There were hot cross buns last Saturday at Motta, the Italian bakery near Jean-Talon. I didn't buy any, although they're a favorite - that really would have felt like jumping the gun -- but I was glad to see them because they've become harder to find as Montreal becomes more and more post-Christian. We also didn't make it to the cathedral's Shrove Tuesday pancake supper: too tired and sleepy, and somehow the thought of all those fatty sausages and pancakes swimming in syrup didn't have much appeal that evening.
Last night, though, I was in the choir for the Ash Wednesday evening service, and it felt like everything fell into its appointed place and time. As our director pointed out at the beginning of the rehearsal, "Tonight we're about Renaissance intensity." On the program were William Byrd's "Mass for Five Voices", two chanted psalms, and a rather long motet, "Peccantem me quotidie" by Claudio Merulo (1533-1604). This was one of those sleeper pieces that at first run-through doesn't seem so special, but on the second time reveals its potential, which in this case is an intensity that builds, through the counterpoint, to a white heat at the end. It was very good in rehearsal, but when we performed it, right after communion, it was electrifying. Patrick sensed where we could go with it and he pulled everything he could out of the choir - we had about 30 voices last night - and it was quite something at the end, with the different parts repeating "Salve me!" with urgency and passion.
After the recessional hymn he played Bach's meditative chorale prelude "O world, bewail thy grievous fall". It was the perfect conclusion to the moving Ash Wednesday liturgy, which moves from penitence, humility, and grief to a more hopeful tone of preparation and reflection. I no longer participate in the ashes-on-the-forehead thing, which always felt too Catholic for me, but I'm looking forward to Lent: there are some things I need and want to think about, and I appreciate that there's a specific season set aside for that kind of inner work, supported by a community of other people who are doing similar work in the privacy of their own hearts.
I went to a side pew and listened. During the entire postlude, no one moved; like me, perhaps, they were reflecting on the emotional arc of the service, and their own regrets, pains, and hopes. More than any words or prayers or ritual, music -- especially Bach -- does this for me, and how typical of his genius to take the darkest possible subject, and fill it with humanity and light.
hey beth,
You wrote about Peccantem!!! I went to Archambault yesterday looking for Merulo and they couldn't trace this piece. Would you have more information on this? They had some other CD's of his music though.
I hope that we will have the opportunity of hearing the choir singing this piece again.
xx
K
Posted by: krish | February 22, 2010 at 04:24 PM