Today’s offertory is a quirky piece by Italian composer, Niccolò Zingarelli. I had never heard it before until I was enthusiastically introduced to it by our rector. We’ve sung it in years past, as it is befitting for the fourth Sunday of Lent, known as Laetare Sunday.

The term “Laetare” comes from Isaiah 66:10, “Rejoice Jerusalem.” This Sunday is an anticipation of the victory to be won at Easter, and the joyful theme provides a short respite from the penitential emphasis of Lent. Since the thirteenth century the celebrant of the eucharist has been permitted to wear rose-colored vestments which express the change of tone in the Lenten observance. Laetare Sunday can also be called “Rose Sunday.” We also have a similar Sunday in Advent which uses the rose color.

I call this piece quirky because I don’t think it has the same sort of depth and mystique as our usual St. Andrew’s musical diet. It’s a bit sappy, dripping with sentimentality and literalism. While not being critical of our rector’s musical taste, I’ll admit that tacky and cheesy is OK, occasionally. I happen to like Velveeta – a squishy, cheese-like product. Yum!

Zingarelli was an opera composer, a cheesy musical medium if you ask me. If you listen carefully, you can hear a Mozartian, opera-like aesthetic in this anthem. The lugubrious, handwringing opening suddenly shifts, and we’re off on a jaunty ride through the tulips. It sounds like the close of an operetta when the happy couple gallops into the sunset. You can almost hear the cheers from the audience as the curtain closes – “Bravissimo!”

In 1811 Zingarelli, who was the choir master of the Sistine Chapel at the time, publicly refused, as an Italian patriot, to conduct a Te Deum for Napoleon’s new-born son in St. Peter’s Basilica. As a result of this refusal, he was captured and taken to Paris, but the Emperor, being a fan of his music, gave the composer his liberty.

G.K. Chesterton famously quipped, “Angels can fly because they can take themselves lightly.” Often, we take ourselves and our worship too seriously, when in fact every Sunday is a celebration of the Eucharist. Lighter pieces balance our musical diet. Likewise, too much Velveeta will wreck your diet. The key is balance. You can worship with solemnity, but with a smile in your spirit. Even if music sounds serious, you’re still playing it. If you become overly rigid and heavy, the music loses its effervescence. Even when I play “big,” “serious” organ pieces of Bach, for my hands and feet to work, they cannot be entangled with fear. No white knuckling, tension, or apprehension will make Bach’s music dance. I keep the Velveeta close when I play the organ. A little squish is all you need to make it fly!

When we lose our playfulness, we lose our spirit’s squishiness. Maybe Napoleon didn’t take himself that seriously, he did free Zingarelli from captivity. Music calms the savage beast, but only if the beast is aware of its pretentiousness. Sometimes I become a beast when I take my music too seriously. But to make it fly, I must be angelic. We can get weary from solemnity. But remember, the birds are singing outside of the church’s walls, even if we’re inside being somber. God doesn’t always take things that seriously. I’m sure He enjoys a bit of Velveeta on a Ritz cracker occasionally. Soli Deo Gloria!