The Stabat mater, which we have been listening to throughout Lent on Fridays, finds its origin as a Sequence for Mass on September 15, the feast of the Holy Cross and is used today as a Sequence for the Feast of Our Mother of Sorrows, September 16. As I have explained before, sequences are an insertion of the Middle Ages into the Order of Mass which had a strongly devotional and didactic flavor, which used the language of doctrine and theology (rather than scripture, strictly speaking) to communicate the faith. By the time of the Council of Trent, hundreds of them littered the liturgy, perhaps something akin to singing a sacred (but not strictly scriptural song) from our various hymnals each week before the Gospel. In the reforms of the Council of Trent, this pious custom was jettisoned from almost all Masses, save a small few. Even fewer remain today following the reforms of the Second Vatican Council.
The liturgical sequence invites us, through song and music, to consider and meditate on the greatest mysteries of our faith. Consider the fiery Dies Irae warning sinners of the coming of God to judge the living and the dead. Consider the elation of the Victimae Paschales Laudes proclaiming Jesus raised from the dead. Consider the breath of the Spirit breathed on the disciples in phrases and poetry of the Veni Creator Spiritus. In these last seven weeks, the intent of these articles were to highlight artistic attempts to capture the pathos of the Blessed Mother's own suffering at the foot of the cross, as a model and inspiration us today. Are we strengthened by the Mother's witness? Are we sorrowful for the sins that lead to such a great sacrifice? Can we stand faithfully by the cross and witness the glory of the Lord revealed for all time? That's the invitation of the Stabat mater and the series that completes today.
And so today, to finish up, the unvarnished, unaccompanied chant that dates to the medieval Church:
