Praha 9, or Aurally Fixated
(written 1/28/07)

Today, Ellen and I had planned to take a day trip to the nearby town of Kitna Hora (sounds like Kinahora, the Yiddish expression but with a t), which contains many fascinating things, but we planned badly, and arrived at the train station far too late to make it worth it. Instead, we invited our friend Jill to come explore the St. Vitus Cathedral, which is at the top of a giant hill, and gives a stunning view of the city – even on such a cold and gray day as today.

There are many other buildings at the top of the hill besides the cathedral, but we decided that we didn’t have the energy for a long tour. Instead, we picked up student tickets to get us inside St. Vitus’, attractively priced at 50kc, or just over $2.

Inside the cathedral was beautiful enough, but so much like so many other giant Catholic churches, at first. Since the construction of the cathedral started in 1344 (when Prague was officially promoted to an archbishopric, as opposed to just a bishopric – it’s a Catholic hierarchy thing) and ended in just 1929, there was quite a vast spectrum of art to behold, particularly in the stained glass windows. The first few windows were clearly of an earlier time – the colors were blended much more beautifully, making the windows look more painted than stained. The newer ones were more mosaic-like, more like the ones we see today. The rose window, or the circular window at the back of every cathedral, was probably the newest, but I couldn’t see well enough to tell.

Ellen was being a bit cynical through the whole thing, and for the first bit, I agreed completely. “Can’t you imagine that the people who built this were overcompensating for something?” she asked, smirking. The church was gigantic, with ceilings that were probably well over 200 feet high, and the distinctive pointed Gothic arches. It took me about ten minutes to walk at a slow pace to get from one end of the church to the other. The many tombs were decorated with ornate sculptures in all media – stone, wood, metal – and even the paintings seemed over-the-top.

I tried to remember why I love churches so much. The last time I was in Europe, it was on a concert tour with a choir. We sang in so many churches, and it made them seem so beautiful – that was it! St. Vitus Cathedral was completely silent, except for the sound of feet on stone. It felt like a monastery, or a tomb. I quickly pulled my ipod out of my inside coat pocket and played a piece that Caitlin gave me some time ago – a Kyrie by Josquin de Prez. Just four singers, each on one part, singing this piece of liturgy.

As the singers began, I took a breath. While I was aware that I was the only one who could hear the music, it felt as though a concert had started. Turning on the music was like watching the sun come in through the stained glass windows – I watched the music fill the church, settling into the pointed arches, behind the tombs, sweeping the aisles between the pews. The music slipped into the space like a good smell, making everything seem more beautiful. The first song ended, and I followed it with an Ave Maria by Holst that I sang my first year in college. This piece wasn’t as well suited to the church – it was a little too modern, and it was odd to hear women’s voices in a place so obviously dedicated to men. But the final bars of the piece, the gentle, overlapping choruses of “amen”, nearly brought me to my knees as I watched the fading sun through the rose window.

Some of my Jewish friends and I have talked about what it means to be singers who sing Christian music – sometimes holy Christian music – and like it, even love it. There is something incredibly transcendent about finding a beautiful, even spiritual experience in music that isn’t your own. Someone, somewhere, in some time, wrote this beautiful thing in the hopes of being worthy of his own spirituality. And if that’s true, then maybe Ellen and I were wrong to be so cynical – because many people, in many times, in this one place, built this beautiful thing in hopes of being worthy of their god. And sure, Catholicism isn’t something I find that beautiful. But other people’s love – that’s a spiritual thing.

Besides, the music would’ve never sounded so good without all that echo space.