copyright Tatiana Harrison 2005
(NOTE: Each passage from the Bible has been taken from the King James edition. The translation of The Confessions of St. Augustine I have used is by Rex Warner and was published by Mentor in 1963.)
The effect of putting music to words can vary depending on the interpretation of the words by the composer. Superfluous tones, rhythms, and harmonies do not exist in the way superfluous words do. Every musical moment has its own effect that is related in some way to the words it accompanies. When the tones appear to have nothing to do with the words, we still hear the connection between the words and the tones. This connection has an effect not only on the way the music is heard, but also on the way the words are heard. When the words the music accompanies are words of prayer, the effect of the music on the words should mirror the function of prayer. To help us understand how this effect can occur in music, we will briefly discuss Palestrina's Offertorium from his "Missa pro defunctis", Faure's Offertorium, and we will examine Mozart's Domine Jesu from his "Requiem." Before we can discuss the desired effect of music on words in prayer, we must discover the function of prayer.
Since prayer is a form of communication between a person and God, we might want to compare it to a conversation between two people. If, however, we assumed that the functions of prayer and conversation were the same, we would be making a mistake. First, the function of most conversation seems to be the sharing of knowledge between people who can learn from each other. While we can learn an infinite amount from God, there is nothing he can learn from us. The function must therefore be different. In The Confessions, Augustine asks: "... is it rather the case that we should pray to you in order that we may come to know you?" (I. 1) The problem is that in order to pray we must have some knowledge of God. This problem is easily solved, however, if we say that the function of prayer is to know God better.
Like most actions, prayer needs to be defined not only by its function, but also by what is actually being done by the one praying. Augustine originally postulates that prayer is a way of calling God into oneself: "When I pray to Him, I call Him into myself" (I. 2). Augustine's objection to his statement is that he did not understand how God could be called into someone who He is in already. More than merely calling God into oneself, prayer seems to be a way of opening oneself to God. Yet how can we open ourselves to God when He is already within us? The difference between the two ideas of prayer may be the one who does the actions. In Augustine's version, God is being asked to enter Augustine. In the proposed version, we are opening ourselves to God. But the question of what prayer is still stands, for what does it mean to open oneself to God?
If God truly exists everywhere, as Augustine claims, He would certainly exist within us. As existing within us, there could be nothing hidden from Him. Usually opening oneself to someone means a revealing of something unknown, a confession to one who does not know. Clearly, opening oneself to God cannot mean this, as He already knows all: "For your Father knoweth what things ye have need of before ye ask him" (Matthew 6:14). The opening cannot be an opening to receive God within us since, as Augustine said, if God were not within us, we could not exist. It could, however, mean that when we are opening ourselves to God, we are not allowing Him to enter into us, but rather allowing ourselves to accept that He is already there. In this way we are opening ourselves to Him because we are accepting His presence already within us. This is the first step to knowing God better. By opening ourselves to God, we are making ourselves more accessible to God’s will since the first step in listening to someone is to accept that they are truly there.
How does this opening occur? Prayer seems to exist in two basic forms: one of questions and statements, and one of statements alone. An example of the first is:
Hear my cry, O God; attend unto my prayer. From the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
Psalm 74, King James Bible
When prayer takes the form of statements only, it takes that form in at least two ways: statements of faith, and statements of desire. When it takes the form of statements of faith, it becomes praise, and the opening of oneself to God occurs through this. When prayer takes the form of statements of desire, the opening occurs through the admittance that we, as people, have desires. It still acts as a form of praise as well because when we admit our desires to God, we are putting our needs and our desires into His hands from our own. We are accepting Him as God, and accepting that we are not.
Prayer, when it takes the form of questions and statements, is a different type of opening than the opening that occurs through statements alone. The question and statement form of prayer, like the form of prayer that expresses desires, admits a weakness to God. We are admitting that we do not know everything, and, at the same time, we are accepting that God does know everything. We are sharing part of who we are as mortal, human beings with God. At the same time, a prayer cannot consist of nothing but questions, and for this reason: when we pray, we believe in something, even if it is only that God could exist. During the prayer, we inherently fall back upon what we believe. Psalm 22 is an example of this:
My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring? O my God, I cry in the daytime, but thou hearest not; and in the night season, and am not silent. But thou art holy, O thou that inhabitest the praises of Israel. Our fathers trusted in thee: they trusted, and thou didst deliver them. They cried unto thee, and were delivered: they trusted in thee, and were not confounded.
Psalm 22, King James Bible
Here David begins with a question and almost immediately falls back on what he believes. This type of prayer is more of a sharing-with-God than a praising-of-God. It is more intimate than the statement type of prayer because we are sharing who we are with our Creator. We are admitting that there are questions we cannot answer on our own and that we need His help. As such, it takes the form of both a sharing-with-God and a praising-of-God, though the praising-of-God happens indirectly through our admittance of our weakness and our acceptance of His strength.
How this opening of soul can occur has already been discussed. But what is the best way to pray to achieve this opening? Within the basic types of prayer, there are different ways to pray. For example, we can pray in private, at church, and through song:
But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly. But when ye pray, use not vain repetitions, as the heathens do, for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking.
Matthew 6:6-13, King James Bible
The interesting detail in this passage is that it is followed directly by the Lord's Prayer. We might think Jesus contradicts himself here since, if we only pray with the Lord's Prayer, it could be considered a repetition. Jesus, however, does not seem to be against repetitions, but against praying without thought. If He were against repetitions, he would not use the word "vain". The point He seems to be making is that when we pray, we should involve every aspect of ourselves in it. We should not only speak the words, but think them. We should not only think the words, but believe them:
For if I pray in an unknown tongue, my spirit prayeth, but my understanding is unfruitful. What is it then? I will pray with the spirit, and I will pray with the understanding also: I will sing with the spirit, and I will sing with the understanding also.
1 Corinthians 14:14-15
We need to use every part of ourselves when we pray. Prayer should not be something we just speak, think, and believe, but something we feel as well.
One way to be certain our emotions are not left out of prayer is to put the words with which we pray to music. This is, however, inherently dangerous because music, without any words, can tug on our emotions. The danger occurs when the tugging of the music is more powerful to us than the meaning of the words in the prayer. This is the danger Augustine refers to when he states:
Nevertheless, whenever it happens to me that I am more moved by the singing than by what is sung, I confess that I am sinning grievously, and then I would prefer not to hear the music.
X. 33
While this danger of setting words to music is very real, there are benefits that can make the danger worth taking. When the music is added to the words in the right way, it can make the words have more meaning for us. Where the words have been lacking in power, suddenly we feel their true strength. The music can awaken in us feelings we did not know we had. This is its power: it makes us feel. To one who feels nothing or to one who feels too little, this power has an unimaginable value. For the music to function as a musical prayer, the emotions that are called upon must be emotions that would be felt were the prayer but spoken. The music must imitate and enhance the effect of prayer on our soul. This enhancement occurs through the emotions that are stirred seemingly by the music alone. These are emotions that would be felt during prayer if we could but feel them. This is the benefit of setting holy words to music: it allows us to pray fully, without hesitation or questioning:
But then I remember the tears I shed at the singing in church at the time when I was beginning to recover my faith; I remember that now I am moved not by the singing but by the things that are sung, when they are sung with a clear voice and correct modulation, and once again I recognize the great utility of this institution... I am inclined on the whole (though I do not regard this opinion as irrevocable) to be in favor of the practice of singing in church, so that by means of the delight in hearing the weaker minds may be roused to a feeling of devotion.
X. 33
Ultimately, it must allow us to know God better by allowing our souls to open to Him. If it does not do this, it is not functioning as a musical prayer and has become merely music with words attached.
It would be wrong to assume that all music put to words overflows with this power of emotion. Although it is true that there is no music devoid of emotion, the amount of emotion shown in the music can be controlled by the composer. Controlling the emotional level of the music is easiest when the music is not written in the major and minor modes. Instrumental accompaniment can also serve to increase the emotional level of the music. All music has emotion, but not all music has drama. The move from the medieval modes (Dorian, and Phrygian, for example) to major and minor: the strength of the raised 7, the sense of direction each and every note in the scale has -- all of these make for more expressive, more dramatic, music.
With this drama the composer must use caution. The drama must fit the drama of the prayer. Too much drama in the music can mean that the music overpowers the words. The contrast between the major and minor modes is drama. These are not just different modes, but opposite ones. Within both the major and minor modes there are factors that contribute to the sense of drama. For example, rhythm can be used very effectively to suggest agitation with a very fast, driving beat. This is especially clear when the time signature is 4/4 or 2/4. Rhythm can also be used to suggest grief, hesitation, pleading, and excitement. Chromatic tones and tense chords, such as chords that are dissonant, lend drama to the music in a very specific way: they point. Most tonal factors that increase the drama point. Other examples are: the tritone of the key, appoggiaturas, and the dynamic qualities of 2 and 7. The interesting aspect of rhythmic drama is that it does not need to point to something else: it can exist as a driving force to some unknown destination. This rhythm, however, can not exist in its fullest capacity in non-measured music because the agitation primarily comes from the connection between the rhythm and the time wave of the time signature. 4 quarter notes have very different meanings in 4/4 time than they do in 3/4 time. If there is no time signature, this agitation, this meaning of rhythm cannot function.
For example, let us compare 3 versions of the Offertorium: Palestrina’s Offertorium from his "Missa pro defunctis", Faure's Offertorium from his Requiem, and Mozart's Domine Jesu from his Requiem. Of these, we will focus primarily on Mozart's Domine Jesu because in it we find drama that does not exist in any of our other examples. Mozart's Domine Jesu writhes with fear, worry, agitation, pleading, only to stop at its end with a very dramatic shift to G Major.
The lyrics to the Offertorium are as follows:
Domine, Jesu Christe, Rex gloriae,
libera animas omnium fidelium defunctorum
de poenis inferni, et de profundo lacu:
libera eas de ore leonis,
ne absorbeat eas tartarus, ne cadant in obscurum,
sed signifer sanctus Michael
repraesentet eas in lucem sanctam,
quam olim Abrahae promisisti
et semini ejus.
Hostias et preces, tibi, Domine,
laudis offerimus;
tu suscipe pro animabus illis,
quarum hodie memoriam facimus:
fac eas, Domine, de morte transire ad vitam,
quam olim Abraham promisisti
et semini ejus.
Lord, Jesus Christ, King of glory,
deliver the souls of all the faithful
departed from the pains of hell and from the bottomless pit.
Deliver them from the lion's mouth.
Neither let them fall into darkness
nor the black abyss swallow them up.
And let St. Michael, Thy standard-bearer,
lead them into the holy light
which once Thou didst promise
to Abraham and his seed.
We offer unto Thee this sacrifice
of prayer and praise.
Receive it for those souls
whom today we commemorate.
Allow them, O Lord, to cross
from death into the life
which one Thou didst promise
to Abraham and his seed.
Mozart's Domine Jesu
The prayer starts with naming the God to Whom we are praying, and then immediately proceeds to what we are praying for. We are praying for the souls of the faithful not only to avoid hell, but also to enter heaven. The prayer, however, elaborates on what it would mean for the souls to go to hell. The words are explicit - pains of hell, bottomless pit, lion’s mouth. The prayer does not just mention hell - it describes it. The first appearance of hell in Revelations is its opening by the fifth angel:
And he [the fifth angel] opened the bottomless pit; and there arose a smoke out of the pit, as the smoke of a great furnace; and the sun and the air were darkened by reason of the smoke of the pit.
Revelations 9:2, King James Bible
This is not all that defines hell, however. It is not just the pains and the pit, it is the presence of the devil:
And he laid hold on the dragon, that old serpent, which is the Devil, and Satan, and bound him a thousand years, And cast him into the bottomless pit...
Revelations 20:2-3, King James Bible
While the devil is not here described as a dragon, he is described in another recognizable form -- that of a lion:
Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour...
1 Peter 5:7-9, King James Bible
The call upon St. Michael to lead the souls into the holy light is fitting since he was the angel that fought the devil (Revelation 12). "Quam olim Abrahae promisisti et semini ejus" is repeated twice in the prayer, but both times it refers to the same promise. God, according to the Bible, made two promises to Abraham. The first was that his seed should be as numerous as the stars. This promise does not make sense with the rest of the prayer, since the prayer is speaking of those who are dead, and not those who are, or will be, living. The second promise God made to Abraham was this:
Men and brethren, children of the stock of Abraham, and whosoever among you feareth God, to you is the word of this salvation sent.
Acts 13:25-27, King James Bible
This is the plea of the prayer: we are calling upon God to keep a promise He made.
Each musical version of this prayer calls upon different emotions. In Palestrina’s version, we are lifted to a higher state. There are no instruments, only human voices singing in counterpoint. The music is restful. The point of this music is clear: it is music with which to worship God. Everything is geared towards praising Him and glorifying Him. The song is one of beauty, of holiness. There are no tense moments, nothing to make us gasp. This song is truly an offering, a gift, made to God:
I have therefore worked out these Masses with the greatest possible care, to do honor to the worship of almighty God, to which this gift, as small as it may be, is offered and accommodated.
Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina: Pope Marcellus Mass, ed. Lewis Lockwood (New York: W. W. Norton, 1975), 22-3
It is not meant to stir emotions or please an audience. It is merely meant as a way to praise God. This song is most closely related to the type of prayer that is a statement of faith. Though the prayer itself seems to be more a statement of faith and desires, Palestrina's interpretation of it does not make one feel vulnerable. The song moves as if the composer had no doubts that all the souls of the faithful would be welcomed into heaven. This is a statement of faith. There are no moments of doubt in the song, no fear. There is only praise, worship, and rest. There is no drama.
The moment Faure's Offertorium begins, we know we are in another world. It opens with instruments playing notes that lead us somewhere. We have entered the major and minor world of prayer. The song alternates between polyphony and homophony, using polyphony in the form of a fugue beginning with "O Domine, Jesu Christe" and ending at "defunctorum." Homophony is used only when hell is being described. From the beginning, we feel longing. This longing is especially clear in the repetition of "O Domine, Jesu Christe". We feel as though we are pleading with God. This is not restful, but almost sorrowful. We are desperate, but not overwhelmingly fearful. In the middle of the prayer, at "Hostias", we relax. The music has moved from polyphony and homophony to melody with instrumental accompaniment. The instrumental accompaniment acts as a base upon which the melody resides. After the prayer has seemingly ended, we are taken back to a fugue with the subject "O Domine, Jesu Christe, Rex gloriae." The song lifts at "de poenis inferni" and we wonder why. We hear "de poenis inferni" as the first peak. This is a moment of exhilaration. We feel our soul rise at these words, and it might seem inappropriate if we did not remember that the connection between words and its music does not have to be a direct one. Clearly "de poenis inferni" is not a place where one’s soul would be lifted. The reason behind the musical lift here might be that it is a truly wondrous thing that God can save us from such sorrow. This is the lift, the moment of joy. We think that we are at the peak here, that it can not become any more beautiful. Faure proves us wrong. The "Amen" fugue is even more beautiful, even more lifting.
Unlike Palestrina's Offertorium, this music includes an element of change. We begin with an intense longing, and at the end, we feel its release. This music is most like the prayer that is both a statement of faith and a statement of desire. The words of the prayer themselves seem the most like this as well.
While Faure's version of the Offertorium introduces us to the element of drama we might find in musical prayer, it can not compare in dramatic power to Mozart's Domine Jesu. Mozart's Domine Jesu is tense, fearful, and dramatic. From the beginning, we feel the driving rhythm. The time signature is 4/4 and the rhythm is filled with eighth, sixteenth, and quarter notes. There are no wasted opportunities in this rhythm. There is no stagnancy, no rest. Everything is movement.
The piece is in G minor and can be divided into the following phrases:
1. Domine Jesu Christe, Rex gloriae, Rex gloriae!
2. libera animas omnium fidelium defunctorum
3. de poenis inferni
4. de poenis inferni, et de profundo lacu.
5. libera eas de ore leonis
6. libera eas de ore leonis
7. ne absorbeat eas tartarus, ne cadant in obscurum
8. sed signifer sanctus Michael repraesentet eas in lucem sanctam
9. quam olim Abrahae promisti et semini ejus
The first phrase, although in the key of G minor, does not sound minor. The only difference between the melodic minor scale and the major scale is the lowered 3 of the minor scale, and that is not emphasized here. The lack of emphasis of the lowered 3 allows this phrase to sound glorious, and the connection with the words here is plain: Mozart is making the music as glorious as the words. It begins piano to allow the forte of "Rex gloriae!" (King of glory) to be emphasized. This music is homophonic, with the sopranos having the melody.
In the second phrase, the music becomes polyphonic and piano with two duets between the altos and basses, and the sopranos and tenors. The word "liberas" (free) is given a feeling of pleading in the alto and bass duet by the quarter note on the syllable "li" and in the soprano and tenor duet by the dotted quarter to eighth note on the syllable "li." This is what we are asking Domine Jesu Christe for, and the pacing rhythm allows us to show our worry about what these souls might have to face if our prayer is not heard.
The pause in between this phrase and the next one allows the shock of what happens next to be absolute. In this phrase, we learn that the souls of the faithful departed have something to be saved from, and that there is some worry that not all of the faithful souls get saved. What they need to be saved from is shown, violently, in the next phrase.
The third phrase shifts into forte and, surprisingly, into B flat Major. Yet we are still haunted by the memory of the alto’s F# on the last note of the previous phrase, and so the octave jump in the soprano section is made hideous. We do not hear an octave jump; we hear the jump of a 9th. The soprano line takes the form of the melody in this section, highlighting the ferocity of the idea of the pains in hell even more. The soprano line jumps downward to the F from the D through falls of thirds and a final fall of a perfect fourth. The other 3 lines move in stepwise motion to contrast with the sopranos' falls. To further contrast against the movement of the sopranos, the altos sing only two tones in measure 8, the tenors and the basses three.
The severity of the music in these 3 measures symbolizes the severity of the pain one would feel in hell. Another possibility is that the shock of the sopranos’ octave leap might symbolize how shockingly painful hell is. No matter how painful you expect it to be, it will always shock you, and the shock will make it more painful. We are reminded that this phrase is in the major key and, as such, can not be what we truly have to fear from hell. Since this phrase is in the major key, we can suspect that there might be something even more harrowing to come. The pains of hell are not the worst of it. There is more to come, and that is revealed in phrase 5.
The beginning of the fourth phrase imitates the third phrase. The only difference is the raising of the F to a G. We are not descending to a lowly place here, but are being raised to a hair-raisingly high one. This is the musical equivalent of standing perched on a ledge, hundreds of feet in the air, and realizing that you are losing your balance. You are about to fall. The fall can appear to happen in measure 11 when the B flat becomes the B natural in the tenor and bass lines and the A becomes flat, or, in other words, when the key has changed from G minor to C minor. The song makes a transition from a high register to one of the lowest at "de profundo" (bottomless). The soprano's E flat on "et" followed by the E flat the octave below switches the severity from the height of the pain to the severity of the depths of the abyss. The lowering of the key also adds to the effect of musically creating the abyss. The Latin word "lacu" can also mean lake, pond, or pool, and Mozart's music on the word reflects both the depth and the subtle movement of surface water in a lake, especially in the tenor line. (The F in the tenor line in lacu is an appoggiatura leading us to the G) This, however, is not the fall. This is just the showing of what it is that we will fall into.
Phrase 5 begins with a key change to F minor when the E flat becomes E natural in measure 18. The effect of having the sopranos start their "liberas" (free) and then be joined by everyone else gives the music a feeling of one person's desire that is then reinforced by others. This isn't just one person wishing for freedom from the lion's mouth, this is many. The parts are not only moving as one rhythmically, but they are also singing in octaves. When the parts move as one in measure 17, they do that to express universal fear through universal movement. The alto and the bass go down to the G flat instead of up to it as the sopranos and tenors do. However, the effect is the same. The augmented 2nd sounds just as horrible as the diminished 7th. The lion's mouth is something so horrible that it needs nothing to be contrasted with it to show its horridness. The interval between the A flat and the G flat is a diminished 7th. The reason we hear it as a diminished 7th and not as a major 6th, which has a sweet, pleasant sound, is that the A flat is the A of the key we're in (F minor) and the only other tone the G flat could be heard as would be F#, but F natural is the key we are in and we would not hear the F# as part of the key. The effect of the diminished 7th is harrowing. Where the dissonance in "de poenis" was heard only from the shadow of a note, the dissonance here is made explicit, and emphasized by the 4 parts sounding it. This is what the "de poenis" of the third and fourth phrases merely hinted at; this is what we fear. To make us even more aware of our fear, Mozart repeats this phrase in a higher register and returns the key to G minor. This phrase is pain, and we haven’t even begun the fall that has continuously been hinted at.
In the next phrase ("ne absorbeat eas tartarus" or "neither let the black abyss swallow them"), the falling begins. This entire phrase acts as a constant falling. Until the end of the phrase, we are unaware of the key we have been tossed into because tonally everyone is jumping and no one is grounding us in a specific key. The independent movements of each part allow the parts to be heard as separate from one another. Even when more than one note is sung at once, they are not heard as chords because the parts do no feel connected to one another. The simultaneous notes are not heard as one chord, but just as notes moving to other notes. This is the first fugue in Mozart's Domine Jesu, and its effect is alarming. Not only do we fall, but we fall repeatedly.
The next phrase feels like a release. The rhythm in the accompinament becomes less busy, and out of groups of falling voices emerge 4 voices reminding us that we are praying for those who could be falling. We are pulled back from the pains of hell and reminded of where we are. The key of this phrase is D Major. This is the second fugue of the piece, but we hear this one very differently. We are asking Jesus to let St. Michael lead these souls out of the darkness, out of the falling, and we have hope that it will be so. For the first time, we hear words elongated by more than a quarter note. "Eas" in the soprano part in measures 35-36, for example, is drawn out over 8 eighth notes. We feel as though the rest that we wish upon these souls is being given to them as we listen.
Then, in the ninth and final phrase, everything changes again. This is the third, final, and longest fugue in Domine Jesu. It begins in D Major, switches to G minor in measure 65, and finally switches to G Major in measure 75. This fugue makes its emotions clear. Even when compared to the rhythmic business of the rest of the piece, the agitation that is felt in this fugue startles us. Not even the tonal jumps of the "ne absorbeat" fugue match our surprise when the basses enter with their "quam olim Abrahae" (once to Abraham). This is forte; this is powerful. If any part of us was sleeping before, we are now wide-awake.
What is Mozart doing in this fugue? We might originally think it is anger that we are hearing: "You promised us this and are not keeping your word!" Yet could it not be desperation? These souls, if they are already in hell, have nothing more to lose. The music is desperate -- even frantic. We are searching for a way to save these souls because we could become one of them. After the reminder from the soloists that we are not yet fallen, we awaken to the realization that salvation was promised to all who were faithful. In the beginning of the fugue, the fear, the desperation, is dominant. In measure 61, everything begins to change again.
Instead of the polyphonic and seemingly chaotic interplay between voices that we see in measures 43-61, suddenly a voice has broken free once again. The sopranos begin their "quam olim Abrahae" (once to Abraham) and instead of having the rest of the voices enter in staggered segments, they all enter at the same time. For a few moments, we feel the hint of a return to homophony. This is the moment of realization in Domine Jesu. Musically, we are preparing for a return to G minor and then a change to G Major. But emotionally this is where we feel that everything is going to be okay. In the course of this realization, the music drops to piano at measure 65. By the mini-fugue with the subject "et semini ejus" (and to his seed) in measure 67, our realization is complete. This promise was not only made to Abraham, but it has, and will continue to be, kept. When we return again to forte in measure 71, this is not the panicked forte of before. This is a joyful forte. With this joy comes the change from G minor to G Major. When the music ends on the G Major tonic triad, we feel settled. The rhythm of both the instruments and the voices also relaxes in measure 75. While we certainly do not feel peaceful at the end, we feel relief.
Of all three types of prayer -- statements of faith, statements of faith and desires, and questions and statements -- Mozart's Domine Jesu is closest to the type of prayer that contains both questions and statements. Like most of these types, it falls back upon a statement to answer its own questions. What makes Mozart's version of the Offertorium so unique when compared to the other two versions is its reliance on drama. Mozart's Domine Jesu tells a story. It begins with one meaning to ask Jesus Christ to save the souls of the faithful (phrases 1-2), realizes from what they need to be saved (phrases 3-7), then requests that St. Michael lead them into salvation, and then, finally, remembers that salvation was promised to them. This is a story. Although it is a story about faith, is it still a musical prayer? A prayer that is full of questions that are then answered is a story about faith. It is the very fact that the questions are answered that allows Domine Jesu to function as a musical prayer and not as a musical drama.
Mozart opens a world with Domine Jesu: one that questions. Through this questioning, this admitting of weakness, of need, of desire, we are allowing our souls to open themselves to God in the very same way that prayers full of questions do. The Domine Jesu, Palestrina’s Offertorium and Faure’s Offertorium, have the potential to awaken in us feelings that would be appropriate for us to feel during this prayer were we speaking the words and not singing them. If the words of the prayer have lost their meaning to us, if we feel closed to God because our emotions have become numb, music can open the door for us. It can allow us to feel. What is important is that, after this initial opening, we do not depend on music to acquire it. If we come to rely on music alone to give us this opening, we are reacting not to the words being sung, but to the music. Praying with music is both more helpful, and more dangerous, than praying by speaking.
The most important aspect of prayer is that we pray with every part of who we are. The emotions we are feeling as we pray should be reflected in our prayer. They should not be hidden by exaggeration or minimization, for nothing can be hidden from God. If we feel frantic, timid, and scared when we pray, our prayers should also be that way. If we feel loving and worshipful to God, then let our prayers overflow with love and worship. If we choose to pray with music, the music must also reflect our emotions, or we are not praying, only singing. Not only do we need to pray with every part of who we are, but we also need to "pray without ceasing." (I Thessalonians 5:17)
Amen.