What’s the Mystery in “O Magnum Mysterium”?

So what’s the mystery? Most translations say “that animals should see the newborn Lord.” But I think, based on my extensive research via Wiktionary, that it’s more along the lines of “that animals should see the Lord being born.” The witnesses, other than Joseph, to the actual messy process of this particular childbirth were those creatures you now see in manger scenes: probably some donkeys and sheep, maybe an ox or two. (There were plenty of other critters that we don’t see in our modern, prettified, sanitized versions of the scene: rats, mice, and a plenteous supply of lice.) We don’t even know whose stable it was; it’s always assumed that the hardhearted innkeeper said something along the lines of, “No room for you! Go bed down in the stable if you’re so inclined!” But all we’re really told is, “And she brought forth her first-born son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn” (Luke 2:7 KJV). The animals’ feeding trough becomes an improvised cradle. I love the wording of the American William Billings’ “Shiloh for Christmas”

Seek not in Courts or Palaces; 
Nor Royal curtains draw; 
But search the Stable, see your God 
Extended on the straw. 

The other earthy detail that’s emphasized in our text (which comes from ancient Roman Catholic chant and is probably 1,000 years old) concerns Mary and her womb, which is considered worthy to have carried the Christ child. Only the word that’s used is “viscera,”  doesn’t specifically mean “womb.” It refers generally to internal organs; we use the word today almost exclusively as a figurative adjective, “visceral,” as in ”I had a visceral reaction to the story.” Isn’t it strange to our modern ears to have Mary’s insides, as it were, held up as worthy of praise? She’s seen as a sacred vessel without ever being dehumanized into a symbol. John Donne used this same imagery in his poem “Nativity”:

Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb,
Now leaves His well-belov’d imprisonment.

So the sublime and the mundane exist simultaneously there in the stable. And Mary herself is seemingly aware of all these implications. It’s kind of interesting to see how public everything is, with Mary first having to give birth in front of the animals and then, later on that same night, receiving a visit from the shepherds who have just heard of the birth of Christ from the angels. I can’t resist including that part of the story here, from the lovely old King James Version of Luke’s Gospel:

And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.

And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child. And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.

But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart. (Luke 2:15-19)

And boy, did she have a lot to ponder!

One last thought on the text: it ends with the word “alleluia,” an exclamation of joy and praise. See if you think that the settings below express those emotions.

Just to give you a taste of the range of settings for this text, here’s the most well-known version from the past, by Tomás Luis de Victoria, a Spanish composer who died in 1611. I really liked this performance by just four singers:

And here’s a version by the contemporary composer Ola Gjeilo; he titled his version “Serenity.” The cello accompaniment is gorgeous:

And the heavy hitter of current versions, the one by the American composer Morten Lauridsen, which vaulted him into fame and made him an “overnight success” when he was in his fifties and had been composing for decades:

Here’s a bit of background on Lauridsen’s composition:

“So there the composer was, plugging away, teaching and writing, getting some exposure but not hitting the big time, and then in 1994, when he was 51, a piece that he’d been commissioned to write for the LA Master Chorale, ‘O Magnum Mysterium,’ just took off. Here’s how Stacy Horn, author of the fascinating book Imperfect Harmony, puts it:

When Lauridsen’s interpretation premiered in 1994, Paul Salamunovich of the Los Angeles Master Chorale turned around and, for the first time in his choral conducting career, spoke directly to the audience. If anyone had asked him who his favorite composer was, he told them, he would have said Tomás Luis de Victoria. Victoria’s ‘O Magnum Mysterium’ remains as fresh as the day it was written. “Tonight, you’re about to hear the world premiere of the twentieth-century counterpart,” he told the audience. “A piece so beautiful,” he said, it would go on to outperform every American choral piece ever written. With those words he turned around, raised his baton, and roughly six minutes later, at fifty-one years old, Morten Lauridsen had his first genuine blockbuster.^“

If you would like to read the introductory chapter in own my book about Lauridsen’s larger work Lux Aeterna in which I discuss his career, you may do so here: “Lauridsen and His Lux–An Introduction to the Composer and His Work”

If you’re interested in reading my entire book, please go to my store page for this item: Shedding Light on Lauridsen’s Lux Aeterna

And now for a little art history: What Lauridsen wrote his “O Magnum” he was very much inspired by a painting, a still life that on its surface would seem to have nothing to do with the story of the Nativity: “Still Life with Lemons, Oranges and a Rose” by Francisco de Zurbarán (Spanish, 1598-1664), date of painting 1633. Here’s the painting:

The painting is on display at the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena, CA. If you’re interested in the background and meaning of this piece, follow this link to the museum website.

© Debi Simon