altier and Archbishop Harry Flynn, we're also parishoners at St. Agnes. I don't particularly like dealing in rumors, so I did some emailing and fact-checking with friends last night and this morning. Turns out that the rumor is flying around via email, from several different sources, all saying basically the same thing. Although none of these sources are what could be called authoritative, it does seem apparent that something is up.

The rumor was reported today at Jimmy Akin's blog, and also at this local blog. As far as I'm concerned, that makes it fair game. But fair game for what? A lot of people are expressing instant opinions - shock, concern, sadness. Many fear for the future of St. Agnes, which is truly a jewel in the crown of Catholicism. Some wonder - perhaps I should say assume - that some kind of retribution is going on.

I'm going to withhold any extensive comment on this until we find out exactly what is going on - I have no doubt something's in the works, but I don't want to appear presumptuous about it all. And it really is mere speculation - even if we find out what happened, it's unlikely (although not impossible) that we find out why. (If, indeed, there is any why to find out.)

Having said that, I would like to offer the following thoughts:

I would caution everyone to stay calm and not jump to conclusions about this. This does not necessarily mean that we aren't in for a tough time, but we need more information to see what happens. There are many excellent priests in this Archdiocese, and depending on who the new pastor is (if this is, in fact, true), I don't see any reason to automatically assume that things will go downhill. (I could float the names of two or three priests right off the top of my head that I think would please many of us.) Remember, Fr. Welzbacher is in his late 70s, and were someone to tell me that he was getting ready to retire or to go to another, smaller, parish, I wouldn't have been surprised. And Fr. Altier, a pastoral man, may well be ready for a change. (UPDATE: St. Agnes says he's been assigned to a nursing home in Hastings, and this seems to be confirmed by several correspondents.)

The point is, again, that we don't know. And until we do know, this is all just a lot of typing and hand-wringing for no reason.

As I mentioned, this is not to discount the possibility of less favorable ramifications, especially concerning the school. I think the possibility of wholesale change for the worse is extremely unlikely, though not impossible. But based on some of the speculation being floated around, I think this is presumptuous. Let's just wait and see what happens, and keep calm in the meantime.

I apologize if some of you think this post has been kind of vague, but it's meant, more than anything else, to let you know that, yes, we've heard the rumors too, and we're checking them out. We're not oblivious to what's going on. And for those of you who might have read the blog during the previous story about Fr. Altier (and I know you're out there, judging by how our readership numbers shot up), rest assured that we'll continue to let you know what's going on as soon as we know more, and if there's more to say, we'll say it.

UPDATE: Thursday morning. Although most of the confirmations, so to speak, have centered around Fr. Altier, it appears that the rumor of Fr. Welzbacher leaving is true also. This comes from a source I feel is credible, and seems to me to make perfect sense when viewed in context. I don't feel at liberty to divulge the information yet, but (IMHO) it seems likely to me that his reassignment has nothing directly to do with the Fr. Altier situation.

Better Late Than Never - Catching Up on Duke Lacrosse

By Mitchell

While we wait for the next chapter in the Duke lacrosse scandal to unfold (and since the prosecutor won his primary election, we can expect that this will continue), here are two quick takes on the story that I've been meaning to get to for the last week.

First, Herb Ely puts up an excellent post on how the NCAA always seems to be blindsided by things like this. Could it be because they're so preoccupied by such weighty matters as the use of "Native American" mascots? As he says, "the NCAA strains out gnats and swallows camels." I particularly loved a quote from one of Herb's friends that “when they got to the bottom of Watergate they’ll find a college basketball coach.” As a fan of both sports and politics I can identify with that 100%

Hadleyblogger Bobby also wonders if there's something amiss here - if there's a relationship between the investigation of this scandal and the crusade for gender equality in college sports:

The status of the political correctness in our society with the rights of males to play sports or participate in extracurricular activities is irrevalent; men are banned from many activities because of Title IX requirements. We have had a school system favouring females for over 30 years, and Jessica Gavora's Tilting the Playing Field should be required reading in this situation.

With this woman's track record with crime, it's no wonder she can get away with even a false charge to force Duke to can men from sports. If this goes to its logical conclusion with the woman's request to ban men from sports, would Duke eventually can its football program and leave the ACC, and even demolish Wallace Wade Stadium, which was the site of the 1942 Rose Bowl?

Bobby agrees that time will tell as to whether or not the charges are true. But, he adds, "She had the [season] cancelled, and if the politically correct attitudes of the school hold true, they won't bring the team back because it violates Title IX mandates that women have more teams than men."

Remember when the winning and losing in sports was confined to the playing field?

Sacred Music and the Natural Law

By Mitchell

AdoroTeDevote has been hosting a discussion over the past couple of weeks on that most controversial of Vatican II documents, Sacrocanctum Concilium. Specifically, she' s looking been what at the actually document says about ? liturgy and sacred music and, not surprisingly, finds that the document is, for the most part, quite different from what many of us hear at Sunday Mass.

Adoro's comments were quite prescient in light of the stir caused over the weekend by the use of Mozart's Coronation Mass as the liturgical music for the Saturday Mass commemorating the 500th anniversary of the Swiss Guard. Amy has links to fine stories providing photos and details of the Mass (be sure to read the various comboxes as well). I'll let you rely on the links rather than single out any particular one, except to say that they're all good.

I will admit to some satisfaction at seeing the panic some of the liberal liturgists must be in - in particular, there was one horrified commentator asking if the Pope considered himself above the GIRM. (In brief the answer was, yes, he is.) For we all know that Benedict has taken an active interest in papal liturgies, and so we assume that his stamp of approval was on this one as well.

It's also amusing to see people considering this Mass as if it were some kind of relic, considering that we hear the Coronation Mass several times a year at St. Agnes, along with orchestral Masses by Beethoven, Haydn, Bruckner, Dvorak and others.

So all is chaos. It's good to know, however, that there's at least one commentator out there who's optimistic about the future of liturgical reform:

One more aspect of this movement, which must not be forgotten, is its democratic character. For the carrying-out of the full ideal demands the co-operation of the entire people, who will no longer assist at, but take part in, the liturgy. This may not be accomplished in a day, but the Church works for the future, and already she is sowing the seeds. The little Catholic school child is learning to pray, not only in words, but also in song; not only in the Church’s language, Latin, but in her musical language, Chant; and when these children grow up, our choirs will be the whole Catholic world. While the variable and the more elaborate parts of the liturgy will demand the great genius, the great artist, the simpler parts will be taken up spontaneously by the entire congregation; producing the superb contrast of, on the one hand, the perfection of art, and on the other, the majesty of numbers. This is, indeed, nothing new: it is thus that the liturgy is intended to be rendered; it is thus that it has been rendered in the past, and is still rendered in a few centers of Catholic life. It is simply a return to the true ideal, a “renewing of all things in Christ,” a revitalizing, through art, of the spirit of Catholic democracy and universality.

Now, I should add one thing about this comment, which comes from Justine Bayard Ward. It was written in 1906. That's right - 100 years ago there was talk about active participation, "the simpler parts...taken up spontaneously by the entire congregation." In other words, Ward clearly expected that the congregation should be able to master certain parts of the Latin in a dialogue form with the priest. We know that Pius XII, for example, encouraged the dialogue in his private Masses, but for the most part there's been this assumption that the Tridentine encouraged - nay, commanded - that the congregation sit quietly during the Mass, saying their devotions while the servers handled the responses.

Ward also makes some extremely interesting comments about sacred music and the natural law (which is what I used in my Google search to come up with this article), which I think helps to explain why so many of us are turned off by the Haugen-Haas style of composition - well, that and the inane lyrics, that is. In explaining that liturgical prayer is not "an expression of individual reaching up to God" but is, in fact, "the Church praying as a Church," and that therefore a certain mesure of dignity is required in the musical setting of these prayers, Ward goes on to offer this comment:

Modern music has two scales, or Modes. Chant has eight. It is evident that eight modes gives greater variety of expression than two - an advantage for which even our modern indiscriminate use of the chromatic does not fully compensate. A mode is a manner. As in speech the speaker's manner shades the meaning of his words, sometimes even alters it, so in music the mode, or manner, determines the character of the composition. The meaning of a triad, for instance, depends entirely upon whether its manner be major or minor: lower the third, and its manner is sad; raise the third, and its manner is gay [or happy, for those of you unaccustomed to the previous meaning of the word gay]. Our present musical system is limited, then, to two manners, the major and the minor; and so Chant has the advantage of greater scope and clarity.

This reminds me of something I heard the composer Peter Schickle say once, in talking about the use of majors and minors, flats and sharps. He said that certian chords correspond to the natural rhythms of the human body, producing a sympathetic response (by which he didn't mean a sympathetic emotion, but one in which the body acted in harmony with the chord). Although Ward limits her discussion to Chant as the preferred alternative to music (in fact, she doesn't seem all that enamored with polyphony either), one can see the logic nonetheless. And it is this, I would submit, that goes a ways toward explaining why we have a visceral reaction to so much of modern liturgical music. Ward continues:

[t]he character of these two modern scales compels us to choose between a gayety almost frivolous on the one hand, and, on the other, a sorrow savoring of despair; neither of which emotions has any place in the Christian soul at prayer. The eight modes of the ancients, on the contrary, were devised to meet the requirements of prayer in an age when art was exclusively the servant of religion. They enabled the composer of the period to seize the subtle prayer-spirit, that elusive characteristic of Christianity, the rainbow tints of joy in suffering. Chant is joyful, but with the joy of the Cross, as distinguished from the joy of the revel. Chant is fervent, but with the passion of asceticism, as distintuished from the passion of the world. Prayer-sorrow is never despair, nor is prayer-joy ever frivolous. Chant is the artistic embodiment of this spirit, the minor idea nd the major idea are so interwoven, their relation is so intimate, that to disentangle them is impossible. We are never left in sorrow, yet our joy is never without a cloud. Even in those bursts of ecstatic joy of the Easter Alleluias lurks the memory that we are still a part of earth, still in the valley of tears.

Imagine that - the idea that our liturgical prayer, as expressed through Chant, actually has something to do with our understanding of our faith.

Now, there's much more that can be said about this, more that I'll include in a future post. For example, although I'm a great believer that orchestral Masses can and should be used within an actual liturgical setting, I think there's also room to discuss the outer limits of the use of such Masses, in terms of length and repetition. (There's certainly no question that operatic settings that turn parts of the ordinary into virtual arias can be considered "vulgar" in the sense of their relationship to popular culture rather than that of the sacred.)

We'll leave that for a future discussion, however; for now let's ponder the relationship of music and the natural law. Is much of our modern "liturgical music" contrary to that law? Is that why we have an instinctive revulsion to so much of it? Can you actually compose good sacred music in this day and age? And can listening constitute "active participation"? (Hint: this pope thinks so.) Stay tuned, and in the meantime discuss.

Happy Birthday, Bishop Sheen

By Mitchell

One of America's greatest Catholic apologists, Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen, born this day in 1895 in El Paso, Illinois. Happy Birthday, Bishop Sheen!

(And, coincidentally, it's also mine.)

Nothing New Under the Sun

By Judith

You may have heard the argument that wages for jobs in America have been lowered to create a demand for immigrant labor because "Americans won't take those jobs."

The names and places may have changed, but the idea hasn't. Here's a quote from Old Thunder, the biography of Hilaire Belloc by Joseph Pearce.

"For Belloc, the issue of cheap imported Chinese labour was a further example of the manipulative power of big business. He insisted, during a further debate on the issue in April, that the shortage of labour used by the mine owners to justify the imporation of Chinese labourers had been deliberately created by the forced lowering of wages. It was nothing less than a cynical attempt to undercut the wages of native labourers. He was also concerned with the way that the Chinese labourers were being treated, asking in Parliament whether rumours that they were being routinely flogged were true. His concerns were shared by other MPs, most notably by Lloyd George, who declared that the importation of Chinese labour had 'brought back slavery to the British Empire'."

We may not be importing workers (they are coming of their own accord), but the result is the same for them in the low wages they receive and for American workers who can no longer afford to support families without two incomes, and sometimes extra jobs. It's a shameful business no matter in what century it occurs.

Book Report or What I Read During Lent

By Judith

With an entire wall and then some of the office filled with books, many of which I have yet to read, what did I decide to read during Lent? Yes, books I’ve already read. Granted, it was 30 years ago and my memory doesn’t span beyond this morning’s breakfast (was that toast or cereal?), so it was like reading something new.

I wanted something on the lighter side and I wanted it to have a Christian theme or underpinnings. Since I had already read The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe in preparation of seeing the movie of the same name, I decided to continue with the entire Chronicles of Narnia. And then I moved on to Lewis’ so-called “Space Trilogy.” And then for good measure, I read the entire Father Brown stories by G. K. Chesterton. To be fair, that took me beyond Lent, but I was on a roll.

Now I’m not going to presume that I can write a profound, insightful commentary on these books; it’s been done far more often by far more intellectual writers than I. What I will do is jot down a few of the things that jumped out at me as I read.

Lewis has been criticized in some circles for making the Christian imagery too strong, too obvious. I believe that Tolkien mentioned this once or twice in comparison to his own Lord of the Rings. Narnia, however, was aimed at children; adults were along for the ride. Children tend to like things in primary colors and many of them might not be schooled in the more subtle points of biblical studies. I had no problem with the imagery. It was comfortable and reassuring.

There has also been some controversy lately about the order of the books. The order that my set was labeled was 1. The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe; 2. Prince Caspian; 3. The Voyage of the “Dawn Treader”; 4. The Silver Chair; 5. The Horse and His Boy; 6. The Magician’s Nephew; 7. The Last Battle. I think that this is considered the order that Lewis wanted. My set was printed in 1976, the year in which I read it. Afterward I decided to pencil in on the inside cover the order I thought they ought to be in. It is: 1. The Magician’s Nephew; 2. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe; 3. The Horse and His Boy; 4. Prince Caspian; 5. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader; 6. The Silver Chair; 7. The Last Battle. Compare this to your favorite order-switch. I did read them in the traditional order and was content to do so.

The one event that stands out for me in the Chronicles was what didn’t happen at the end. A favorite Protestant view of salvation is once saved, always saved. Lewis himself never did make it to the Roman Catholic Church, but I must confess that I haven’t read enough Lewis to know what his take on salvation is (or perhaps I read it long ago and forgot. Sieve.) Getting to the point, however, guess who is conspicuous by her absence as the world comes to an end and the characters find themselves in Heaven or Hell? In Heaven “There was Glimfeather the Owl and Puddleglum the Marshwiggle, and King Rilian the Disenchanged, and …Caspian himself. And close beside him were the Lord Drinian and the Lord Berne and Trumpkin the Dwarf and Trufflehunter, the Good Badger…Bree the Horse and Hwin the Mare…the two good Beavers and Tumnus the Faun…King Frank and Queen Helen.” Even Reepicheep the Mouse and Puzzle the Donkey were there. Eustace and Jill, Queen Lucy, King Peter, King Edmund and even Emeth the Calormene (a Moslem-like character). So who gets “left behind”? Susan. One of the great queens who wept over the slain Aslan, who fought in the wars against evil, who ruled over Narnia. Queen Susan does not go to Heaven for she had found another god in material possessions and in herself, reveling in the pride of her appearance. Susan, who had it all, who seemingly had it made, did not make it. Be ever watchful. Work out your salvation daily with fear and trembling.

The space trilogy, Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra and That Hideous Strength is geared more toward adults. The themes are more subtle, the writing more intricate, the ideas more thought-provoking. I first heard That Hideous Strength presented on the radio as part of the series Reading Aloud with host/reader Bill Cavness. This was probably around 1970-71. There would be a different theme song for the program for every book presented. This theme was Mars from The Planets by Gustov Holst. Compare the two and you’ll see what a brilliant piece of match-making it is.

The book that stood out for me on this go-round was Perelandra. It made me the most uncomfortable, as well it should. In short, the plot is a re-creation of the choice to be made in the Garden of Eden, with the main character of the book, Ransom (no coincidence there), put in the garden to help the Lady resist the temptation of the Devil character Weston (a scientist) and be reunited with her King. Lewis’s ability to make Weston sound reasonable and correct while saying the most outrageous things far surpassed the arguments in The Screwtape Letters. I found myself wanting to shout out, “Don’t believe him; he’s lying. Follow Ransom, listen to him.” It was such a wonderful portrait of how Satan can oil the way down that slippery slope to sin and damnation. It was scary.

Chesterton’s Father Brown is one of the most remarkable detectives in fiction. Of course, heroes are always supposed to win in the end, but Father Brown has something more going for him than just a protective author. His great humility and unassuming manor enable him to look at a situation, put himself in the middle of it, clear away the red herrings and come up with the criminal each time. He has nothing to gain personally and thus can focus more readily. At almost 1,000 pages, the entire collection is interesting to read all at once. It’s easier to remember the people and events from earlier stories that are referenced in later ones, for one thing. It’s also fascinating to watch the style and prose change from being almost over the top at the beginning to becoming deeper and darker as the stories went on. I admire writers of mystery stories; the plotting and characterization are like puzzles and, as anyone who solves word or number puzzles knows, it is far easier to solve the puzzle than to create it. As it is, I was only able to guess the correct criminal in the last two or three stories.

And now I have moved from fiction to biography. Currently I’m reading Old Thunder, a biography of Hilaire Belloc by Joseph Pearce. And what a fascinating person Belloc is! I’ll keep you posted.

Time Passages

By Mitchell

You know you're getting old when your heroes die; unfortunately, we don't make many of them anymore, and so their passing becomes that much more noticeable. Two more have left us in the last few days.

First off, Jane Jacobs died last week. I first heard of Jane Jacobs from Ric Burns' New York documentary series. (I'm not proud of the times when I learn my history from television, but there it is.) Jacobs came to prominence as a leader of the movement against Robert Moses and his destruction of New York City. Moses was a perfect villian for the documentary, and Jacobs was well-cast as the hero.

Jane Jacobs' most famous book was The Death and Life of Great American Cities, a book I can see on our bookshelves as I write this. She was one of the pioneers of what has come to be called the "New Urbanism," the movement to repopulate the inner cities and transform their character (for those urbanists among you out there, I'm well aware that this may not be a technically accurate definition of the New Urbanism, but I think it's a vital component when you consider the role that the urban neighborhood plays in the life of the city).

The legacy of Robert Moses lives on, and you can see it as you drive around Minneapolis - the swath cut by I-94 and 35W, the neighborhoods that reach to each other from across the freeways, never seeming to quite meet; the boarded-up houses, graffiti sprayed on the walls. In Richfield an entire city was split in two in the 60s by a freeway called "The Crosstown," leaving only two or three streets that carry all the way through the city. I only wish I'd read The Death and Life of Great American Cities before my term on the Planning Commission in Richfield; it might have changed the way I looked at a great many things.

The legacy of Jane Jacobs lives on as well, in the way designers have come to look at redevelopment. The gentrification of urban neighborhoods, the growth of mxixed-use housing, the desire to make the city a place that lives again - she played a large role in the creation of all that. And for those who think urban planning is strictly the province of the liberals, consider this from Sandy Ikeda's NRO appreciation of Jacobs:

One of the chapters of Life and Death, the one in which she coins the now-fashionable term "social capital," talks about the conditions in which city districts can use social ties to organize against the intrusions of government policies that would undermine those ties—and the precious personal connections that emerge from them.

It's one example of how Jacobs' philosophy helped shape the thought of people on all sides of the political spectrum.

*****

Jane Jacobs was 90 when she died. Louis Rukeyser died, too young, of cancer at 73. I have tremendously fond memories of Louis Rukeyser, dating back to when I was 12 and first discovered Wall $treet Week. It was where I gained my first interest in economics and the stock market, but what I remember most is Rukeyser himself; his dry, wry wit, his pun-laden monologues at the start of the show, the endearing little smirk he would give that told his viewers that he and they both knew all this financial stuff wasn't rocket science, and it wasn't the end of the world.

When I hosted my cable-access talk show back in the late 90s, Louis Rukeyser was my role model. The droll delivery, the puns, the sly looks at the camera - all that came from him. It was a natural part of my own personality, which is what made Rukeyser appealing to me in the first place; but it was from him that I learned how to project it on the camera. A couple of guests said I reminded them of him, and I took that as one of the greatest compliments I could receive.

When Wall $treet Week first started, the market must have been around 700 or so; when Rukeyser left the show in 2002, it had topped 11,000. A lot happened during those years, but there was one thing that always remained consistent, and that was Louis Rukeyser. My campaign treasurer, Duane, was a devoted fan of W$W, and when Duane died in 2001 (on September 11, ironically), we spent the Friday night after the funeral in front of the TV. Friday was W$W night, and although we hadn't watched the show for a few years, we spent that evening in a silent toast to Duane, watching Louis Rukeyser one more time.

There's plenty of coverage of economics on TV now, but it's all shouting and posturing. There doesn't seem to be much room for the style and genuine wit of a Louis Rukeyser anymore, and we're the poorer for it; not only those of us who remember what style used to be like, but those who never got a chance to see it. Friday nights haven't been the same since he left the air, and now economics won't be the same, either.

Rest in peace, Jane Jacobs and Louis Rukeyser; thanks for the memories, and the work you left behind.

Opera Thursday

By Mitchell

What with how busy things have been over the last few weeks, I haven't had a chance to review the announcement last month of the Minnesota Opera's schedule for the 2006-2007 season. After budget deficits had forced cutting back to four productions for each of the last three seasons, the MO triumphantly announced a return to five productions in 2006-2007.

The choices themselves are something of a mixed bag: Rossini's La Donna del Lago, Offenbach's Les Contes D'Hoffman (or The Tales of Hoffman, as the MO puts it), the rarely performed Lakmé by Delibes (which one critic pointed out had become something of a camp classic in its most recent incarnations), Mozart's brilliant Le nozze di Figaro (which the MO, again inexplicably, choose to bill as The Marriage of Figaro, despite its being performed in Italian), and the world premiere of Gordon's The Grapes of Wrath.

So what do we make of this? Well, it's hard to go wrong with Mozart, even though Le nozze di Figaro is probably put on a little more often than I'd prefer. Offenbach's Hoffman hasn't been seen here in a while, and should be good fun. I'm a bit more apprehensive about Lakmé, given its campy reputation, plus the MO's irresistable desire to gimmick up productions (under the guise of "creativity," of course). La Donna del Lago is an excellent choice; over the years the MO has gained a well-deserved reputation for its excellence in the area of Bel Canto opera. This includes not only the better-known composers of the era - Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti - but also digging deep into the Bel Canto catalog for lesser-known, even obscure, works such as last month's Orazi e Curiazi. It's to the MO's credit that they've established this niche for themselves, and it is on this that their legacy will ultimately depend.

Unfortunately, The Grapes of Wrath illustrates the niche for which they seem most proud: their commission of new and avant-garde opera. Now, this requires a word of explanation by way of background. The Minnesota Opera began life in 1963 as the Center Opera, being the house company of the modernist Walker Art Center. Their mission was to present progressive, contemporary and alternative opera as a companion to the lavish productions then being given by the Metropolitan Opera during their annual stop in Minneapolis with their national touring company. Eventually the Met discontinued the national tours, and the Center Opera (now renamed the Minnesota Opera) merged with the more traditional St. Paul Opera with a combination of old and new, traditional and modern.

The pattern of opera selection has remained fairly consistent over the past few years; each season's repertory consists of a Bel Canto, two or three that span the general opera pallet, and one new or "cutting-edge" production. And it is this area we're going to look at specifically this week.

Now, 'tis true that there has always been new opera, and that invariably those new operas bring their own share of controversy. Just read sometime about the riots that inevitably accompanied the openings of new productions by such "mainstream" composers as Verdi. And it's also true that many of these new productions have dealt with political subjects - again, one need only look at the field day censors had with the political (and moral) themes of Italian opera in the late 1800s and early 1900s.

But there's something different about contemporary opera today. It seems incapable of getting beyond the controversial, the trendy, the oh-so-earnest desire to be "relevant." Just take a look at some of the most visible productions of the past few years (and to be fair, I'm not singling out the MO here). There's A Wedding, based on the Robert Altman movie, which played at the Lyric Opera in Chicago last year; Doctor Atomic, John Adams' opera based on the life of Robert Oppenheimer which was written for the San Francisco Opera; another Adams project, the controversial The Death of Klinghoffer (based on the terrorist murder of Leon Klinghoffer on a cruise ship, and brilliantly parodied by yours truly in Graveyard of the Elephants as The Retirement of Gretzky, the world's first opera staged entirely on ice); and Andre Previn's adaptation of Tennessee Williams' A Streetcar Named Desire, also done for the San Francisco Opera.

The MO's contribution to this group, besides next year's Grapes of Wrath, includes 2005's revival of yet another Adams project, the seldom-performed Nixon in China (which, to Adams' credit, is one of the few even-handed portrayls of Nixon you're likely to see from the arts-and-croissants crowd), and this season's Joseph Merrick, the Elephant Man, by Petitgirard, which in the hands of the MO becomes a treatise on the disabled. Think I'm exaggerating? Check out this blurb from the latest program, on an upcoming "conversation":

The Elephant Man: A conversation on policy, disability and opera

[...]

Continuing a multi-year partnership with the University of Minnesota's Hubert H. Humphrey Institute of Public Affairs, The Minnesota Opera is convening a panel comprising experts in policymaking, medicine and disability, as well as the opera's composer, moderated by opera commentator Robert Marx. Using the opera as a jumping-off point, this panel will create a forum in which the community can explore how policy, public perception, and people with disabling diseases interact. The event will also feature musical selections from the opera.

Boy, that's a loaded paragraph if I've ever seen one. But you notice who's driving this panel? The Minnesota Opera, that's right. About the only thing missing from this "conversation" is a discussion on the artistic merits of the music itself. But then, we wouldn't want to get in the way of discussing social justice now, would we? The whole premise is so far removed from reality, you'd think it was a panel at a USCCB meeting. If you ever wanted proof of how the MO just can't let the opera speak (or sing) for itself, you have it here.

Unless you look further back to one of the most famed productions in MO history, 2003's widely acclaimed, widely excoriated, totally execrable production of Ruders' The Handmaid's Tale, based on the novel by Margaret Atwood - a production so offensive that it was referred to in Michael Linton's First Things article as The Bigot's Opera:

The Commander enters the living room carrying a big black Bible. He reads Genesis 30:1-3 to his middle-aged wife and to Offred, her handmaid. The scripture finished, the wife and handmaid get on the floor, Offred sliding between the wife’s spread legs. The handmaid hikes up her skirt and leans back against the wife while the Commander unzips his trousers. They copulate. As they thrust and grind the orchestra and chorus burst into “Amazing Grace.”

And you thought Maria Callas was provocative.

The opera, like the book, is a polemic against fundamental Christianity. "The Republic of Gilead—the invention of right-wing Christian fundamentalists—is a culture of robotic obedience, brute tyranny, sex slavery, torture, terrorism, sadism, and summary execution." As Linton says later on, "if it is a triumph, it is as the first work of art to displace Andres Serrano’s 1987 photograph of a crucifix submerged in urine as the preeminent work of art calculated to offend Christian sensibilities." One writer "observed the resonance between the opera and the attempt of a 'religiously driven, if not quite fundamentalist U.S. government' to force a Pax Americana on Iraq." I could go on, but you get the point.

What's most increcible about all this is how clearly the Minnesota Opera attempted to peddle this filth, this political pornography, as "art," as Linton points out in his conclusion:

In a remarkable passage in the opera’s program, Dale Johnson, the Minnesota Opera’s artistic director, writes that he sees The Handmaid’s Tale as “a warning of the effects of intolerance in all its forms. Intolerance dehumanizes people, forcing their humanity underground. The best art holds up a mirror to its audience, and The Handmaid’s Tale does that brilliantly using the operatic genre.” His comments echo those of Atwood when describing her story as a work about “what happens when people condemn without understanding.” Precisely.

So anyway, you see what we opera lovers have to put up with here in Minnesota. (Although in fairness, I will say something good about the MO at some point in time. I promise.)

Notice what all these operas we've discussed have in common? Controversy, through either the political content of the story (Handmaid, Grapes, Klinghoffer and Atomic), the topic itself (nuclear war, terrorism, disability, the evils of fundmentalism) or the enticing reputation of the original authors (Robert Altman, John Steinbeck, Tennessee Williams) for addressing "adult" subject matter.

Now, you might ask yourself if audiences buy all this. Well, it's hard to say. What I can say, from personal experience, is that the MO has traditionally had to couple the year's contemporary production as part of its multi-opera ticket packaging. Meaning, you couldn't buy any kind of partical season package without having to endure the latest modernist travesty.

Dale Johnson, the aforementioned artistic director of the MO, himself admitted in the pre-performance talk prior to Orazi e Curiazi that audiences here don't seem to warm to new opera. They want the old standards, damn them, despite the assurances of the MO that "we know what's best for you." And so the MO keeps pouring it on, introducing a new production every year, treating the patrons as rubes who need to be force-fed what's good for them whether they like it or not, whether they understand it or not.

So we'll just have to see about The Grapes of Wrath, although I'm not optimistic. But what makes this so frustrating is that it's all so unnecessary. There's plenty of good opera out there that's hardly ever produced anymore. Any talented opera company willing to be creative, rather than merely provocative (which leaves the MO out), could come up with seasons that were excellent mixes of the old guard and the hidden gem, the warhorses and the forgotten masterpieces - and, if they wanted to from time to time, the new commission as well. We forget that Bach was once out of favor, until he was brought back by Mendelssohn. The same could be done for many composers by companies such as the Minnesota Opera, if they really wanted to.

Next week: How companies like the Minnesota Opera could be truly creative in their programming.

Is the Dalai Lama a Crunchy Con?

By Mitchell

Over at Bettnet, Dom posts a series of excerpts from comments made by the Dalai Lama in a recent interview. All the usual disclaimers apply here; the fact that I happen to agree with the Dalai Lama in this case does not mean I'm a Buddhist, etc., etc. But I still find this comment fascinating, as he speaks of the West's consumerism. And as the debate continues to rage within conservative circles about "crunchy cons," I think this is as good a synopisis of the problem as I've read:

“It is fascinating,” he says, speaking in slightly stilted English. “In the West, you have bigger homes, yet smaller families; you have endless conveniences - yet you never seem to have any time. You can travel anywhere in the world, yet you don’t bother to cross the road to meet your neighbours; you have more food than you could possibly eat, yet that makes women like Heidi miserable.”

The West’s big problem, he believes, is that people have become too self-absorbed. “I don’t think people have become more selfish, but their lives have become easier and that has spoilt them. They have less resilience, they expect more, they constantly compare themselves to others and they have too much choice - which brings no real freedom.”

The Dalai Lama also speaks on homosexuality, marriage and other interesting topics guaranteed to surprise (and perhaps dismay) his trendy supporters here in the West. Read more excerpts by Dom here, and follow his link to the entire story.

Also Sprach Prince Igor

By Judith

Alexander Borodin was born in St. Petersburg and died in St. Petersburg. Russia, that is. So why doesn’t the Overture to Prince Igor sound more “Russian”? It’s lush and melodic, but there’s always something special about Russian music, something cold and lonely, like so much of the landscape. The Overture was more sunny, as though it could have been French or Italian. Perhaps that was Napoleon’s contribution. At any rate by the time the Polovtsian Dances were played, we knew that it was Russian, with an Asian influence from the Tartars (the Polovtsians).

This performance, however, was much different from any I’d heard before, with or without chorus. The conductor chose to take it at a ponderous pace, heavy and club-footed, when the dances should have been much lighter. This is the lovely melody made popular as Stranger in Paradise. It should sparkle and float as the women’s voices (or violins in this case) soar above the orchestra. The second dance is for men, but it still should have vitality. These men sounded as though they were dancing in molasses. The orchestra was just not quite in synch.

Making his debut with the Minnesota Orchestra with this series of concerts was conductor Roberto Minczuk. Born in Brazil, he was later a protégé of Kurt Masur, which explains a lot about the Polovtsian Dances. Masur has always been a bit ham-fisted for my taste.

Introduced by the composer Kevin Puts, the second part of the first half of the concert was the world premier of a commission from the Minnesota Orchestra, Sinfonia concertante for Flute, Oboe, Bassoon, Violin, Cello and Orchestra. In the interest of full disclosure, I must admit that I am not a big fan of contemporary music. So much of it is like someone all dressed up and not being sure where to go. For example, the vision that springs to mind whenever I hear a piece by John Adams is a gerbil in an exercise wheel. He has a lot of energy and does his best to hit the ground running, but he never goes anywhere. The gerbil, I mean. Well, Adams too. So too this piece by Puts. I’ve heard worse certainly (the aforementioned Adams, for one), but this sinfonia had some potential, especially in the second movement, con moto; quasi Barocco.

Written in a style that was popular in the 18th and 19th centuries, Puts put his own spin on the sinfonia concertante. An admirer of Mozart, Puts was taken with the way Mozart’s compositions “arrived…at a kind of music that simply feels perfect.” There was melody here and movement; although it was never quite pulled together. Too much of it seemed unfocused and diffuse. This composition, unfortunately, did not feel perfect.

The highlight of the evening was a performance of Richard Strauss’ Also Sprach Zarathustra, a tone poem written in 1896, five years after Nietzsche had published his piece which brought us his theory of the Ubermensch. While the first part of the piece was immortalized by Stanley Kubrick when he chose the theme for his film 2001, the rest of the work is not often heard. Too bad.

The piece moves from the familiar 3-note theme to a vision of music to come in the 20th century. In a bold move, it then harkens back to the Vienna of Strauss’ relative Johann, the Waltz King. The three notes recur throughout the piece, re-introducing the theme of Nature. Other Strauss characters make an appearance too, with Till Eulenspiegel popping up amid the strings. During the waltz section we see the future Marschallin float across the stage, although she wouldn’t make her real debut until 1911.

Each section of the orchestra is featured and each section was up to the challenge this evening. A few years ago I might have cringed at the thought of listening to the horn section take the lead. No longer. The brass is as solid and true as one could hope for. The cellos were rich-sounding and the violins soared in Das Tanzlied.

Strauss is being featured quite heavily this spring at the orchestra and it will be interesting to hear pieces from all periods of his long career. No doubt that the orchestra is up to all of it, although I think they can be better served by next week’s conductor Jacob Kreizberg.

Spaghetti Western Opera

By Mitchell

There are those who say opera should be heard and not seen. These people may love the beautiful melodies, thrill to the soaring notes of the soprano and become lost in the passion of the tenor, but they can’t get beyond the action on stage. For them it all bogs down in the absurdity of the plot, the pantomime acting, the hokey translation of the libretto, or the ridiculous costumes. To them, the theater of opera becomes a distraction from the composition of opera.

Having seen the Minnesota Opera's recent production of Orazi e Curiazi, I might be inclined to agree with them. For one night, at least.

First, some background: Orazi e Curiazi (The Orazis and the Curiazis) was written in 1846 by Saverio Mercadante, a composer who straddled the transition period between the Bel Canto style of Rossini and Donizetti and the grand opera of Verdi. Mercadante was fairly popular in his heyday, but even within his lifetime he was soon eclipsed by Verdi and sank into a relative obscurity from which the Minnesota Opera sought to rescue him. (Orazi hadn't been performed as an opera anywhere in over one hundred years, and had never been staged in the United States prior to this American premiere.) Whether or not Mercadante would have been flattered by the attempt is anyone’s guess.

The opera, set in the year 650 BC, tells the story of two families intertwined by marriage and engagement: the Orazi family of Rome and the Curiazi family of Alba, Rome’s chief rival. Camilla, the opera's heroine, is a Roman engaged to Curaizio, a soldier in the Alban army. As the curtain rises we find Rome and Alba about to head to war. Curaizio's sister Sabina is married to Camilla's brother Orazio, a military leader of Rome. (Got all that?) Unlike Romeo and Juliet, there is no animosity between the two families, despite the fact they are on opposing sides of the conflict. Everyone approves of the match between Camilla and Curaizio, and the wedding ceremony is about to start when Camilla's father Vecchio, a prominent Roman, bursts in with news: the Roman Senate has decided there will be no war with Alba. Instead, in a bizarre version of single warrior combat, it has been determined that three Alban soldiers will fight to the death three opposing Roman soldiers in winner-take-all combat. Opera being what it is, of course the three Orazi brothers are chosen to represent Rome, while the three Curiazi brothers will fight for Alba. (One wonders what might have happened had it been, say, the Three Stooges vs. the Marx Brothers, but that is another tale - A Night at the Opera, perhaps.) Well, with that the wedding is off, and so is the story.

Now, you might have noticed a passing resemblance, in the idea of brother vs. brother (or in this case, brother-in-law vs. brother-in-law), to the American Civil War. That idea apparently caught on with the producer, Eric Simonson, who decided to stage the opera not in the Rome of 650 BC, but in the American South during the Civil War. Just to make sure we didn't miss the similarities, he chose to outfit the Roman soldiers in gray, the Albans in blue. Oh, and all the women are in hoop skirts and mid-1800s hairstyles, and the home of the Orazi looks about like what you'd expect in America of that era. Talk about being hit over the head.

And here is where the entire concept starts to fall apart. It simply is not believable to have Civil War soldiers singing in Italian about the the glory that was Rome, the fates, and the whims of the gods. More than that, it becomes the fatal curse of opera - a distraction, a prime example of the action one sees not matching up with the sound one hears. At times, as in the scene where Camilla heads to the Temple to beseech the Oracle to end the conflict only to be interrupted by the High Priest and his assistants (a bizzare, ecumenical group of what appears to be a Catholic bishop leading two Jewish rabbis, complete with incense and appeals to the gods), it approaches a sense of surrealism - opera by Federico Bellini. Come to think of it, I don't recall Bruce Catton ever having written about the Oracle during the Civil War - it must been one of the sections of Gone with the Wind that they cut out when they made the movie. (It's true that Georgia does have both a Rome and an Athens, so I suppose there might have been some potential to the idea. But in general, Romulus and Remus don't set up well in the land of Homer and Jethro. Homer and the Iliad perhaps; but again that's another story.)

When you add to that the rotating sets designed by Neil Patel, sets that required cast members to move them about the stage during the action, you can see why one might have felt better served by closing their eyes and simply enjoying Mercadante's lovely music. Watching these Civil Warriors dusty from the haze of war, singing these beautiful Italian lyrics, it puts one in mind of nothing so much as one of those spaghetti westerns, where the words coming out of the characters mouths don't match up to their lip movements. It was that incongruous.

What was particularly appalling about the whole thing was that nobody alive had ever seen this opera in its original setting. It might be one thing if Orazi was one of those operas that companies performed every two or three years - you can understand how a producer might get tired of the same old staging year after year and be tempted to try something different, something new for the audience to consider. But we're talking about an American premiere, people - why not at least try to give us what Mercadante had written? It's a prime example of what I wrote about a couple of weeks ago, that tendency of producers and directors to put their own stamp of individuality on a production, regardless of what the author might have originally intended.

(As a side note, on the way to the theatre I speculated on what the Opera might try in the way of bizzare staging or tricks for this production - they're notorious, in my opinion, for trying various gimmicks and reinterpretations. "Why bother?" Judie replied. "Nobody's ever seen this opera; they wouldn't be able to appreciate how 'clever' it is." "Oh, don't worry," I said, "they'll think of something." Later, while we were attending the pre-performance lecture, as the presenter told of the antebellum setting, I elbowed Judie in the ribs. "See?" I said. She nodded sadly.)

What's unfortunate about the whole thing is that with the production's many distractions, one could almost lose sight of the performances. Brenda Harris is an old pro when it comes to Bel Canto, and her performance as the tortured, tragic Camilla, forced to choose between brother and lover, was thoroughly satisfying in every way. If one could transcend the absurdity of the setting and make you believe in what they were singing, she could. Scott Piper, playing the conflicted Curiazio (do I defend the honor of my country or flee with the love of my life?), was very good as well - his clear tenor complimented the orchestra nicely, and his acting conveyed the weariness of war, as well as a fatalistic nobility. Alas, the same could not be said of Ashley Holland, the Southern - I mean Roman - general Orazio. Had he been playing Robert E. Lee or Stonewall Jackson, he might have pulled it off; but his bearish looks and ponderous movements around the stage simply didn't cut it. Additionally, his voice sounded forced, lacking the ease of the other leads - it seemed as if he really had to push it to rise above the orchestra. Christopher Dickerson, as the patriarch Vecchio, has a third-act piece in which he despairs at rumors (false, as it turns out) that his son Orazio has turned coward and fled. Perhaps he was just afraid Orazio had become Curiazio yellow.

The orchestra, conducted by Francesco Maria Colombo, was in good form as usual. Colombo, who last appeared here in 2005's magnificent Maria Padilla, showed once again that he knows how to handle the Minnesota Opera's Bel Canto productions. And a special mention should go to the chorus - many times an opera chorus simply provides window-dressing, either enriching the sound or acting as a Greek chorus. In Orazi, they had to do more than that, for Mercadante really asks them to be a crucial part of the plot in the way they advance the storytelling. The chorus didn't let him down.

Which is more, sadly, than one can say for this production as a whole. There was much to like, but ultimately Orazi collapsed under the weight it was forced to carry: what we were seeing didn’t match what we were hearing. A gimmick such as changing the time and setting of a story can work on occasion (think of Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet, set in Venice, California; at least it was clever and had some kind of logic); indeed, with talented production, it can work spectacularly. This was not one of those times.

When I closed my eyes, everything worked just fine. But an experience that could have been duplicated in my living room is not the experience I pay for when I go to the opera.

Wish I'd Written That...

By Judith

"Now, don't tell me you're going to be silly," said Lady Mounteagle. "That's just what we meant; to link up the great religions of East and West; Buddha and Christ. Surely you must understand that all religions are really the same."

"If they are," said Father Brown mildly, "it seems rather unnecessary to go into the middle of Asia to get one."

- G.K. Chesterton, The Red Moon of Meru

Happy Easter to All!

"But the angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid; for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has risen, as he said." (Matthew 28: 5-6)

A happy and blessed Triduum and Easter to all. We'll return on Monday.

The Spell of Good Friday

By Mitchell

Our Good Friday reflection from last year was based on images from the opera Parsifal by Wagner. Though not a sacred piece per se, it remains a piece of work of monumental beauty and emotion, and the religious overtone throughout is undeniable.

"You see, that's not how it is. It is the tears of repentant sinners, that fall like holy dew today to moisten field and meadow; thus making them fertile. Now all creatures rejoice in visible signs of the Redeemer, to whom they dedicate their prayers. Since they cannot see Him on the Cross, they look up instead to man redeemed, who feels free from dread and the burden of sin because of God's loving sacrifice. The grass and flowers of the meadows notice that the foot of man does not trample them today, but that, as God, with heavenly patience and mercy, suffered for man, so mankind today in pious gratitude spares nature with gentle tread. Then all creatures give thanks, all that blooms and soon will fade, and nature now absolved from sin today enjoys its day of innocence."

Click here for more from last year's piece.

Above: Placido Domingo as Parsifal

What Kind of Disciple Was Judas?

By Mitchell

In the old Church calendar today was known as Spy Wednesday, and so it seemed like an good time to consider the question of Judas. He's been in the news a lot lately, what with this talk about the "Gospel of Judas," but Jimmy Akin provides an excellent debunking of that whole idea here.

No, what I'm wondering is what kind of a disciple Judas was. Was he ever any good? Almost invariably when he's mentioned in the Gospels, it's with the appendage, "who later betrayed Him." John in particular views him with total scorn - look at Monday's Gospel for example. ("This he said, not that he cared for the poor but because he was a thief, and as he had the money box he used to take what was put into it.' ") Now, a lot of this could simply be understood as a retrospective look at Judas' character, written with the hindsight of his betrayal. But John calls him a thief, and so we wonder if there were other clues, indications that Judas might not be what he claimed to be.

When Jesus sent the disciples out in pairs to preach the word, heal the sick, and so forth, He would have included Judas. So one wonders: did he ever heal anyone, ever cast out demons? Did his preaching ever make any converts? Did he do his fair share of the work, or was he content to sit back and let his partner do all the heavy lifting? Perhaps he lacked the gifts of the others, or possibly it was never in him at all. "You're better at this than I am," he might have said (almost apologetically), explaining why he'd do all the talking when they arrived in a new town but would leave it to the other disciple when it came to things like healing.

Eventually this would have started some talking, especially in a group as close-knit as the apostles. Would they have looked strangely at him, whispering when his back was turned? Did they see his failures in those key areas to be signs of weakness, of the possibility that he wasn't like the rest of them, that he was a fraud? That would explain a great deal of John's hostility, for example. "There's something about that one that bears watching," they might have thought. In today's parlance, he might be considered high-risk, a misfit, someone who didn't belong. This isn't to feel sorry for him, merely to suggest that the signs might have been there from the beginning, telling the other disciples to watch out. We'll never know the answers, of course, at least not in this world. It's possible that someone has already written at length about this topic, one of the early Church fathers for example. But the question continues to intrigue us.

In his homily today Fr. Pavlik looked at this question from another angle. Where the other disciples heard the teachings of Jesus and took these teachings to their hearts, Judas merely heard words. Where the other disciples made Christ an integral part of their very lives, Judas simply went through the motions. He attended all the meetings, went along on all the trips, was seen in public with his fellow disciples at the side of Jesus. From all outward appearances, Judas was loyal, attentive, indistinguishable from the other eleven.

Jesus knew better, of course, and quite possibly so did the rest of them. Outwardly Judas may have appeared a model disciple, but Jesus knew what was in his heart. And perhaps this is the lesson we should all take from Spy Wednesday. We attend Mass, we listen to Christ's words in the Gospel, we lead what we like to think of as a Christian life. Outwardly we make an impression on others.

But what will Christ find when He spies on our hearts? Will He find His love, His teachings, His imprint? Or will our hearts simply reflect our own vanity, our concern with how we look, how we are seen by others, how we perceive ourselves?

That is the mystery of Judas, and as we enter the Triduum let us pray that we find the answer, the one that can come only from Christ Jesus.

UPDATE: AdoroTeDevote has been thinking about Judas too, with a very provocative, heartfelt piece that asks more interesting questions.

And One More Thing

By Mitchell

Jimmy Akin with a really good piece on the immigration debate, which includes both hard economic reality and a very sensible look at the real "social justice" issues involved. Hint: there's more to it than what some of the bishops would like you to think. For example:

The effect of illegal aliens in the agricultural industry is not that they do work that otherwise wouldn't get done. It's that they depress the wages in the agricultural industry to the point that such jobs are unattractive to Americans.

In other words, when discussing the idea of social justice (or, as the Strib would put it, "dignity"), we must consider the effect that immigration has on both jobs and wages in this country, and the effect that has on American workers. What is it they say about charity beginning at home? Perhaps the same could go for social justice.

Ah, I think Chesterton would have some strong thoughts on this...

More on the Immigration Debate

By Mitchell

Mona Charen with a terrific column today on the immigration protests. Excerpts:

Too many Americans, particularly those who control the schools, have abandoned the goal of assimilation -- the idea that Americans had a right to demand that immigrants learn our language, abide by our laws, adopt our customs and abandon loyalty to any other power. Exalting multiculturalism and multilingualism, and encouraging separatism on the part of minorities, liberals are in effect asking Americans not just to open their doors but to tear down the house.

[…]

Most galling to many Americans (both native-born and naturalized) is the attitude of entitlement displayed by the illegals who thronged the streets in recent weeks. To stage a demonstration demanding anything when you are not in the country legally is an act of supreme chutzpah. But what do we expect? When immigrants arrive, they find school systems bending over backward to offer bilingual education, Mexican pride festivals and Spanish language options at the bank, supermarket and post office. Our intellectual climate tells them that separatism is the way to go.

This is not to suggest that Mexican immigrants abandon pride in their origins or forsake their cultural heritage, merely that they do what every other immigrant group has done -- integrate in public and save the mother tongue for the home. It would also be fitting for them to remember that gratitude is becoming; entitlement is not.

Meanwhile, over at NRO John Derbyshire (don’t always agree with him, but gotta give him props when he’s on) offers suggestions on how to answer the canned statements that come from those who want to open the borders up:

• "They're just coming here for a better life." Well, that's also the reason people rob banks. If you rob a bank and get away with it, you'll have a MUCH better life than you had before. Should we legalize bank robbery? [a comment which has become a point of contention in The Corner; is he putting illegals on an equal status with bank robbers? I think not; he’s simply pointing out that there are a lot of things you can do to make your life “better”; better does not necessarily mean better, if you get my drift.]
• "Many of them have sons & daughters in the military, fighting in Iraq." On general grounds, I think hiring illegal immigrants into the armed forces is a lousy idea. When the Romans ran out of citizens willing to fight, they hired Germans, and look what happened. Still, any illegal who has served in combat on this country's behalf ought to be given citizenship, though I'd make his relatives go through proper channels. At least we'd find out how many is that "many."
• "Deporting illegals would mean splitting up families." Only if they chose to split up. If a man is illegal, his wife legal, and their child a citizen, I'd deport the man. They'd have to decide among themselves whether to split up the family or not. The wife and child could go with the man, if they didn't want to be split up.

Why is this such an emotional issue? I think Mona Charen’s concluding paragraph sums it all up:

The fashion of multiculturalism has sparked exactly the opposite of what its propounders intended. Hostility to foreigners has increased because Americans have declining confidence that immigrants want to or can assimilate into the larger society.

Reflections on a Musical Weekend

Guest Comment

Hadleyblogger Bobby is back with one of his regular commentaries on the music scene in South Carolina. He raises some of the same questions we've raised here in the past: the status of live musical performance today, role of the producer and director in interpreting a stage work, the etiquette (or lack thereof) among modern audiences, the sorry state of "sacred" music in some churches, and more.

*****

I'm still tired as I write at 7 AM following arriving home at 2 AM the previous evening from Carousel in Hartsville on the second half of a two-night, two musical weekend. It was a way to mingle with a few friends, and more than a fair share of incidents.

Friday night was back at my alma mater for A Little Night Music of Sondheim, and because of the loss to that hated rival school (whose radio station in that market is the Air America station, while my alma mater is the O'Reilly / Hannity / Ingraham station), I couldn't wear my college ring or "that" shirt and tie combination with the suit.

A Little Night Music -- I was able to sit in the fourth row, behind a group of friends who made an entire row. A full orchestra and the works . . . and guest artists (including a paper company executive) made the evening fun. But for some reason, I still can't identify Marion (my pianist from a pair of recitals) even after all of these years. And what was the situation with those ladies in front of me standing together as their "heroine" came on stage for the final bows? They jumped so early I was reminded of my voice teacher's warnings to me -- "don't instigate the standing ovation." ["Words we should all live by" - Mitchell] A hug from Brittnee Siemon (a dear friend I've made from classical music) and also Mariel Angel Estrella, making her debut in the music department's events (she's a nursing major) (and old stories), were able to pass the time.

Next week (Good Friday) is her doctoral recital, and the dearest of dears (my voice teacher) is joining her for the ride. I'm going there and skipping my church's Easter "musical" (note there isn't anything of a Passion and Resurrection theme in the songs -- they are just the regular pop/rock songs people now sing in church) to hear a friend. [From what he's written in the past, I feel for Bobby - anyone with an appreciation for true sacred music seems to have no place in his church. - Mitchell] Brittnee is a youth choir leader and I hope her material is better than the junk our inept leader does. Of course, when the leader and the singers (one is just a year older than I am) states karaoké accompaniment exclusively, it's a wonder nobody wants to play at church when the leader wants it that way. He refuses to consider any instrumentalists, and I've called him over that.

[Bobby goes on to point out that his voice teacher is directing the performance of the musical Carousel that night.] But some things had me questioning -- and no, she is not to blame because she wasn't there to arrange the music -- the producer in question, Graham Wood, is to blame in my book since he's top brass.

1. Why were sections on the sides of the centre in the lowest sections closed? Turns out there were a pair of speakers on each end to accompany the keyboard and bass guitar orchestral reductions.
2. What was with the two microphones hung on top of the stage? It seemed they amplified the stage . . . big no-no there! (It did seem amplified to accompany the amplified instruments) Of course, we'll scatter that stuff Monday at our regularly scheduled lesson -- we've taken two weeks off because of her work there and my Cooper River Bridge Run last week.
3. Don't be a Jigger. Billy's mistakes cost him, and with my father's death recently, I actually was reduced to tears at the end. (My friend and I are both without a parent each -- she lost her mother nearly five years ago, and it seemed her consoling of me was there again. Please pray as her grandfather has prostate cancer.)

Watch out for the stories! During some dead time as I walked into the theatre, a few attendees wanted to meet the director, and I obliged by giving them stories about our friendship. While the stories flowed, she popped behind me and I escaped . . . is there some sort of mind game from just knowing her and being able to simply laugh it off?

And oh, by the way: whatever happened to etiquette? Kids were in tee-shirts, jeans, and sometimes ripped. A few used their cell phones while in the auditorium (intermissions and pre-show mostly) in violation of the No Phones, Food, or Drink rule. (I keep my phone in my truck, charging, in concerts.) All of this looked odd when I only wear suits to these performances.

I know how you feel, Bobby. Whenever we go to the orchestra or opera we always dress up, and it seems as if we're sometimes outnumbered by people in casual shirts and jeans. Would it hurt to put on nice clothes just once in a while?

Prayer Request

Our good friend Julie at AdoroTeDevote suffered the loss of her Grandmother today. In the midst of her grief and a million other things, she's still found the time to come up with an amazingly reflective post on hearing and responding to God's voice. This is a piece that's well, well worth reading and contemplating as we enter Holy Week.

Please pray for the repose of her soul of Julie's Grandmother, and keep Julie and her family in your prayers as well. We remember that our God is not the God of the dead, but of the living, and in this we take great consolidation and comfort.