A symphony of love

In the jubilant hymn of praise to Christ in stanzas 14 and 15 of The Spiritual Canticle the soul calls her Beloved ‘silent music’ – a haunting oxymoron in which each of the words seems to gain in eloquence from its association with the other, and which also illustrates the necessity of employing metaphor and paradox in speaking of God. John of the Cross explains in the Commentary on this passage that the whole of creation becomes for the soul ‘a harmonious symphony of sublime music’ which the soul ‘knows and enjoys’ in the Beloved; but this music is ‘tranquil and quiet knowledge, without the sound of voices. And thus, there is in it the sweetness of music and the quietude of silence’ (CB: 14&15.25).

For John, music provides an image of the beauty and order of creation, and also of the praise which that creation offers to God. Speaking of the blessed who are continually praising God in heaven, he says: ‘This praise is like music, for as each one possesses God’s gifts differently, each one sings God’s praises differently, and all of them together form a symphony of love, as of music’ (CB: 14&15.26). But this music is purely ‘spiritual sound’, perceptible only to the spiritual faculties. John tells us that when we read in the Apocalypse of ‘the voice of many harpists playing on their harps’ (Apoc. 14:2), this has ‘nothing to do with material harps’ (loc.cit.)!

How, then, can silence and music complement each other in our earthly realm of fragile silence and audible sound? In particular, what place can there be for music in the silence and solitude of a Carmelite monastery?

Singing a new song

We may enter Carmel seeking the Absolute, but we soon discover that nothing is absolute but God alone. Our weak and fickle human nature is subject to constant change, and we cannot spend all our time on our knees. Throughout the day, therefore, we pass constantly from one activity to the next: prayer, meals, work, rest, prayer, reading, recreation, prayer, sleep – but everything is done in and for God, and in loving communion with one another. In order to give reality and expression to this orientation and directedness, we need to come together regularly throughout the day to praise God. And how better to praise God than by singing?

When we sing, we ourselves become our instrument, played by the ‘breath of life’¹ God has given us. There can be no more immediate or uplifting way of becoming‘the praise of his glory’² than by singing. Inevitably the quality of our voices and the requirement to sing the same thing at the same time as everybody else present challenges! Nevertheless, it has been said that ‘one who sings prays twice’,³ and the scriptures urge us to give ourselves to ‘psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody to the Lord with all [our] heart.’⁴ Seven times a day we sing psalms, which were the sung prayers of Israel, and which call on us repeatedly to ‘sing a new song to the Lord’ and make ‘a joyful noise’.⁵

The Divine Office may also, of course, be spoken, or read silently. In this case ‘the quietude of silence’ takes precedence over ‘the sweetness of music’. We pray the Office according to our circumstances and resources, and no one way is right. In the North African Church of Late Antiquity opinion was deeply divided as to whether music should be used in worship, and if so, what kind of music. There is nothing new about liturgy wars! St Augustine records his own susceptibility to music, and describes how he wept in Milan at the beauty of the singing in church: ‘Those sounds flowed into my ears, and the truth streamed into my heart: so that my feeling of devotion overflowed, and the tears ran from my eyes, and I was happy in them.’⁶ But he also acknowledges that St Athanasius in Alexandria used to have ‘the reader of the psalm utter it with so little modulation of the voice that he seemed to be saying it’, for fear that people might be ‘more moved by the singing than by the thing that is sung.’⁷ Augustine recognizes the validity of that argument, while saying of himself: ‘I feel that by those holy words my mind is kindled more religiously and fervently to a flame of piety because I hear them sung than if they were not sung: and I observe that all the varying emotions of my spirit have modes proper to them in voice and song, whereby, by some secret affinity, they are made more alive.’⁸ We now know that singing engages predominantly the more intuitive and contemplative right side of the brain, while speaking or reading tends to engage the more analytical left brain. Saying the Office perhaps encourages us to think more about the words, while singing it – or silent pauses – can help us to turn our gaze to God and to glorify him not only with our minds but with our whole being.

‘Do that which best stirs you to love’

The liturgy of the Discalced Carmelite nuns has traditionally been austere. In fact, St Teresa wrote in her Primitive Constitutions of 1567: ‘The chant should never be sung with musical notation but should be done in a monotone and with uniform voices. Ordinarily, everything should be recited, and also the Mass.’⁹ Singing was allowed on Sundays and feast days, but Teresa was anxious to avoid an over-elaborate liturgy which would leave insufficient time for work and silent prayer.

Nevertheless, music has always had a place in Carmel. Singing and dancing featured significantly in the life of Teresa’s communities, and she herself played drums and the tambourine. As she said: ‘Do that which best stirs you to love.’¹⁰ We have accounts of both Teresa and John of the Cross becoming rapt in ecstasy while listening to a sister singing,¹¹ and on John’s many journeys on foot he used to sing hymns and psalms, and songs of his own composition.¹² The composition and singing of poems formed part of Carmelite celebrations for centuries, as did processions, plays and other rituals or entertainments which often included music.

Sacrosanctum Concilium

After Vatican II a movement away from the liturgical austerity of the past began. The document on the liturgy, Sacrosanctum Concilium, stated that ‘Liturgical worship is given a more noble form when the divine offices are celebrated solemnly in song’,¹³ and the revised Constitutions of the Discalced Carmelite Nuns published in 1991 charged the Chapter of each community with regulating liturgical singing, taking ‘into consideration the directives of the universal Church.’¹⁴

The Council’s call for change was taken up in different ways at different times in our Carmels. At Quidenham the particular constellation of sisters at the time meant that it was enthusiastically embraced, and work immediately began on translating texts from the Latin and setting them to music based on the principles of Gregorian chant. A treasury of chant was built up, a small pipe organ was installed, and the community began to sing Vespers, Readings, and Compline as well as the Mass chants. Lauds and the Little Hours continued to be sung for several decades on one note (recto tono), but the tonus in directum has now been adopted, a simple chant which is actually easier to sing than the monotone.

Entering Carmel…

When I entered in 1987, the work on the liturgy was largely complete (though of course it needs constant revision). I became a Catholic after the Council, and came without any knowledge of the earlier Carmelite tradition. I only gradually learned of the differences between Carmels, and also of the general expectation in the past that any instrumental music-making would cease after entering a monastery.

I am not and never have been a professional musician, but music had played an important part in my life before I entered. I had started piano lessons when I was seven and from the age of thirteen had played the organ for church services, initially at the United Reformed Church, where I came to faith and where music was an integral part of the worship. Later I also played for Methodist and Anglican churches and came to love the Anglican choral tradition and also the wonderful Catholic heritage of chant and polyphony. Music and worship became very closely intertwined in my life.

When I came to Quidenham I was delighted that I was allowed to bring my piano with me. Initially I was given permission to play it on Sundays and solemnities from after dinner until siesta at one o’clock – usually about half an hour. I remember rushing to the piano from the washing-up! But playing was by no means an unalloyed pleasure. I wasn’t finding the transition from my former life easy, and while the piano provided an outlet for pent-up feelings, the lid had to be put firmly back down at five to one. I remember one day hearing the bell and, being self-willed and disobedient, deciding to play to the end of the piece. But the door opened and the voice of my novice mistress intoned: ‘The bell has rung.’ After a while I was given permission to play during siesta in the Printing Office, where there was a piano that couldn’t be heard in the main house. The sisters who worked there were meant to leave at 12.55 so as not to be walking round the house after one o’clock. One day I started playing at 12.56 thinking everyone had gone, but alas, the door opened and a voice called out: ‘Sister, it’s not one o’clock yet…’

Singing in choir also had its frustrations. I remember commenting crossly on the unsuitability of a subdued monotone for Psalm 150 (‘O praise him with sound of trumpet’ – and with lute and harp, strings and pipes, and clashing of cymbals). I received the response that any strings and pipes were to be played in the heart!

Gaudium et Spes

Sometimes I felt it would be easier to stop playing, and in fact after a year or two I did give up regular piano practice. But in the end, I didn’t have the option of not playing any more. This was due to the fact that another way in which Quidenham had responded to the Second Vatican Council was by determining that sisters should use whatever gifts God had given them to help foster a broader human culture in the community. Gaudium et Spes had stated: ‘It is a feature of the human person that it can achieve true and full humanity only by means of culture, that is, through the cultivation of the goods and values of nature. Whenever, therefore, there is a question of human life, nature and culture are intimately linked together.’¹⁵ Through a cultivation of the arts and other aspects of culture, ‘the human spirit, freed from the bondage of material things, can be more easily drawn to the worship and contemplation of the Creator.’¹⁶ Or, as Irenaeus famously put it, ‘The glory of God is a human being fully alive; and the life of a human being consists in beholding God.’¹⁷

In the light of this thinking a good library was built up, and sisters’ work came to include writing, translating, painting, photography, icon-writing, and embroidery. Besides the music for the liturgy (which features organ voluntaries for Sundays and solemnities), music-making has been encouraged in the community, and this has given rise at various times to recorder groups, singing groups, dancing groups, and even a kitchen band in which anything in the kitchen which could be used to make a noise was put to use: the resulting cacophony was very enjoyable for the performers but perhaps a bit trying for the audience. One night a week at recreation those who wish can gather to listen to music. A concert has become a regular feature of our Christmas celebrations, with occasional performances on other occasions. Items at our last concert ranged from a rendition of the Julida Polka on the accordion to a French pop song and an Albinoni oboe concerto. We have a captive audience, which can be both an advantage and a disadvantage: you can be sure that there will be people there, but you can’t be sure that some of them at least wouldn’t rather be somewhere else!

‘Gifts that differ’

Probably each community has to find its own unique balance, for ‘each one possesses God’s gifts differently,’¹⁸ or in the words of St Paul, ‘Having gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, let us use them.’¹⁹ On the one hand, it is surely possible to renounce anything that is less than God for a life of prayer, for we can come to fullness of life only in Christ, ‘in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge,’ and who ‘is all, and in all.’²⁰ Many women far more accomplished than I have entered Carmel and flourished, even if they never played again. One has only to think of Elizabeth of the Trinity. A total renunciation has its own attraction as a particularly stark way of living the austerity and poverty of the Order.

On the other hand, music can bring joy and brightness into our lives, encouraging us to give ourselves wholeheartedly. It has been a great gift to me that an excellent oboist joined the community eighteen months before me; being able to play together has encouraged us to keep up our skills as far as the constraints of the life have allowed. Another great gift has been the beautiful organ we were given for the church when I had been here about ten years. As well as lending beauty and solemnity to our liturgy, it makes it possible to play a wide range of music, including Bach’s organ works which unfailingly raise the soul to God. Another valuable quality of music is that it can unite people, particularly through singing together, but also through playing or listening together. Music can therefore play a very positive role in the life of a religious community. Enabling it to do so is not necessarily an easier path to travel: it brings its own discipline and purification, and its own experience of poverty – the poverty of lack of time, lack of freedom to play when one wishes or not to play when one doesn’t, loss of former proficiency, and so on. Above all, each one of us is called to lay any gifts we may have along with our whole self on the altar, to be used or not as God wills.

‘One equal music’

Regardless of how much or how little ‘non-silent music’ a community may incorporate into its life, music in the broadest sense will always have a place in the spiritual life. Plato taught that music was akin to the soul,²¹ and the Catholic composer Sir James MacMillan has called music ‘the most spiritual of the arts’. Sacrosanctum Concilium affirms that the Church’s musical tradition ‘is a treasure of inestimable value, greater even than that of any other art.’²² Music provides us with a language for speaking about spiritual realities as well as a means of experiencing them, and the language of mysticism frequently has recourse to musical imagery. I will close with the beautiful words of John Donne, speaking of the Last Things:

‘And into that gate they shall enter, and in that house they shall dwell, where there shall be no Cloud or Sun, no darkenesse nor dazling, but one equall light, no noyse nor silence, but one equall musick.’²³

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1. Gen. 2:7. ↩︎
2. Eph. 1:12, 14. ↩︎
3. An ancient aphorism attributed to St Augustine, who says something akin to it in Enarrationes in Psalmos, 72.1. ↩︎
4. Eph. 5:19; cf. Col. 3:16. ↩︎
5. See, e.g., psalms 95, 96, 98, 100, 149 (Hebrew numbering). ↩︎
6. Confessions, ix.6, transl. F.J. Sheed (London, 1944), p. 151. ↩︎
7. Ibid. x.33, p. 195. ↩︎
8. Ibid. x.33, p. 194. ↩︎
9. Primitive Constitutions, 3. ↩︎
10. Interior Castle, iv.1.7. ↩︎
11. See, e.g., Life of the Venerable Anne of Jesus by a Sister of Notre Dame de Namur (London, 1932), pp. 41 and 88. Anne of Jesus herself was so affected by the singing of a novice in Dijon that she ‘led the whole community to the chapel. There, like David before the ark, the venerable Mother executed a kind of religious dance, singing and clapping her hands in Spanish fashion, but with so much dignity and devotion that all present were deeply edified’ (p. 210). ↩︎
12. See, e.g., Crisógono de Jesús, The Life of St John of the Cross (London, 1958), p. 160. ↩︎
13. Sacrosanctum Concilium, 113; see also 99, and cf. Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1156-8. ↩︎
14. Constitutions of the Discalced Nuns of the Order of the Blessed Virgin Mary of Mount Carmel (Rome, 1991), 74. ↩︎
15. Gaudium et spes, 53. ↩︎
16. Ibid. 57. ↩︎
17. ‘Gloria enim Dei vivens homo: vita autem hominis visio Dei’ (Adversus Haereses, iv.20.7). ↩︎
18. See St John of the Cross’ commentary on The Spiritual Canticle (CB): 14&15.26. ↩︎
19. Romans 12:6. ↩︎
20. Col. 2:3, 3:11. ↩︎
21. E.g. Timaeus, 47d: ‘Harmony… has motions akin to the revolutions of our souls’ and is granted to us ‘to correct any discord which may have arisen in the courses of the soul, and to be our ally in bringing her into harmony and agreement with herself’ (The Collected Dialogues of Plato, ed. E. Hamilton and H. Cairns (Princeton, 1963), p. 1175). ↩︎
22. Sacrosanctum Concilium, 112. ↩︎
23. Sermon viii.7 (in One Equall Light: an Anthology of the Writings of John Donne, compiled and edited by John Moses (Cambridge, 2003), p. 316. ↩︎