Alright “Contemporary Choir”—Now Its Your Turn.
So, it’s been simmering for a while. After what felt like my 57th consecutive exposure to the Liturgical Starbucks House Blend™, and after an equal number of failed confession attempts for the sin of wanting to hurl a hymnbook, I realized: this isn’t some tragic fluke. No, dear reader. This is a scheduled program in the felt-banner-scented circus of parish malpractice. And I simply WILL NOT go gently into that tambourine-tinged good night. Accordingly, this will be addressed in only the way the Filii Dei Department of Opinion, Sarcasm and Satire can do… And, buckle up because both barrels are loaded and ready for discharge.
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So, there I was…
Kneeling before the altar, preparing my soul for Calvary—because that’s what the Mass is, by the way, not a Christianized karaoke night—and what do I hear?
Not Gregorian chant.
Not the Sanctus in Latin.
Not even a reverent organ prelude.
No.
I hear a breathy woman emotionally warbling,
“You didn’t want Heaven without us, so Jesus, You brought Heaven down…”
I’m sorry—what?
Did the Cantor really just Frankenstein the Beatific Vision into a One Direction ballad? Is this the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, or a middle school sleepover where we stitch Bible verses into a Taylor Swift breakup anthem? Is the “Contemporary Choir” really desecrating the Holy Sacrifice with lyrics that make God sound like a desperate boyfriend who just couldn’t imagine Heaven without your latte, yoga class and Spotify playlist?
And just like that, week after week, I’m ripped from Golgotha and plopped into “Soft Jesus Vibes Vol. 3.” Welcome to Mass in Felt Banner Fueled Boomerland™, now with 50% more “contemporary energy” and 100% less sense of the sacred. Because nothing says “timeless sacrifice made present on our altars” quite like a song that could seamlessly slide onto the soundtrack of a Nicholas Sparks flick where someone reconciles with their estranged father during a beach sunset.
Let me be clear: playing Hillsong, Vertical Worship, Bethel, or any of these emotionally manipulative, theologically ambiguous, Protestant power ballads during the Mass is not just liturgical malpractice. It is sacrilege. THAT’S RIGHT, I SAID IT: SACRILEGE. And if that makes you clutch your little rainbow sweater with the cute kittens on it, good. Tighten it. Because this is about to get real.
This Isn’t About Taste. It’s About Theology.
“But it’s soooo beautiful” sighs Linda from the Felt Banner Fueled Parish Contemporary Choir, right after adjusting her glasses and asking “Jesus to take the Wheel.”
No, Linda. “What a Beautiful Name” is not sacred music. It’s emotional bait and doctrinal rot. The lyrics are vacuous. The theology? Protestant at best, heretical at worst.
Exhibit A: The Theological Garbage Fire
Let’s examine this lyrical landfill line by line in case you missed it.
“You didn’t want Heaven without us…”
Wrong. Try Psalm 115:3 [113:11 in the Douay-Rheims]:
Deus autem noster in caelo; omnia quaecumque voluit fecit.
“Our God is in Heaven; He does whatever He pleases.”
God lacks nothing. He is ipsum esse subsistens—Being Itself. He is beatitude itself. He doesn’t need us. He loves us, yes, but not out of emotional dependency. God is not sitting alone in Heaven like a lovestruck teenager, finger hovering over the “send” button.
“…so Jesus, You brought Heaven down.”
That’s not how the Incarnation works, Linda. The Incarnation is not a dreamy promposal. He came to redeem us through the shedding of His blood (Hebrews 9:22), not to be the musical headliner at the Passion Conference.
This is emotional manipulation dressed up in vague religious language. It’s not worship—it’s spiritualized sentimentality, i.e., heresy set to piano with the royalties paid by YOUR offertory.
Exhibit B: What the Church Actually Says About Music in the Mass
Let us turn to actual Church teaching, because unlike the writers of Hillsong, the Church has been quite clear on this.
St. Pius X, Tra le Sollecitudini (1903):
“The more closely a composition for Church approaches in its movement, inspiration, and savor the Gregorian form, the more sacred and liturgical it becomes…”
Let’s run a test. Does “What a Beautiful Name” resemble Gregorian chant in any way? Does it inspire reverence? Does it sound like sacred music?
No. More like Gregorian with a head injury and access to a synthesizer. Sacred tradition doesn’t include a bridge section with a key change.
Second Vatican Council, Sacrosanctum Concilium §116:
“The Church acknowledges Gregorian chant as specially suited to the Roman liturgy: therefore, other things being equal, it should be given pride of place in liturgical services.”
Translation: Unless you’re trying to summon an exorcist or clear the church hall after Bingo Night, Hillsong stays outside.
Catechism of the Catholic Church, §1157:
“The texts intended to be sung must always be in conformity with Catholic doctrine; indeed they should be drawn chiefly from the Sacred Scripture and from liturgical sources.”
Someone tell the Felt Banner Fueled Contemporary Choir that just because the song mentions “Jesus” doesn’t make it doctrinally sound. I’m pretty sure “Jesus is my spiritual boyfriend whose love language is praise choruses” is not one of the Beatitudes. The Qur’an and the Book of Mormon says “Jesus” too; want to set THAT to piano during the next communion, Linda?
These songs sound like they were written after three glasses of chardonnay and a breakup. The lyrics are so emotionally co-dependent, I half expect the next verse to say:
“I just want to be enough for You, Lord. Why won’t You text me back?”
Exhibit C: The People Behind the Music
If you think slapping a Bethel tune into the offertory is elevating worship, hit pause and Google “Hillsong scandals.” Would you let Bernie Madoff be your Director of Religious Education? No? Then why let Megachurch MC Light Machine write your processional? Hillsong is the megachurch empire responsible for this song—complete with celebrity pastors, prosperity gospel, financial fraud, and theology so thin you could use it as tissue paper at a Confirmation retreat.
Let’s not forget their star preacher, Brian Houston, whose theology is more “Oprah with a fog machine” than “Athanasius with a thurible.” These are the people writing your liturgical music. This is where “What a Beautiful Name” comes from.
Should we start reading self-help quotes during the Creed while we’re at it and start hanging the little kitty posters telling us to “Hang In There” instead of icons of Christ?
“But It Makes Me Feel Close to God!”
You know what else gave people spiritual goosebumps? The golden calf.
The Israelites didn’t dance around it because they were doctrinally confused—they liked it. It was fun. It was “relevant.” It got the people moving.
Sound familiar?
If your standard for liturgy is “it makes me feel things,” you’ve officially dethroned Christ in favor of a dopamine boost. Liturgical sacrament becomes spiritual narcotic. The Holy Sacrifice becomes an episode of “America’s Next Top Worship Leader.”
Meanwhile, authentic Catholic music—chant, polyphony, sacred hymnody—is left buried in the closet like last decade’s VBS T-shirts. All so the congregation can sway tragically offbeat with the St. Clappyhands Praise Collective’s rendition of “Shine, Jesus, Shine.”
Sacred music is meant to lift the soul to God, not make you sway like you’re auditioning for “The Voice.” It should be solemn. Transcendent. Ordered. Rooted in Scripture and Tradition. Like chant. Like polyphony. Like…well, Catholicism.
Boomer Catholicism: The Eternal Jam Sesh
Let’s thank the architects of this musical Armageddon: the Boomerocracy who traded tradition for “guitars, hand-holding, and interpretive movement,” eternally looping “Gather Us In” until we all bleed from the ears.
These are the same people who thought the Dies Irae was “too negative” but have no issue singing “Rain Down” like they’re auditioning for a community theater production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.
Boomers, this one’s on you. You gutted the beauty, solemnity, and mystery of the Mass and replaced it with the soundtrack to a low-rent Christian romance movie starring Candace Cameron Bure. And, you’re hanging on to it like grim death. Let it go. You’ve wrecked the Mass so thoroughly you should get a Vatican Peace Prize for Outstanding Lifetime Achievement in Irony. But your reign is ending, and the cleansing fire of good taste is coming for your felt banners, pastels and St. Clappyhands Praise Collective and the Merry Band of Irrelevance.
Final Notes (Because I’m One Chorus Away From Bringing a Chant CD and boombox to Mass)
Dear Catholic parishes:
You have 2000 years of musical treasure. You have Palestrina. You have Byrd. You have Victoria, Allegri, the Graduale Romanum. You have the Liber Usualis and the Adoro Te Devote. And yet, you trade all of that… for Hillsong and Vertical Worship?
You’ve traded the gold of sacred tradition for the sonic equivalent of a Target clearance aisle.
It’s time for you to stop and it’s time to repent.
Pastors, stop being held hostage by Linda and the Felt Banner Fueled Glory and Praise Brigade. Remind them: this isn’t the Spiritual Open Mic portion of Youth Group—it’s the Mass, the Miracle of Calvary, not the pre-show for a Joel Osteen book signing. The concert is over. This is not their stage. This is the Holy of Holies. God deserves better and we will have it in our Parish.
And Linda, Barbara, Bob and Steven on the Parish Liturgical Council? Your reign of terror is coming to an end. The 1970’s Peace and Love Fest is over. Take your sunshine and rainbow covered felt banners and bingo cards and move along. If you didn’t see the hook or hear the gong, open your eyes and adjust the volume in your “Miracle Ears” upward.
The saints didn’t face the lions so we could sing HillBethelWorship™ while Christ is made present. One more “Jesus you brought Heaven down” and I’ll be praying for an Inquisition solely devoted to trawling church back rooms for sheet music and hand bells, purifying them with fire kindled from those cursed, smiley sun posters and felt banners.
Turn. Off. The. Microphone.
Put down the tambourine and pick up a Liber Usualis. Give God what He’s due. And, please, let the angels sing.
Because if we don’t, I just might show up next week with my own chant CD—and it WON’T be on shuffle…