IT IS the most intense time of the liturgical year: the three days leading up to Easter, when the Church celebrates the day of the resurrection of Christ from the tomb. The so-called “Triduum” (“Three days”) of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday is marked by long and elaborate ceremonies, which are among the most moving the liturgy has to offer.
The power of the texts emanates not only from the words themselves, which create a rich panorama of feelings of mourning, loss, shock, and horror at the death of the Saviour, but from the way in which the texts are embedded into a liturgical tapestry of music, gesture, and movement.
The symbolism of light and darkness in the liturgy of Tenebrae illustrates this: the gradual extinguishing of candles represents the growing darkness and despair at the suffering of Christ. The congregation is physically plunged into darkness, experiencing the gradual withdrawal of light at first hand in order to reflect on Christ’s death.
The darkness is full of scriptural resonances: the Gospels report that “darkness came over the whole land” (Matthew 27.45) when Jesus was on the cross. The single candle left burning at the end, hidden from view behind the altar-stone and finally returned with a loud noise, is a symbolic representation of the death of Christ.
According to the Gospel of Matthew, when Christ died on the cross, “the earth shook, and the rocks were split” and the tombs “were opened” (27.51-2). The noise created by the congregation at the end of the service, also known as a strepitus (“loud noise”, “crashing sound”), can be interpreted as a symbolic imitation of the earthquake at the death of Christ. It can also be seen as a reference to the closing of Christ’s tomb, into which he is laid on Friday after the crucifixion.
In this liturgical drama, we are reliving the events that accompanied the crucifixion. Through visual experience of darkness, the congregation is immersed in the symbolism and its scriptural resonances, but, through the banging and stomping of the strepitus, the congregation also co-creates this symbolism. This is not a performance we are watching: we are part of the drama, participate in it, and make it happen.
The return of the candle at the end represents the return of hope as Christ rises from the tomb. A small, flickering candle remains. Darkness has not conquered. Witnessing this return of the light, having lived through the darkness in the ceremony, can be a deeply moving experience. Through the liturgy, the hope of the resurrection becomes our hope.
ONE of the things that gives Tenebrae such a sombre and moving character is the use of a range of poetic reflections on the Passion of Christ, which are interspersed between psalms in the liturgy and take the form of responsories — chants that alternate between a small group singing verses, and the whole choir or congregation responding with a refrain.
These so-called Tenebrae responsories are famous for their emotional and immediate engagement with the Passion of Christ. Unlike many liturgical texts, they do not merely present biblical material in a liturgical context, but often form a free and creative reflection on the events of the Triduum, which is inspired by, rather than a faithful reproduction of, biblical texts.
There are nine responsories for each Tenebrae liturgy of the three holy days. Originally sung as plainchant in the liturgy, the Tenebrae responsories were also frequently set to music of various styles by composers in post-medieval times. Their intensely moving words alongside the dramatic symbolism of darkness and light in the ceremony lent themselves particularly well to musical explorations of these texts.
The responsories of Maundy Thursday transport us into the setting of the garden of Gethsemane on the Mount of Olives. It is here, according to the Gospels, where Christ suffered his agony, before seeing his Passion and death. The second Tenebrae responsory on this day, Tristis est anima mea, creates an ominous sense of anticipation of the events that are about to occur.
Tristis est anima mea usque ad mortem: sustinete hic et vigilate mecum. Nunc videbitis turbam quae circumdabit me. Vos fugam capietis, et ego vadam immolari pro vobis.
Versus: Ecce appropinquat hora, et Filius hominis tradetur in manus peccatorum. Vos fugam capietis, et ego vadam immolari pro vobis.
My soul is sorrowful even unto death. Stay here, and watch with me! Now you will see the mob that will surround me. You will run away, and I will go to be sacrificed for you.
Verse: See, the time draws near, and the Son of Man will be delivered into the hands of sinners. You will run away, and I will go to be sacrificed for you.
This responsory is based on the narrative of the Gospels, selecting different passages in order to evoke an emotional response. The first two lines, “My soul is sorrowful even unto death. Stay here, and watch with me!” refer to Matthew 26.38, the words spoken by Jesus to his disciples in the garden, while the rest of the responsory uses different Gospel passages more freely.
Christ foretells to the disciples what is about to happen: he will be surrounded by the mob and led away to be sacrificed, while the disciples, terrified, will run away. The verse reinforces the sense of urgency: “See, the time draws near.” We stand on the brink of the most significant event of human history: God himself will be killed at the hands of sinners.
But, in the midst of the sense of urgency and anticipation of the death of God, there is also a very real and tangible feeling of human sorrow. It is Christ as man who speaks of his mental pain: “My soul is sorrowful even unto death.” It is the pain felt within the soul that is highlighted here, preceding the physical pain which is to come. Jesus shudders with horror at the thought of being surrounded by a mob, being deserted by all his friends, and hopes only for someone to stay and watch with him in this moment of agony.
These are the words of an innocent man who is about to be confronted with the depths of human malice and cowardice. This responsory uses the words that Jesus speaks to his disciples in the Gospel, but the those who are addressed are implied rather than explicitly mentioned here. This allows the text to gain a significance that is both broader and more personal to those who believe in him.
Christ speaks not only to the disciples, but to every individual who participates in the liturgy. It is also us who have abandoned him, run away, and who are now invited to stay and watch with him. This is particularly apt for the setting of Tenebrae, where the congregation is assembled to pray in the gathering darkness. We, too, are the disciples, and we, too, are here to watch with Christ.
This is an edited extract from Light on Darkness: The untold story of the liturgy by Cosima Clara Gillhammer, published by Reaktion Books.
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