Christ is Born! Glorify Him!
“When the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons.”
An unusual and touching illumination of the Nativity from Besancon Book of Hours — a 15th C prayer book of French provenance — depicts Mary studying the Scriptures as Joseph tends to the baby Jesus. Mary is frequently (and rightly!) depicted as a contemplative in medieval art: she as one who “pondered all these things in her heart,” (Lk 2:19) who “heard the word of God” and not only did it (Lk 11:28), but received it with the joy that said, “Be it unto me according to your word” (Lk 1:38); she who was present from the birth of Christ to his Crucifixion, and again among the Disciples at the coming of the Spirit at Pentecost (Acts 1:14); whose soul magnifies the Lord, and who understood the upside-downing mystery of the Gospel even as the Christ child was growing in her womb (cf. Lk 1:46f).
As contemplative, Mary is frequently depicted with an open book at the Annunciation — as though the word of the angel interrupted her prayers — or as a child, praying in the Temple, as one who (according to legend) was consecrated to the Lord at an early age. In the presence of Christ at the Nativity and afterward, however, her contemplative gaze typically shifts from the written Word to the Word Incarnate: her eyes are on Jesus, her son and her God.
Here, the object of contemplation is twofold, both written and incarnate: Mary is present to the former (incidentally, along with the ox, who is adorned with the bell as symbolic of the proclamation of the Gospel), and Joseph (along with the donkey, symbolic of the flesh) attends to the latter. Meanwhile, Mary is adorned in the red of fiery divinity, while Joseph is clothed in the blue of humanity. This message is nothing so quotidian as that men should help out with the childcare more so that women can attend to the higher things in their turn (although to be sure, this is also a good word), but that the first and richest contemplation of Christ is as he is intellectually revealed in his Word, but concurrently and coequally, he comes to us clothed in humanity for our humanity, to be received enfleshed and sacramentally to initiate and unite us to the selfsame mystery of our salvation.
For Zion's sake I will not keep silent, and for Jerusalem's sake I will not be quiet, until her righteousness goes forth as brightness, and her salvation as a burning torch.
—The Prophet Isaiah (Isaiah 62:1)
Sunday after Christmas
Texts for this Week
Prayer
Almighty God, you have poured upon us the new light of your incarnate Word: Grant that this light, kindled in our hearts, may shine forth in our lives; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.
O Magnum Mysterium
The King’s College Choir sings Morten Lauridsen arrangement of the old Christmas Matins responsory, O Magnum Mysterium, in something akin to its natural liturgical habitat — as the processional introit for a solemn office of Christmas. The text, translated, reads:
O great mystery, and wonderful sacrament, that animals should see the newborn Lord, lying in a manger!
Blessed is the virgin whose womb was worthy to bear the Lord, Jesus Christ. Alleluia!
The text is of its own delicious and contemplative; even in Gregorian plainsong, its radiant depth can hardly be concealed. Many arrangements of the text exist in the Renaissance repertoire, among them Victoria (16th C Spain) and his earlier contemporary, de Morales, Byrd (17th C England), Clemens non Papa (16th C Dutch). Among more recent arrangements, the Basque composer Javier Busto has painted the text with a sort of glossolalia effect; Ola Gjeilo offers a rich and melancholic interpretation with choir that almost sounds Lord of the Rings-ish, and the Norwegian composer Marcus Paus for choir with marimba.
Despite this proliferation of arrangements, however, Lauridsen remains the choral standard, a major part of the repertoire for Christmas concerts, and probably the inspiration for many of the subsequent arrangements (his being published in ‘94). Laurisden’s arrangement positively shimmers: adding to the text a profound combination of warmth and depth and spaciousness. In an article containing his own reflections on the piece, Lauridsen shares how he was inspired by a 1633 painting by Francisco de Zurbarán, “Still Life with Lemons, Oranges, and a Rose.”
For "O Magnum Mysterium," I wanted to create, as Zurbarán had in paint, a deeply felt religious statement, at once uncomplicated and unadorned yet powerful and transformative in its effect upon the listener.
It is important to pause and note what Zurbarán is doing in the Baroque symbolism of his still life: an artist known mostly for his paintings of ascetics, angels, saints and the life of Christ, this canvas is a symbolic of the Virgin Mary. The table is a sort of altar. The rose and cup of water symbolize her purity and love. The lemons and oranges, interspersed with blossoms, are a symbol of the renewal of life; of abundance and fecundity. The detailed and luminous objects upon it are set off in sharp contrast to the blurry and shadowy surroundings.
Lauridsen continues,
I also wanted to convey a sense of the text's long history and theological importance by referencing the constant purity of sacred music found in High Renaissance polyphony, especially in works by Josquin des Prez and Palestrina. The harmonic palette I chose, therefore, is simpler and direct; the complex chords abounding in my "Madrigali" and "Canciones" are nowhere to be found here. Further, both the musical themes and phrase shapes in "O Magnum Mysterium" have their roots in Gregorian chant, with a constant metric flow and ebb.
The piece seems to float, to hover in the air, due to a predominant use of inverted chords, recalling the Renaissance practice of fauxbourdon. Inclusion of the "Alleluia" descant over sustained pedal tones references yet another characteristic of the era, and dynamics throughout are subdued, contributing to the aura of meditation and prayer.
The most challenging part of this piece for me was the second line of text having to do with the Virgin Mary. She above all was chosen to bear the Christ child and then she endured the horror and sorrow of his death on the cross. How can her significance and suffering be portrayed musically?
After exploring several paths, I decided to depict this by a single note. On the word "Virgo," the altos sing a dissonant appoggiatura G-sharp. It's the only tone in the entire work that is foreign to the main key of D. That note stands out against a consonant backdrop as if a sonic light has suddenly been focused upon it, edifying its meaning. It is the most important note in the piece.
Hodie, Christus Natus Est — Today Christ is Born
In the old Gregorian ordo, the Hodie serves as the antiphon of the Magnificat on the Vespers of Christmas Day:
Today is Christ born
today the Savior has appeared;
today the Angels sing,
the Archangels rejoice;
today the righteous rejoice, saying:
Glory to God in the highest. Alleluia!
The repetition of hodie stresses the immediacy of the feast: the distance between here and now and that manger in Bethlehem is collapsed by the festal anamnesis: TODAY Christ is born: TODAY the Savior has appeared, etc.
The rich, original Gregorian melody is haunting in its simplicity and famous in its own “rite,” but featured here is a video of the especially moving is a polyphonic arrangement from the Dutch Renaissance composer, Jan Pieterszoon Sweelinck. (The performing group — interestingly — is not an ensemble, but a quintet of YouTube singers, who formed an ad hoc virtual choir before it was cool.)
