For better or worse, my car radio seems to be pretty much set on country these days. It’s a temporary phase, if past patterns hold true. I certainly don’t have country stations on Pandora, or country records on Spotify. It’s just a car radio thing for now.
Anyways, last night I heard two sort of country rock songs back to back that were so alike that at first I thought the DJ had repeated the first one by mistake. They were both about a guy, remembering back to a time when his life revolved around having a girl beside him in his truck by the river with the radio going, drinking beer. Those were the days. Remember when?
This kind of nostalgia is not, at all, what the current desire for more worthy liturgical music is all about. It’s not a longing for those childhood days of Gregorian chant that we remember. Couldn’t possibly be, because the highlight of childhood liturgical music was If I Were a Butterfly and This Little Light of Mine.
What happens is this: a person begins to pray. As they pray, s/he looks for some resemblance of what happens at prayer time within the world of liturgy. This can be a tragically difficult search. How many children have been distracted away from the riches of contemplation by This Little Light of Mine?
As prayer advances, it becomes quieter. Scripture readings become shorter. There is less said, and more love.
The Reform of the Reform is not about the good old days of good old boys. It’s about prayer, and about making the Sunday Mass, which should be the high point of prayer, amenable to it.