The Sound of Sacred Silence, Part 1
Editor’s Note: This week and next week, we are blessed to feature a two-part piece by on the role of silence in the Mass. Gregorian Chant plays a key role in this, thus perfectly fitting the charism of Heavenly Chant. We hope you enjoy Michelle’s posts this week and next!
Have you ever noticed the sound of sacred silence before Mass? Kneeling or sitting in the near-empty church, you become aware of shuffling footsteps as another worshiper enters, a pew creaking as they take their place. Candles silently glow below statues of the Holy Family and the Sacred Heart, reminding you of your own petitions and those of others. Your heart lifts in prayer for all the intentions represented. The red sanctuary light reassuringly welcomes you into the presence of the Lord reposing in the tabernacle, surrounded by tall candles yet unlit. As you contemplate the angels represented in the beautiful mural which surrounds the crucifix, you consider the reality that they indicate—the choirs of angels who are continually worshiping around the throne of God—and realize that you are about to join your worship to theirs through the celebration of Holy Mass. Altar servers enter to prepare the sanctuary, reverently genuflecting each time they pass before the Lord in the tabernacle. You watch with curious, amused interest as one of the candles stubbornly refuses to light, and you rejoice internally as it finally submits to the young man’s persistent persuasion. From outside you detect the distant sound of parishioners greeting one another as they approach from the street, quieting as they enter the church. It is the sound of reverent gathering as you leave behind for a time the noise of the world and enter into the hushed atmosphere of worship. Deeply, joyfully, the tower bells begin to ring. Mass will soon begin.
Roused from your silent reverie by the tinkle of a small bell, you rise to join in the opening hymn. Moved by the beauty of the procession, you hear the song give way to the mysterious chanting of the entrance antiphon as the priest incenses the altar. The last notes of the chant float away. In the stillness that follows you listen expectantly for Father's familiar voice. Recollecting yourself, you remember that you are a sinner standing before the throne of mercy. The plaintive Kyrie, eleison, immediately followed by the exuberant Gloria in excelsis Deo, give voice to the collective prayer of the Church and that of your own heart. Again, you pause in silence to offer yourself and your intentions, and you listen as Father collects your unvoiced petitions with those of everyone gathered and offers them to the Lord who always hears the prayers of His children. The pews creak as you sit in quiet anticipation of the Word soon to be proclaimed.
In the moment of silence that follows the Collect, you sit and prepare to listen to the proclamation of the Word. While the first reader reverently approaches the ambo, you open your missalette to follow along with the day’s readings. As the ancient words are read, you listen in the quiet of the church for the still, small voice of the Holy Spirit. Gentle music emanates from the choir loft as the psalm guides your heart to internalize the message being proclaimed. The music fades, and silence enters the room again as the lector climbs the stairs, allowing the psalm to echo in your soul. During the next reading your mind begins to wander to more mundane matters, so you gently redirect your thoughts to focus on the words. Soon the Alleluia calls you to rejoice, and you stand to offer your prayers of thanksgiving as the incense rises in the sanctuary. You listen with renewed attention to the proclamation of these most holy words. In the silence after the homily, you wait on the voice of the Lord resonating in your spirit, allowing what you have heard to penetrate the circumstances of your own life and opening your heart to respond to the movement of the Holy Spirit.
The brief, listening stillness after the homily culminates in your response, “Credo, I believe.” Thoughtfully, you ponder the petitions offered by the deacon on behalf of the poor, the sick, and the needy in the world and in the Church. You silently add your own needs to those spoken. “Lord, hear our prayer.” The offertory chant begins to float above your head, directing your attention toward the altar as the servers, deacon, and priest prepare for the sacrifice of the Mass. They move with practiced grace, soundlessly arranging each element with care. While Father comes forward to receive the gifts from the people, you interiorly offer yourself and all that you have in union with this symbolic act. Each movement of the priest perfectly orchestrated, he arranges the bread, pours the wine, and adds a drop of water to the chalice. The schola begins to shape the silence with mysterious music, drawing you toward the great romance soon to be enacted on the altar. As you contemplate this mystery, your desire stirs, opening your soul to be infused with His divine life.
The music rises and fades with the ascending smoke as the celebrant incenses the altar. The silence enters your soul, inviting you into the mystery now being re-presented. Your breathing becomes slow and steady. Your attention is wholly on the altar, on the sacred vessels holding the bread and wine. Father’s voice wafts in and out of your consciousness, “... that what they profess with devotion and faith may be theirs through these heavenly mysteries ...” Your heart expands with hope; these heavenly mysteries are meant for you. “... He stretched out his hands as he endured his Passion ...” All your own sufferings and pains become His in this moment, and you realize anew that He always carries them with you. “... and so, with the Angels and all the Saints we declare your glory ...” Your voice becomes one with the choir and congregation as you reverently proclaim, “Sanctus, sanctus ... heaven and earth are full of your glory ... hosanna in excelsis.”
Please stay tuned for part 2 of Michelle’s post next Wednesday!
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