At the invitation of a friend from Siena, last April we attended a retreat at the Lecceto Hermitage, just outside the city. The retreat was led by a very talented priest. The Benedictine nuns write on their website, “We dedicate seven moments each day: our day begins and ends with praise to God. All our prayer is sung, as monastic tradition and our Father St. Augustine teach: “cantare amantis est,” singing is proper for those who love!” (See here.) It was a great surprise. The cloistered nuns really did always sing during their prayers, as we read on the website. But what struck us all was the way they sang: it was so sweet, it seemed like we were listening to a celestial song. You couldn’t hear many voices, but a single, gentle one. Even the volume was carefully calibrated: never shouted or screamed, but almost a whisper. It was so pleasant to listen to them that participating in Mass or the recitation of Lauds was even more beautiful. Everything helped us pray.

I sincerely thank the nuns for this experience. It was precisely this memory that prompted me to write the following reflection.

In some Italian parishes I’ve attended, I’ve heard music and singing during Mass that often arouses irritation and annoyance. This gives the impression that the level, quality, and instruments used don’t measure up to the sense of the sacred, which is intrinsic to the Mass itself.

We hear songs with extremely sentimental melodies, pop-music rhythms, freely paraphrased lyrics, amplified microphones as if in a show, continuous accompaniment, and a strong focus on the “musical group” — not to mention the instruments, which range from rock guitars to woodwinds, from triangles to tambourines. The risk is that the Mass will be experienced less as a ritual and more as a community gathering accompanied by music. Many songs do not encourage meditation, especially during communion. We forget that the musical instrument should be subordinate to the liturgical action: We are at Mass, not just any musical gathering, and the instrument should assist the faithful in their meditation and encounter with Jesus Christ.

Music at Mass should not simply serve to create a pleasant atmosphere, nor should it serve as entertainment. From the perspective of the Catholic liturgy, it is part of the ritual action and should therefore orient us toward something that transcends the singers, the priest, and the congregation.

It is important to note that these musical expressions date back to the period following the Second Vatican Council. The qualitative deterioration observed in some post-conciliar liturgical music is not a prescription of the Council, but rather one of the historical outcomes of certain interpretations of the liturgical reform, in which the “active participation” of the faithful was sometimes equated with simplicity, immediacy, and popular language. The Council called for something far more challenging: music that is simultaneously sacred, beautiful, liturgically appropriate, and capable of engaging the assembly.

It should be emphasized, therefore, that the Council did not at all call for a reduction in musical quality. Sacrosanctum Concilium defines the Church’s musical tradition as “a patrimony of inestimable value” and affirms that sacred chant is “a necessary and integral part of the solemn liturgy.” It also establishes that polyphony is not to be set aside. As for instruments, it expressly identifies the pipe organ as the traditional instrument of the Latin Church, capable of “powerfully lifting souls to God and to heavenly things.” Other instruments are permitted, but under one specific condition: that they be suited to the sacred nature of the celebration and the dignity of the place.

The Council certainly wanted to increase participatio actuosa, that is, the active participation of the faithful, and this also entailed greater presence of singing in the assembly. But it did not affirm that, to get everyone singing, music had to become simpler or necessarily adopt the language of contemporary popular song.

The Council Fathers spoke of participatio actuosa and not simply participatio activa. Translating “actuosa” as “activa” doesn’t fully convey its meaning: “activa” more immediately recalls doing, external action, while actuosa has a richer meaning, that of something operative, effective, fully involved in the action, not necessarily characterized by continuous external activity.

In the post-conciliar era, however, participation has sometimes been confused with simplification, which are different concepts. An assembly can participate intensely through listening, silence, liturgical responses, and some of its own songs, while a schola cantorum performs the more musically elaborate parts. It is therefore not necessary for the faithful to always sing along with the singers. The conciliar constitution itself, speaking of participation, expressly includes both singing and “a sacred silence” (no. 30).

In no. 112 of Sacrosanctum Concilium, one of the four conciliar constitutions, dedicated to the liturgy, we read:

The musical tradition of the Church constitutes a patrimony of inestimable value, surpassing that of other forms of art, especially because sacred song, united with the words, is a necessary and integral part of the solemn liturgy. Sacred song has been praised by Sacred Scripture, by the Fathers, and by the Roman Pontiffs; these latter, beginning with St. Pius X, have insistently emphasized the ministerial role of sacred music in divine worship. Therefore, sacred music will be all the more holy the more closely it is united to the liturgical action, whether by lending a more delightful expression to prayer and fostering unanimity, or by enriching the sacred rites with greater solemnity. The Church, however, approves and admits into divine worship all forms of true art, provided they possess the necessary qualities.

In many Italian parishes, Gregorian chant is now marginal or completely absent. It is not uncommon for a faithful to attend their parish for years without hearing a Kyrie, a Sanctus, a Gregorian Agnus Dei, or a simple antiphon. Yet Sacrosanctum Concilium expressly states, in no. 116: “The Church recognizes Gregorian chant as the proper chant of the Roman liturgy.”

Leo XIV himself, in the general audience of August 19, dedicated to sacred music, affirmed: “The form, then, especially in its melodic aspect, must be at the same time noble and simple, of high musical quality and easily performable, especially when it is intended to be sung by the entire assembly.” He also repeated a very severe expression of John Paul II, who invited us “to purify worship from stylistic flaws, from sloppy forms of expression, from sloppy music and lyrics that are inappropriate for the grandeur of the act being celebrated, to ensure the dignity and quality of form of liturgical music.”

Interesting in this regard are the considerations of Cardinal Robert Sarah in The Canticle of the Lamb (Cantagalli, 280 pages, 24 euros), written with Peter Carter, excerpts of which were published in La Verità. When asked about sacred music, Sarah states:

The criteria for determining the suitability of music for liturgical use were established by Pope St. Pius X in his motu proprio on sacred music Tra le sollecitudini, considered the Magna Carta of sacred music since its promulgation in 1903. […] A key passage outlines three essential criteria: “Sacred music must possess in the highest degree the qualities that are proper to the liturgy, and precisely the sanctity and goodness of form, from which its other characteristic, which is universality, arises spontaneously.”

And he continues:

Deriving further on the first criterion, that of sanctity, Pope St. Pius X states: “It must be holy, and therefore exclude all profanity, not only in itself, but also in the manner in which it is presented by the performers.” Here, the term “profanity” takes on a different meaning from our common understanding of obscenity, referring instead to everything that is secular and not exactly sacred. This distinction is not intended to express an artistic judgment on music that does not meet the requirement of sanctity, but rather indicates that such music is more suited to being used “outside the temple.” […]

Regarding the “goodness of forms”, Sarah says:

The concept of “goodness of form” emphasizes the need for the liturgy to be marked by beauty, and for liturgical music to draw people toward God, rather than toward the musicians or their virtuosic performance. As Pope Benedict XVI admonishes in Sacramentum Caritatis: “In everything that concerns the Eucharist, let there be a taste for beauty.”

On the function of sacred music, the cardinal adds, “The primary function of sacred music is not to represent worldly culture or personal expression, but to give glory to God and elevate the human person to him. The measure of good sacred music, therefore, lies in the effectiveness with which it fulfills this function.”

Finally, on “universality” he states, “Authentic sacred music transcends cultural and national boundaries, offering a universal language that speaks of the sacred. This universality does not ignore the beauty of local expressions; rather, it enriches them and is enriched by them. By embracing the universality of sacred music, we join our voices with those of the faithful throughout the world and throughout history, participating in the eternal hymn of praise that the Church continually offers to God.”