Against Liturgical Chaos

In the early centuries of the Russian Orthodox Church, there arose a wild phenomenon called mnogoglasie, which was an attempt to shorten services without making cuts by having multiple portions of a service (especially a Vigil) take place simultaneously. This obviously created utter chaos; how could it not, with Psalms, Canons, stichera and clergy prayers all happening at once? Fortunately, the Stoglav Council of 1551 put an end to this, at least on paper; it took about a century longer for mnogoglasie to fully disappear. Glory to God, we've never looked back.

There is another, much more subtle, form of liturgical chaos that's rearing its head with increasing frequency, especially in America: lack of musical cohesion. It's rarely discussed, and when it is, it's usually in reference to musical and aesthetic concerns, rather than the extreme spiritual danger this practice presents.

What do I mean by "lack of musical cohesion"? I'm not talking about, for example, combining Obikhod tones with Kievan, or using podoben melodies for certain hymns. Rather, I mean the unwise practice of juxtaposing vastly different musical traditions — Russian chant, Georgian chant, Byzantine chant, modern American free compositions — in a single service. This is not to say that any style is better than the others; all may be used appropriately in Orthodox worship! However, shoehorning them into close proximity is...well, it's just a bad idea, if you ask me (and you didn't ask me, but you're reading my blog, so...).

To understand this problem more fully, we must examine two prongs: the role of the choir in Orthodox liturgical services, and the role of music in a given culture. Let's begin with the second one.

All cultures have at least one musical tradition, which encompasses the role of music in society and defines its typical aural models, as well as how those various models are used to convey specific ideas and emotions. For example, a piece of Russian music intended to express grief would indubitably sound quite different than if it were written in India — so much so, in fact, that members of those respective cultures might be unable to discern the concept of "grief" in each other's respective musical styles. In fact, the differences between certain musical traditions occur at a fundamental level: the intervallic relationships between pitches. Ever heard a piece of music from the Middle East that sounded really out of tune? It probably wasn't. In reality, Middle Eastern music has a plethora of pitches that simply do not exist in most western music; consequently, to our western ears, this music may sound "wrong." This is why the Orthodox Churches have diverse musical traditions: so that our hymnography (which contains all of our theology) can pass into the souls, hearts and minds of the praying faithful, assisted by music rather than hampered by it.

This brings us to the second prong: the role of liturgical singing in Orthodoxy. Music is a theological vehicle, not the "star of the show." Like everything in our worship, this vehicle should be as beautiful as possible — spiritually beautiful, which has little to do with the performance of secular music (or even with the music of other Christian traditions). It must be sung by sincere Orthodox Christians; it must not be performative, operatic, dramatic or egocentric. It should assist the faithful who stand in the temple praying (or wanting to pray, or wanting to want to pray), not rip them away from prayer.

We accomplish this in several ways: by singing with clear diction, taking reasonable tempi and avoiding anything that calls attention to the singing and the singers. One way we avoid drawing this inappropriate attention should be to maintain a consistent musical style throughout each service (not necessarily in every service, but rather from the beginning to the end of a single service, whatever it may be). Imagine what shock the faithful would experience if, during the Liturgy of the Presanctified Gifts, the choir began with Obikhod tones through the Prokeimena, and suddenly switched to a micro-tonal Byzantine rendition of "Let My Prayer Arise." Even if the Byzantine piece was sung superbly, such a drastic change in aesthetic would make uninterrupted prayer almost impossible — and most of us struggle with that enough as it is.

There is, however, one possible exception to the aforementioned points: the singing of various arrangements of "Christ is Risen" on Pascha, and during the paschal season. Combining diverse versions of this hymn underscores the universality of the Resurrection; particularly in pan-Orthodox parishes, this is also an excellent way to acknowledge the different cultures present in a single church family. HOWEVER, this doesn't mean sprinkling these arrangements around willy-nilly! I can't get behind that, especially on Pascha itself, because this makes things unnecessarily complicated for exhausted singers who have just come through Holy Week and are now raising the roof at 1 AM. It doesn't matter if all the sheet music is familiar to the singers; it's an unnecessary complication that requires the director (who, I assure you, has enough to do!) to communicate what arrangement the singers should turn to, and possibly have to visually verify that everyone's on the proper page. No thank you. Save the fanciness for after the dismissal and sing those funky arrangements during the veneration. I promise that none of the faithful will rage because you used the same simple version, or perhaps two if you're feeling adventurous, during the Paschal Divine Liturgy. Trust and believe, you can make up for that after the service, when it's okay to have a few seconds of silence between arrangements.