Requiem

Just a little over a year ago I had the opportunity to attend an All Souls' Day mass at which Mozart's Requiem was performed. I went with a friend and his father, and needless to say, we were all excited. I had never heard the piece before, myself. This event is one that has shaped and continues to shape my life, both musically and spiritually, and has been the driving force behind much of my musical theology and philosophy.

We arrived at the church early and found our seat in a row of pews in the left side of the church, towards the back. I was excited for two reasons. First, this was (and is) my favorite church in the United States, due to its extremely traditional nature and excellent priests, as well as the sheer beauty of the church itself, which is well over one-hundred years old, and second, because I had never heard this wonderful masterwork. One of the advantages of being a convert to classical music is that even at this age, there are many masterworks that I have not yet experienced.

My friend's father had brought along a score. I eagerly looked through it in anticipation of the beginning of the performance. The bell rang, the music began, and the priests and the myriad of altar boys began their long procession to the altar, slow and perfectly reverent, in time with the steady and solemn beat of the music. Immediately my heart sank. I felt as if I had been caught in the act of committing some terrible crime. I set the score down and stood. God had suddenly nudged me: This is not a performance, this is a mass.

My primary reason and joy in being there up to that point had been solely the music. In my excitement I had forgotten what this truly was, a solemnity of all souls, with an emphasis on those who have died and are waiting patiently, being cleansed before their entrance into Beatitude. One of the most interesting things was that after this point, the music did not detract from my being able to participate fully in the mass as one might expect, on the contrary, it added to and complimented the mass. The opening notes perfectly set the atmosphere for such a solemn occasion. Mozart embodied the ideas of an earthy death, the souls awaiting heaven in purgatory, and this transient life that we are enduring and must endure for our earthly lives, all within the first few measures.

God spoke to me through everything. All of a sudden the very church itself took on an air of a solemness and seriousness. Everything suddenly became perfectly reverent. I then understood the value and role of music within a mass. The Sacrifice of the Mass is the primary focus and the music is there simply to aid in portraying the ideas within the mass. I realized that this mass would have been just as wonderful had there been no music at all. The music was there only as a compliment, to further describe the solemnity and point people towards what was happening at the altar, not what was happening in the choir loft.

For those of you who live in Minnesota, the church is St. Agnes in St. Paul. Every year for All Souls' Day, a professional choir and professional ensemble from the Twin Cities performs Mozart's Requiem during the mass. I strongly recommend anyone who is able to attend to do so. You will never once in your life regret it.

May all glory and honor be to God, always, and in all places!