About the author:
Tate Pumfrey grew up in Thamesville, Ontario and holds a Master’s Degree in Music (Composition) from York University. As a composer, he has focused on writing for the organ and sacred music. He has written articles for Catholic Insight and One Peter Five, enjoys writing poetry, and organizes traditional square and ceilidh dances as a way of building Catholic culture and community. He is based in Ottawa and works in pipe organ maintenance.
Like the sound of church bells, the pipe organ remains inseparable from Christendom. Despite the deep connection between the Church and the organ, the instrument was invented before the time of Christ by Ctesibius of Alexandria (285–222 BC). His invention, called the hydraulis, used the dynamic energy of falling water to push air through the pipes which were activated by keys; this is the direct ancestor of the pipe organ. The Romans used the hydraulis in their arenas, and it is entirely likely that Christians were martyred to the sound of the organ. It is for this reason that the Church objected to the organ in worship for many centuries. Although an organ is recorded at Winchester Cathedral in the 10th century, it is only in the 12th century that the organ begins to appear as a prominent instrument for the liturgy. Perhaps this long delay is not simply a result of the connection to the Roman circus, but instead due to the sonic imperfection of earlier organs.
Regardless of this early history, the Church and the pipe organ are synonymous, and yet there are few references to it before the 20th century. The Council of Trent refers to it only once, saying that lascivious or impure music is not to be permitted in the church, whether sung or played on the organ. Pius X, in his famous 1903 motu proprio on church music, Tra le sollecitudini, treats the organ rather briefly, making clear that the organ must not take priority over the singing of chant. Pius XI’s encyclical Divini Cultus speaks of the organ in more familiar terms, stating, “The traditionally appropriate musical instrument of the Church is the organ, which, by reason of its extraordinary grandeur and majesty, has been considered a worthy adjunct to the Liturgy.” In 1962, following the blessing of a new organ in St. Peter’s Basilica, John XXIII gave a little-known allocution which summarizes well the spiritual effects of the organ in the Mass:
“‘Laudate Dominum in sanctis ejus.’ Praise the Lord in his sanctuary. The Christian populace is led to these thresholds by the sound of the organ. Truly it is the king of sacred musical instruments; and as such it belongs to the temple in a very special way, for it is destined solely for the praises of the Lord. As the sacred rites unfold, it becomes spokesman for the feelings of all, for their noblest and holiest flights. Its melodies make it easier to penetrate into the depths of the soul: admiration of virtue or the desire for it, resolutions of penance and purification, a longing for a more intimate union with God, a pledge to struggle against evil, a foretaste of the happiness of heaven. In this way the soul opens wide to the mystical influences of grace.”
This allocution remarkably describes a theology of the organ, something which the Church has not otherwise expounded. Given the aforementioned spiritual effects of the organ, it may come as a surprise then that the organ is traditionally silent at the Requiem Mass. The black vestments are perhaps as striking—certainly for those of us who have grown up with the Novus Ordo Missae—as the absence of the organ. For the Church, black signifies mourning, death, sin, and judgement. This is retained within society, as most people still wear black at funerals. These are not sentiments of grandeur or majesty, which the organ expresses so easily. It is especially appropriate then that the organ is silent. Black also signifies austerity. The colour black itself is an absence of visible light. This is symbolic of death, for when we die, our opportunity to choose God has come to an end. The silence, coupled with the solo line of the Requiem chants, in place of the broad colours of the organ is analogous to the starkness of this reality.
It is helpful too to consider the value of silence. All the masters of the spiritual life make clear that it is essential in growing in union with God. St. Benedict makes times of silence mandatory in his famous rule, and dedicates two chapters to it. St. Maximilian Kolbe says that, “Silence is necessary, and even absolutely necessary. If silence is lacking, then grace is lacking.” Cardinal Sarah, in The Power of Silence, states, “Without silence, we are deprived of mystery, reduced to fear, sadness, and solitude. It is time to rediscover silence! The mystery of God, his incomprehensibility, is the source of joy for every Christian. Every day we rejoice to contemplate an unfathomable God, whose mystery will never be exhausted. The eternity of heaven itself will be the joy, ever new, of entering more profoundly into the divine mystery without ever exhausting it.”
The tone of the texts of the Requiem Mass is that of supplication. The Sequence, Dies Irae, attributed to Thomas of Celano (1185–1265), is especially poignant in this regard. Just to quote a few stanzas:
“…My prayers are not worthy,
but Thou, O good one, show mercy,
lest I burn in everlasting fire,Give me a place among the sheep,
and separate me from the goats,
placing me on Thy right hand.When the damned are confounded
and consigned to keen flames,
call me with the blessed….”
The abundance of silence in the Requiem Mass is especially suited to cause us to contemplate our own mortality. Now more than ever, in a world so inundated with noise, it is harder and harder to find silence, and likewise easier to ignore the pangs of our consciences. Death has been particularly excluded from the public consciousness; we no longer know how to talk about death, let alone confront it. To sit in silence while the priest ministers at the altar and the body lays in wait just before the altar rail is jarring, but fittingly so. It is difficult not to consider one’s own death at the Requiem Mass. The modern era’s difficulties are naturally not the reason why the Church desires an abundance of silence in the Requiem, but this silence is made even more effective given the secular backdrop of noise and decay.
The Requiem is not entirely silent, however, but contains Gregorian chant proper to it. There are eleven chants in total. Often the In Paradisum is added, frequently sung as the body leaves the church, although this is technically assigned for the burial. The majority of these chants go back to the 10th century, but given that this is the time of the invention of written notation, it is believable that these chants are much older. Returning to the priest’s black vestments, they are always adorned with gold or silver motifs: this is symbolic of the silver-lining of Christian hope for eternal life, and these beautiful chants are the silver-lining on the black vestment of silence.
God is best heard in His silent majesty, in the fullness of silence, and it is in the austerity of the Requiem Mass that man is invited to contemplate his own death. The overarching spirit of the Requiem is memento mori, and the grandeur of the organ runs against this. We are invited to ponder death in the silence of the Requiem, that we may one day sing with the “angels round about the throne…Saying with a loud voice, Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing.” (Revelation 5:11-12)
Leave a Reply