souls sitting in our pews on Sunday morning.
The Vatican Council’s document on the sacred liturgy confirms this view. It states that in ministering to the faithful, “pastors must promote liturgical participation taking into account their age and condition, their way of life, and standard of religious culture.” This norm was dubbed the “pastoral principle.” The U.S. Bishops’ Committee on the Liturgy defined it as the judgment that must be made in a particular situation and in concrete circumstances. “Does music in the celebration enable these people to express their faith, in this place, in this age, in this culture?” (Music in Catholic Worship, #39). As liturgists and musicians, we at the Oakland Cathedral adapted this pastoral principle to the profile of our people.
Our music program, however, was always at the service of the Word of God — the two were inseparably wedded. The music announced, reinforced and recalled throughout the celebration the biblical theme contained in the readings of the day. At the beginning of the liturgy, for example, the prelude and entrance song introduced the theme to be proclaimed in the Scriptures and elaborated upon later by the homilist. The Offertory Song immediately following the sermon served as a commentary upon or a response to the entire Liturgy of the Word. And finally the Communion and Closing Songs echoed the gospel theme as the worshipers shared the Body and Blood of Christ and took the Word with them into their homes, offices, schools and marketplaces.
My friend Father Tony Valdivia, always the insightful critic, once put it this way: “Your selection of music is a homily in itself.”
*****
The “eclectics” are a very “catholic” phenomenon borrowing tastefully from a variety of sources and blending the selections in a patchwork effect which is aesthetically pleasing and rewarding. Campus worship particularly reflects this kind of approach and the fine choir and ensemble at the Oakland Cathedral is its epitome.
Ken Meltz, “Musical Models for the Eighties,” Pastoral Music (April–May 1984)
Don Osuna and members of the Cathedral Ensemble
John L. McDonnell, Jr. conducting the Cathedral Choir
Chapter Two: We Hold a Strange Hope
By the summer of 1969, the crowds at the 10:30 a.m. and 12:15 p.m. Masses had significantly increased as more Catholics and curious pilgrims from around the Bay Area discovered the Oakland Cathedral. They were an eclectic lot: simple folk from the inner city, visitors from other parishes, academics from neighboring colleges and a smattering of tourists from around the world. Many were drawn by the extraordinary music program; others came out of curiosity to see what fresh twist the Gospel would receive in the “creative celebrations.”
Along with music, we blended the visual and dramatic arts to underscore and enhance the Liturgy of the Word. One of our earliest efforts was a four-week series commemorating the end of an era. We Hold a Strange Hope became the focus of meditation for the Advent liturgies in the final days of the historically devastating decade of the 1960s. Our goal was to look at the events convulsing the world, the Church and the country from the perspective of the Gospel, which, as the word implies, contains “good news.” Hopefully we could provide a positive spin to a negative issue. How strange is that!
The curious were not disappointed this first Sunday of December 1969.
There, encircling the granite altar of the tastefully remodeled Norman-Gothic sanctuary, loomed the blown-up portraits of Che Guevara, Joan Baez, the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. and Neil Armstrong
The young Chicano homilist (Father Tony Valdivia) assigned to answer the question “Hope in Today’s World?” was reviewing the shattering events that had obliterated the composure of the planet in a matter of seven years. It was a litany of crises in a decade of despair: “Cuba, Dallas, Selma, Atlanta, Watts, Kent Sate, Berkeley (not ten miles away), the Black Panthers (headquartered across the street!), Vietnam — and now Nixon!”
The preacher’s insightful commentary did not prophesy an approaching doomsday. Rather, basing his analysis and assessment of the times on the promises of Scripture and the lessons of history, he called for a renewed confidence in God’s power to redeem, and the Human Family’s ability to transcend any obstacle. “After all,” he concluded, pointing to the central photo above the altar, “have we not, at the end of this very decade, reached for and landed on the Moon?”
On the following Sunday, the same congregation returned to find, staring at them from the sanctuary, the image of one solitary revolutionary: the smiling face of Pope John XXIII. The topic: “Hope in the Church?” This time the preacher was Monsignor Frank Maurovich, editor of the diocesan weekly, The Catholic Voice. The clever journalist was pretending to interview the Pontiff who eight years before had summoned the Second Vatican Council with the simplicity of a child lighting a match in a dynamite factory.
The initial question addressed to the papal icon unfolded into a string of desperate charges: “How can Your Holiness justify the shambles in which you have left the Church? Was it your intention to open the windows so that all of our priests and nuns could scramble out, along with our youth and the older folk who can no longer recognize their own religion? And what about Humanae Vitae, the latest encyclical by your handpicked successor: Is that also part of the conspiracy to further encourage this mass exodus? Where will it end, Pope John, where will it end?”
“Well, Monsignor,” came the response from the presiding portrait (the homilist had turned ventriloquist), “let me ask you a few questions: Are you concluding that because many have left the Church they have by that fact abandoned their faith? Are you suggesting that in exposing the deficiencies of our present tradition, we are indicting the Gospels? Have you forgotten the seminary axiom: Ecclesia semper reformanda (the Church is to be constantly reformed)? Would you have counseled Christ not to have convoked the gathering at Calvary on the grounds that many would flee the scene? Did you think that the revolution shaking the foundations of every institution in the world would leave the Catholic Church untouched? Tell me, my dear Monsignor, am I the only one who still holds a ‘strange hope’?”
No, he wasn’t the only one. People everywhere were sincerely hoping to find spiritual bonding with God and one another. “Community” was the prevailing imperative of the times. John XXIII and John Kennedy had provided the world with the briefest vision of “Camelot” and of “The City of God” where peoples could be welded together in pursuit of the highest ideals. More recently, an idealistic and youthful generation was searching for mutuality and support at “Woodstocks” and in rural “communes.”
And we at the Oakland Cathedral were making a concerted effort to create community through meaningful, vibrant and prayerful worship. It was working. The liturgies were attractive and engaging. Local parishioners were drawn back into the “arena.” Wounds started to heal as the alienated discovered the welcoming and stimulating communal experiences. In short, we were becoming the “family” of St. Francis de Sales. As “mother church” of the diocese, we were also learning how to graciously embrace the growing crowds of community seekers from throughout the area.
The one who was responsible for introducing additional art forms such as dance and audio/visuals into our liturgies was Father Jim Keeley, our enthusiastic and indefatigable associate pastor who spent much of his time with the teachers and kids at the parish school. His lively presence and constant “God love ya!” reverberated throughout the halls and classrooms, inspiring faculty and students to
