Singing at the Oratoire

On Sunday afternoon, our choir sang here. This is the Oratoire St-Joseph, a huge Roman Catholic shrine and basilica on the side of our local mountain, Mont Royal, overlooking the north-western side of the city.

This was the view in the early afternoon, before our rehearsal began. Starting at the parking lot far below this terrace at the top of the building are sets of steps, which pilgrims climb up on their knees. I walked up, but once inside the building I used the escalator -- the most devout go all the way aux genoux. Below the main sanctuary is another chapel, and a shrine room filled with high banks of flickering votive candles, and the crutches of those who believed themselves to be healed by Brother André, founder of this shrine to St. Joseph. Brother André, credited with two "official" miracles but believed by millions to have healed many more, was made Saint André by the pope last year, and the Oratory -- whose grandeur I doubt that simple man could have ever imagined -- is a site of pilgrimage for people from all over the world and one of the most-visited sites in Montreal.

The occasion was a service celebrating 40 years of dialogue between Roman Catholics and Anglicans, and it was mainly about and for the clergy who have been involved with this mutual listening project over the years. We had been asked by the Bishop of Montreal to represent the Anglicans, and we sang both separately and together with Les Petits Chanteurs, the boys' choir  resident at the Oratory.

Along with the  clergy, we robed in a huge sacristy to the side of the main altar. This is part of our group, getting ready off in one corner of the room.

There were bishops. Lots of bishops.

I quite like the design of the Oratory; some don't. It's very modern, and feels Germanic, which is perhaps odd for Montreal where most of the Catholic churches are ornate, French, and rather baroque. This building has a number of large expressionist wood carvings, extremely beautiful ironwork (the central grille in the photo below, for instance, and you can see some candle stands at the bottom far left), many glittering mosaics (on either side of the grille) and a gigantic organ.

Here's the boys' choir rehearsing; we were seated beyond them on those semicircular benches, behind the crucifix in front of the grille. That rod and semi-circle at the left are a suspension system holding a number of tiny microphones.

They sang Bruckner's "Locus iste," a great piece; they sang the notes well, but (it seemed to me) without much conviction or feeling. We sang a Magnificat and a big Victorian number for double choir, "Hail Gladdening Light," by Charles Wood. In the Oratory's acoutsic, it was quite thrilling to hear our voices, and their overtones, reverberating for many seconds after we had finished the last chord.

And here's the view when I left after the service, around 6:00 pm. I walked down, and by the time I reached my car my knees were protesting a lot! Down a mountain is always worse, for me, than up -- somehow I don't think Saint Andre will be fixing my old ski injuries anytime soon. But one of the great pleasures of singing in this choir is the occasional chance to perfom in different venues and circumstances; this was fun.

Comments

[Dale Favier]

(o)

[Marja-Leena]

The Oratory is indeed very beautiful, very dramatic, a nice blend of modern and old, almost Nordic looking. Wonderful to have this kind of mutual dialogue and listening along with the choirs, and for you being *in* the choir. What a dramatic location too (and I sympathize with your knees, Beth, I would not have made it.

[andrea]

There were bishops. Lots of very fat bishops. (Isn't gluttony one of the seven deadlies?)

[Mary]

I would love to have heard this. The sound of your voices "reverberating for many seconds after we had finished the last chord." Pretty magical.

[john]

Its a beautiful church.Thanks for sharing

[Natalie]

Beth, it must have been wonderful to sing there and to be part of this occasion. I can't say I like the church or its ambiance but then I feel the same about most grandiose super-luxury churches, whether Catholic or Anglican, of whatever period. It is the humble yet truly sacred small chapels - eg in Assisi or on mountains in Greece - which put me in touch with transcendence. Yet if I were in a choir, I'm sure I would have a different viewpoint because the music itself, and being part of it, would be enough of a transport to the sacred dimension, wherever it took place.

[Beth]

Natalie and friends who've commented -- while I admire the aesthetic and craftsmanship, and the way a particular type of design is carried out in this building, I don't find anything spiritually uplifting about it. Ditto with most of the large cathedrals I've visited. My moments of transcendence and sacredness tend to occur either in nature, or during times of unity and connectedness and love with other human beings -- which have at times included making music together. I'd like to visit some of those very early chapels in Europe and the Middle East, Armenia and so forth -- the simplicity would speak to me much more than gold and money and height, I'm quite sure. I did like some of the old country churches we visited in England and will be writing a post about them soon, but I can't say I felt "holiness" there. I just don't see churches that way. If God exists, he/she is everywhere, including inside each of us. The idea that we come to churches and cathedrals to "find" God, or that God actually exists within the bread and wine at communion, called down from heaven by a priest uttering special code words -- all that kind of stuff is very very far from what I believe.

[Hattie]

I know what you mean, Beth. There has to be some mystery. That space does not look lived in. It's too perfect. And like you I find those transcendent moments mostly in natural settings.

[john]

Beth thanks for your comment.I was surprised to find travelling Ecuador and Peru that some older hotels have small chapels.Invariably no one else is there.They are cool in the heat of the day and deathly quiet.If one had the ability to be meditative,to still the racing mind,there could be moments of transcendence in those places.About 5 years ago I was on a climb in Mexico and i wrote the trip up for the Canadian Alpine Journal.We are in a small Mexican town and i finished my piece like this "Unable to sleep,I arise early the next morning and wander the narrow streets.A bell is calling the faithful for mass in the town church,gently uphill on the edge of the town sguare, and it calls me also.After taking my place among the elderly parishioners-a noncatholic,but a supplicant nonetheless-I say a prayer of thanks for the safe return of my climbing companions.Then as the priest intones a timeless liturgy,I say a prayer of gratitude.I hardly know where to begin"
Was God listening and is He even in these places?Perhaps to know for sure either way would only spoil things.A moment of connectedness for me in a place where i could imagine Graham Greene's "whiskey priest" being at home.

[Laura]

Thank you so much for sharing this story. The world it describes is one I would never have had a glimpse of, not being a singer at all, at all, had you not opened it up for us. I envy you your singing voice. I admire your multi-armed embrace of the world.

[Indian]

I have been so bweidelerd in the past but now it all makes sense!