Beautiful churches such as Notre-Dame in Paris, the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, or St. Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City capture our attention in ways that few things can. The sheer size of these structures inspires us, lifting our gazes heavenward. The artwork, altarpieces, furnishings, murals, and other appointments stun with their complexity, radiant beauty, and artistic majesty. The cultural significance of these structures is clear, as seen in the case of Notre-Dame, which suffered a fire in 2019 followed by a process of reconstruction that fascinated a global audience. These buildings stand as monuments of culture and religion, testaments to the ingenuity and hard work of our forebears in the faith. But for the universal Church, which possesses arguably the vastest array of artistic works in the world, you might be surprised to know that these aren’t its crowning jewel of art.
That great privilege belongs to the Church’s treasury of sacred music, as affirmed by the Fathers of the Second Vatican Council in the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy: “The musical tradition of the universal Church is a treasure of inestimable value, greater even than that of any other art. The main reason for this pre-eminence is that, as sacred song united to the words, it forms a necessary or integral part of the solemn liturgy” (Sacrosanctum Concilium (SC), 112). The constitution further notes: “The treasury of sacred music is to be preserved and fostered with great care” (SC, 114) and “The Church acknowledges Gregorian chant as specially suited to the Roman liturgy: therefore… it should be given pride of place in liturgical services” (SC, 116).
Those are bold words, and they are challenging for most of us to hear. Perhaps your local parish treats music in the liturgy with this great reverence, but we all know even anecdotally that, since the close of the council, this is largely not the case. There are many explanations put forward, and Robert Cardinal Sarah and Peter Carter, in their new book The Song of the Lamb: Sacred Music and the Heavenly Liturgy, explore several themes related to this question—the true nature and purpose of the liturgy, authentic qualities of sacred music, how to correctly understand participation, universality, silence, and Latin—to name just a few. Cardinal Sarah and Carter are both convinced of the claims of the Second Vatican Council regarding Gregorian chant and the Church’s precious treasury of sacred music. Throughout the book, they return time and again to these claims and how Gregorian chant embodies the qualities we must rediscover in order to renew the liturgy, and in turn, the whole Church.
“Without Sunday, We Cannot Live”
Early in the book, many of the questions center around the purpose and nature of the liturgy, of sacred music, and why these various topics are so important. Cardinal Sarah defines the liturgy as “the work of the Most Holy Trinity enacted for the People of God, the Church” (27). This shows us that, in the liturgy, we aren’t simply dealing with human affairs but rather with heavenly ones. To further the point, Cardinal Sarah quotes the 49 martyrs of Abitene, who were killed for gathering illegally for worship in the early fourth century. Why would the early Christians have risked death simply to gather for the Sunday Eucharist? “Sine dominico non possumus—Without Sunday, we cannot live” (32). Questions about form, language, and the appropriateness of certain kinds of music over others take on far richer significance when the conversation is elevated from opinion on merely human activity to that which manifests, reveals, and brings us into contact with the divine realities of our faith.
Later, Carter asks which principles guide how we ought to think about music in the liturgy. Cardinal Sarah references Pope St. Pius X’s landmark motu proprio, Tra le Sollecitudini from 1903, the period of the nascent liturgical movement (39). The first two qualities of sacred music are sanctity and goodness of form, and together these produce the third: universality (39). Pius X holds these qualities as proper to the liturgy itself, which shows that everything about the liturgy must in some way take God as its starting point, instead of our human experience.
The discussion then moves to a very practical and familiar level. Those who feel as if they are the only ones in their parish who love Gregorian chant will greatly appreciate Cardinal Sarah’s wisdom here. What are we to do with all the popular music that people desire—much of the folk and praise and worship music of the last 60-plus years? “First, it is important to recognize that not everything that makes us feel good is suitable for worship” (47). Cardinal Sarah rightly points out that certain things can dispose us toward prayer while other things simply don’t. Gregorian chant developed within the heart of the Church for no other purpose than worship of God, and if the liturgy is God’s work for us, then we must seek that music which can bear the weight of divinity. This is where humility—a constant theme throughout the book—comes into play. We must be willing to examine our hearts and honestly assess our own motivations and preferences. Humility is the key to accomplishing this.
Make Disciples of All Nations
When Jesus gave his disciples the Great Commission, he told them to baptize all people “in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 28:19). This call has been handed down in the context of the liturgy, and despite differences in baptismal formulas between the Eastern and Western Church, the imperative to proclaim and then baptize is universal and codified, as the liturgy itself is. While it might seem intuitive to consider sacramental formulas in this way, since music is integral to the liturgy, it too must be universal in character. Other aspects of the liturgy also ought to follow suit—such as architecture, vestments, and language. These received and universal traits remind us of the divine primacy. All that we have is ultimately a gift from God. We do not create ourselves but receive life itself as gift. Even Christ himself, in his incarnation, took flesh from his mother. This model of receptivity preceding our response is precisely our model for life, discipleship, and worship.
When we view the liturgy in the same way, we begin to understand how Gregorian chant, the Latin language, and the role of the church choir as a fulfillment of the choir of the Levites allow us to enter more deeply into the Church’s liturgical worship (207). We cannot approach God if our heart’s disposition is to do it “my way.” Receiving a universal heritage of liturgical worship, embodied in the treasure of Gregorian chant, is like a tree that stays connected to its roots. Cutting ourselves off from our roots can only cause us to die (60).
Sing from the Heart
One of the final central topics the authors cover is correctly understanding participation. “Active participation” has been something of a buzzword since Vatican II, but unfortunately, a shallow and incomplete way of understanding it has often prevailed. Cardinal Sarah eloquently states: “Actual participation means entering deeply, with faith and loving presence, into the sacred mystery being celebrated” (77). Activity, or “doing something,” has been the prevailing understanding for several decades now. But here, Cardinal Sarah insists that, through faith, a “silent, loving presence” like that of the Blessed Virgin Mary or St. John, is just as valid a form of participation as singing vocally or doing the gestures (77). It is good for our actions to express our inner dispositions, but it’s not good enough to simply do the right things without attending to our hearts. Here we begin to understand the primacy of internal participation as a fruit of real faith which must precede and inform all external participation.
This emphasis on engagement of the heart through internal participation allows us to see how many different aspects of the Church’s liturgical tradition remain valid today. Latin holds its place as a sacred, universal language and can be used even when the intellect doesn’t immediately comprehend what is being said. One can assent in faith to the Church’s universal prayer. And when intellectual comprehension is present, we can listen attentively to the priest as he prays the Eucharistic Prayer or meditate as the choir offers chants to God on our behalf. We are reminded again that the wider tradition of the Church goes much deeper than our own limited experiences.
One of the longest chapters in the book deals with the topic of liturgical inculturation, which has been particularly emphasized since the Second Vatican Council. It seems to be an unspoken assumption that inculturation is necessary to unlock the full power of the liturgy by clothing it, so to speak, in expressions recognizable to modern people. But inculturation done wrong hinders our true participation instead of helping it. The universal character of the liturgy means that true inculturation “is God descending and entering into the life, the moral conduct, the cultures and customs of men so as to free them from sin and introduce them into the Trinitarian life” (127). It’s not simply clothing the liturgy with a layer of whichever local culture or cultures happen to be present; rather, “The cultural adaptations that the Church allows should serve to illuminate the universal truths of the faith, not obscure them” (117). We must ultimately discern well which local elements can be suitably taken up into the universal and unifying power of a common faith, lest we risk putting ourselves and our personal preferences at the center of the liturgy. The content of liturgical worship is Christ’s sacrifice at Calvary (131). Anything which obscures that reality must be rejected even if it is claimed to help a particular group of Christians. We profess one common faith in the liturgy, and more distinct cultural elements belong properly in the devotional life to help a more robust and integrated living of the faith.
The Primacy of Prayer
The Song of the Lamb is not a research-level contribution to the discussion but is a much-needed pastoral conversation. Both authors have a deep love for the Church and her liturgical traditions; both men long to see the perennial teachings on sacred music—solemnly affirmed continuously before, during, and after Vatican II—fulfilled in every parish, big or small; and both men remain committed to charitably explaining what the Church says on the matter while encouraging us to keep pursuing renewal at every level of the Church. This book is like a sacred music retreat in writing. Readers will come away more on fire with love for the liturgy, for Gregorian chant, for the longstanding tradition of the Church on things like Latin or the proper hierarchical roles in the liturgy, and for the heavenly realities made known to us through liturgical worship.
Cardinal Sarah says: “Bishops and priests should recognize that sacred music is not an optional luxury or expense, but a necessity for the Church to fulfill her mission of worship and evangelization…” (233). Additionally, our duty to form musicians for the liturgy is “essential to the liturgical life and pastoral care of a parish. We have a solemn duty to provide for the worthy worship of almighty God and to nurture the gifts He has bestowed upon those called to serve Him through music” (234).
Therefore, bishops, priests, deacons, liturgy directors, choirmasters, music ministers, and even parishioners with no liturgical responsibilities would benefit from the pastoral wisdom and reflections contained in this book. Carter raises many commonplace questions and assumptions while Cardinal Sarah always goes deeper to the heart of the matter. While not a practical manual for renewal, if read with an open heart, it is like a mountaintop experience that inspires one to search for the necessary tools for reform.
Peter Carter and Cardinal Sarah have delivered engaging and edifying conversations on a wide range of perennially relevant topics. These conversations—which feed the soul, fan the flames of inspiration, and draw readers into deeper liturgical participation—are the fruit of this book. The overall focus remains, at times, disjointed, but with a topic so vast, one either focuses on one thing or casts a wide net. If you love the liturgy or spend your time working or volunteering in the liturgical apostolate, this book deserves a place on your shelf. It may lead you to ask more questions, or it may simply delight your soul. Either way, The Song of the Lamb: Sacred Music and the Heavenly Liturgy will remind you that “If we believe in the primacy of prayer, then we must let this show forth in our actions” (185).
