I was very glad yesterday evening to see the Louisville Orchestra perform the Leonard Bernstein composition MASS:A Theatre Piece for Singers, Players, and Dancers. This was extremely impressive: a 90-minute piece that involves 200 performers--choirs, the orchestra, rock and blues musicians, vocal soloists, and a marching band. It proved very interesting, and it affected me emotionally.
First performed in 1971, the composition reflects the turmoil and questioning of that era, when the establishment was under attack during the Vietnam War. The composition loosely follows the Catholic Mass, with a soloist playing the role of the Celebrant, supported by choirs and the orchestra as he tries to lead a congregation--a "street choir"--through the liturgy. But the congregation questions and resists the liturgy and the religion itself, often in agitated rock rhythms. This leads eventually to a crisis in what would be the Fraction anthem, when the Celebrant is frustrated in his efforts to reach the congregation, and his own faith reaches a breaking point--he spills the wine upon the stage, and later throws the bread down as well. The Celebrant in an extended solo expresses his shame and regret; he asks the congregation (now lying still on the stage as if in shock, bathed in blood red light) if they had never seen a priest have an accident before. (I missed the allusion--to the philosophical doctrine of transubstantiation--until friends pointed it out this evening.) But while the composition questions and challenges religion, it is still a sacred composition, and it ends with an extraordinary hymn of consolation and hope sung by the congregation and the choirs to reclaim their faith.
One allusion I did pick up on (although I was not certain when as I saw the performance): A section where the Celebrant reads the Word of the Lord, which contains the lines: "Dear Mom and Dad / Do not feel badly or worry about me. Nothing will make me change. Try to understand: I am now a man." This sounded to me like an allusion to coming out as gay. This would have been rather extraordinary in 1971, when it was difficult at best to be openly gay. But friends this evening (who also saw the piece this weekend) said that it was their understanding (based on what they had read) that this was the intent. I was surprised that this was part of the piece, but it fits the questioning and challenging nature of the composition, and certainly reflects the experiences of many in the Church. (I do not know what my friends read about this, but a bit of persistence at Google lead me to an interesting blog page by the music critic Joseph Dalton about the composition that highlights this passage.)