Friday, November 22, was the feast day of St. Cecilia, patron saint of music. (Unbeknownst to my brother Joe, who heads up a punk bank, I have assigned her as HIS patron saint as well).
A virgin martyr, she suffered one of those grisly deaths beloved (in memory) by us Catholics.
This deeply moving statue of her is housed at the St. Cecilia Basilica in Rome.
From wiki: “The statue of St. Cecilia can be found lying on her right side, in a simple dress tucked between her knees. The contours of her body are visible through the implication of light fabric. The folds on her dress creating spots of light and shadow are characteristic of Baroque style. Her hands are located in front of her legs, as if her arms were bound in front. Her right index finger extends off the marble breaking the barrier between the statue and the pilgrims. St. Cecilia has her face turned away from the viewers and straight down to the earth.] Her face being turned away helps display the cuts shown on the back of her neck that were made by the executioner. Even after the executioner hit her neck three times, St. Cecilia stayed alive for three days before bleeding out.”
Anyway, in the Second Reading of the Office of Readings for her feast, St. Augustine exhorts us to sing to the Lord with joy.
“But how is this done? You must first understand that worlds cannot express the things that are sung by the heart. Take the case of people singing while harvesting the fields or in the vineyards or when any other strenuous work is in progress. Although they begin by giving expression to their happiness in sung words, yet shortly there is a change. As if so happy that words can no longer express what they feel, they discard the restricting syllables. They burst out in a simple sound of joy, of jubilation. Such a cry of joy is a sound signifying that the heart is bringing to birth what it cannot utter in words.”
I found it interesting to try to picture this segue from sung words into a simple sound of joy, of jubilation. I figure it is kind of like the same sound I make–a kind of incoherent croaking–when I raise my voice in jubilant song, or try to, at church.
I grew up in the Congregational Church with the old hymns–Breathe on Me, Breath of God, There is a Balm in Gilead, Crown Him with Many Crowns, How Great Thou Art, The King of Lord My Shepherd Is–that still make me want to bust out. My voice is nothing to write home about and deteriorates with age.
Don’t worry, I don’t sing too loudly, so as not to disturb the other parishioners, or try to pretend my voice is anything other than low mediocre. But I always stay till the last word of the last verse of the closing hymn. And it slays me that at the end of the Easter Vigil, the whole congregation doesn’t rise up en masse, raise our tear-stained faces to the rafters, and ring out to heaven, “Christ the Lord is risen today–ALLELUJIA!!!!” Come on, people! Do not our joy and gratitude compel us to raise our voices in song!
Especially as we end the liturgical year with the Solemnity of CHRIST THE KING! OF THE UNIVERSE!!
Anyway, lately I’ve taken to listening to Evening Prayer on Sing the Hours, then praying the Rosary, then listening to Benedictine chant or other sacred choral type sung music as I take my vespers walk.
The other night I came across this hymn which I had of course heard before but to which I’m now memoriizing the lyrics. It’s kind of a beautiful way to sum up our day and to conclude our evening reflection.
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