Christmas Then and Now

Christmas comes but once a year! And in predictable community choir fashion, we are celebrating Christmas with choral style. This year, we are concocting a choral fruitcake, and our program is already soaking in the rum. In Christmas Then-and-Now, we are endeavouring to reach further back to the earliest days of this cherished feast as it was celebrated in song and explore how the musical traditions have been introduced, altered, adapted, and preserved over a thousand years. The aim of this program is to find a shared Christmas experience with our musical contemporaries of past and present. It is worth noting the core narrative of the nativity that informs the holiday has remained steadfast in the choral oeuvre through the Middle Ages, The 17^th Century Ban, The 19^th Century Victorian transformation of the holiday and the pan-commercialization of Christmas post-WW2. It is also worth noting that not every piece in our program is classified under ‘Christmas’, and yet they are as fitting to the holiday music rotation as fruitcake on the holiday table. Gōd Gēol sīe þē!

Confortamini et iam – Orlando Lassus

This sacred motet was composed in 1585 by the Franco-Flemish master Orlandus Lassus (also known as Orlando di Lasso). Its text, “Confortamini et iam nolite timere” (“Take courage, and do not be afraid”), appears in Gregorian chants and responsories associated with Advent, offering a message of comfort and joyful anticipation in the days leading up to the Nativity.

This is undoubtedly a work from then, yet its message remains relevant now, in both secular and sacred contexts. In our own culture, preparing for Christmas also means preparing for winter: making travel plans, winterizing our homes, and bracing ourselves for the long darkness and persistent cold. It is a season that calls for courage and resolve, making Lassus’s centuries-old message of reassurance feel remarkably immediate.

Angelus ad Virginem – arr. Michael McGlynn

Widely believed to have Franciscan origins, this carol was likely brought to Britain by French friars during the 13th century. It appears in the Dublin Troper, a rare 14th-century manuscript dating to around 1360, which preserves music used in the daily Catholic liturgy at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin.

One might think of it as an early Christmas hit: the carol enjoyed widespread popularity across England, France, and Ireland, survives in at least six manuscripts from across this broad region, and even earned a mention in Chaucer’s The Miller’s Tale, part of The Canterbury Tales.

Our arrangement is by Michael McGlynn, acclaimed composer and choral director, and also a Dubliner. In Angelus ad Virginem, then and now meet: medieval polyphony and ancient Latin text are reimagined through a 20th-century arrangement, reminding us that music can transcend the centuries. Even in a world where Latin is no longer common, the carol’s expressive power remains.

The Angel Gabriel – Robert Neurmeyer

The melody of this piece comes from a traditional Basque folk carol, itself associated with the older tradition of Angelus ad Virginem. The version familiar to us today, however, derives not directly from the Middle English sources of that medieval hymn, but from its Basque musical counterpart.

The carol reached a wider audience in the late 19th century, during a period of renewed interest in recovering, preserving, and reimagining medieval and folk sacred music. Across Britain and Europe, musicians, scholars, and clergy sought to rescue ancient melodies and oral traditions from obscurity, bringing them into the musical and liturgical life of a changing world. The result was a fascinating meeting of old and new: ancient melodies and narratives were paired with modern translations, harmonizations, and arrangements.

This revival was shaped by the British Folk Revival, the Oxford Movement, and a growing romantic fascination with the Middle Ages (in what is referred to as “late-Romantic” in classical music). Collectors travelled through rural communities, transcribing local carols, plainsongs, and modal melodies directly from singers whose musical traditions had often been passed down by ear rather than preserved in writing. These efforts helped bring historical Latin and vernacular texts, along with regional folk melodies, into modern hymnals, allowing congregations to experience a sense of spiritual continuity with the past that counterbalanced the modern, academic hymn writing.

In this rendition of The Angel Gabriel, Robert Neurmeyer continues that tradition of renewal, bringing together a medieval Latin hymn, an 18th-century Basque melody, and a 21st-century arrangement. The result reminds us that musical traditions are never entirely fixed: each generation finds new ways to preserve, reinterpret, and breathe life into the music it inherits.

Magnificat – first movement from Johann Sebastian Bach’s Magnificat

Mary’s song of praise, the Magnificat, has inspired musical composition for centuries. Drawn from the Gospel of Luke, it tells of Mary’s response to the angel’s announcement that she will bear Jesus: a song of wonder, humility, and the promise of a world transformed. Though sung throughout the Christian year, the Magnificat holds a particular place in Advent and Christmas, connecting the anticipation of Christ’s birth with Mary’s own experience of carrying him. This selection is wholeheartedly a then.

In the medieval Church, the Magnificat was sung daily at Vespers, the evening prayer service. During the final days before Christmas, its words took on an especially poignant significance. In this world of chant and ritual, the Magnificat was not simply a musical work; it was a living part of the Church’s preparation for the Nativity.

The Reformation brought new perspectives on Mary and her place in Christian devotion. While some Protestant traditions moved away from Marian veneration, Martin Luther continued to value the Magnificat, seeing Mary as an example of humility and of God’s grace working through the lowly. His celebrated commentary on the text, published in 1521–22, reflected his conviction that Mary’s song proclaimed a radical reversal of worldly power: the proud brought low and the humble lifted up.

By the 17th and 18th centuries, composers were transforming the Magnificat from its roots in plainchant into increasingly elaborate works for voices and instruments. The text that had once resounded through the liturgy in the simplicity of unaccompanied chant could now unfold through Baroque brilliance. In 1723, shortly after taking up his post as Thomaskantor in Leipzig, Johann Sebastian Bach presented his Magnificat in E-flat major, BWV 243a as part of his duties. In Bach’s hands, Mary’s ancient song becomes a vivid musical proclamation: the intimacy of personal faith expands into a jubilant, almost theatrical celebration of divine promise.

Across the centuries, the Magnificat has moved from medieval chant to Reformation-era reflection and, ultimately, to the splendour of the Baroque orchestra. Yet its central message remains constant. Whether sung in the quiet cadence of a monastery or proclaimed through Bach’s brilliant musical architecture, Mary’s song gives voice to the hope at the heart of the Nativity: that the world is about to change.

The Rose – Ola Gjeilo

Where Bach’s Magnificat celebrates the promise of Christ’s coming through the exuberance and grandeur of the Baroque, Ola Gjeilo’s The Rose invites us into a quieter, more contemplative encounter with the mystery of the Nativity. Its text draws on the poetry of Christina Rossetti (1830–1894), an English poet whose lyrical writing explores the beauty, tenderness, and spiritual wonder of Christmas. Rossetti is perhaps best known for the beloved carols In the Bleak Midwinter and Love Came Down at Christmas, both of which find profound meaning in the meeting of the divine and the human.

Norwegian composer and pianist Ola Gjeilo, born near Oslo in 1978, moved to New York in 2001 to study composition at the Juilliard School. In The Rose, his contemporary musical language gives voice to the same enduring mystery that inspired Bach centuries earlier. Where Bach’s setting proclaims Mary’s song with dramatic energy and orchestral splendour, Gjeilo offers a more intimate reflection on the wonder of Christ’s birth. I think of this selection as a ‘now’ for it’s secular ties and modern choral style.

The Road Not Taken – from Randall Thompson’s Frostiana

Literary critic David Orr observes that Frost’s poem is about “the necessity of choosing,” yet never quite makes a choice itself, instead returning us to the same enigmatic crossroads. Frost originally wrote the poem as a joke for his friend Edward Thomas, who was often indecisive about which path to take on their walks together. As Thompson suggests, the poem’s narrator is someone who habitually regrets the choices he makes, wistfully imagining the possibilities of the road not taken. Frost himself described Thomas as someone who, whichever road he chose, would be sorry he hadn’t taken the other.

This tendency to dwell on our options has a curious paradox: when two choices are very similar, the decision between them may matter little, yet choosing can feel surprisingly difficult. We can end up spending the most energy on the decisions that matter least. Nobel laureate Herbert Simon explored a related idea through the concept of satisficing—a blend of “satisfy” and “suffice”—which recognizes that we cannot realistically evaluate every possible option to find the perfect one. Often, we must accept what is good enough.

I enjoy the way this piece speaks to the pressures we associate with Christmas now: the hustle and bustle, the endless decisions, and the stratospheric expectations we place on ourselves to create an Instagram-worthy portrait of our lives. We agonize over the details, wondering whether we have chosen the right gifts, traditions, meals, or celebrations, as though a perfect Christmas were waiting just beyond the next decision. Yet year after year, the holiday arrives and passes, and the result is often much the same, regardless of which road we took to get there.

What Strangers Are These? – arr. Richard Purvis

Rooted in traditional Scottish text and melody, What Strangers Are These? tells the familiar story of the Nativity through a simple but compelling question: who are these travellers seeking shelter? As the verses unfold, we recognize Joseph and Mary, and the vulnerable child they carry, whose birth Christians understand as a promise of redemption for humanity.

The piece has travelled through time much like the story it tells, moving from folk tradition into the choral repertoire through arrangements such as the 1945 setting by American organist and composer Richard Purvis, as well as more recent adaptations by composers such as Dan Forrest. Each new interpretation offers another way to encounter this ancient story, allowing its music and message to speak to successive generations.

In this piece, Christmas Then and Nowmeet in the journey of two weary travellers seeking refuge. The world into which Jesus was born may be far removed from our own, but the need for shelter, welcome, and compassion remains familiar. Through a traditional Scottish melody and the enduring story of the Nativity, this piece invites us to consider not only who these strangers were then, but how we welcome the stranger today.

O Holy Night – arr. John Rutter

O Holy Night began in France in 1847, when a local priest asked poet and wine merchant Placide Cappeau to write a Christmas poem. Inspired by the Gospel of Luke, Cappeau wrote Minuit, chrétiens (“Midnight, Christians”), which his friend Adolphe Adam, a prominent French composer, then set to music. First performed on Christmas Eve in Roquemaure, France, the song—originally titled Cantique de Noël—would go on to become one of the world’s most beloved Christmas hymns.

Its journey was not without controversy. The song was later rejected by French church authorities, in part because of its creators’ backgrounds: Cappeau had left the Catholic Church and become involved in the socialist movement, while Adam was of Jewish heritage. Yet the music endured, crossing religious and cultural boundaries. In 1855, American Unitarian minister and music critic John Sullivan Dwight translated the text into English, helping bring its message to a wider audience. It also has a Canadian connection; on Christmas Eve in 1906, Canadian inventor Reginald Fessenden made history by broadcasting the song over the radio, playing it on his violin and singing it.

Through the story of O Holy Night, another fascinating dimension to Christmas Then and Now is revealed: many of the songs that define the modern Christmas season were, in fact, written by Jewish composers and lyricists. Irving Berlin gave us White Christmas; Johnny Marks wrote Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree, and A Holly Jolly Christmas; Mel Tormé and Robert Wells created The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire); and Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne collaborated on Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow! George Wyle, together with Edward Pola, wrote It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year. These songs have become part of the soundtrack of Christmas for millions. Their popularity reminds us that a holiday rooted in one faith can also become a shared cultural celebration, shaped by people from many different backgrounds. Just as Christmas music has evolved across centuries, so too has the way we celebrate the season. Perhaps one of the most beautiful expressions of Christmas now is this very inclusivity: that music can cross religious and cultural boundaries, bringing people together through a shared sense of nostalgia, generosity, joy, and hope.

Evermore – Laura Moorhouse & Sean Paul

Perhaps the clearest expression of our Christmas: Then and Now theme, Evermore brings together more than fifteen centuries of musical and poetic tradition. Its roots reach back to the 4th century, when Spanish Christian poet Aurelius Prudentius Clemens (348–410) wrote Corde natus ex parentis, a Latin hymn celebrating Christ as the source of all creation. Centuries later, the melody Divinum Mysterium, a traditional plainsong dating to the medieval period, became associated with this ancient text. In the 19th century, during a revival of interest in historic hymnody, the text was translated into English by John Mason Neale and Henry Williams Baker, helping bring these early Christian traditions into modern worship. In 2025, Laura Moorhouse and Sean Paul reimagined this rich inheritance in a contemporary arrangement. Evermore is a living example of how Christmas music continually evolves: each generation receives the words and melodies of the past, reshapes them, and gives them new life for the present. Across changing languages, musical styles, and centuries, the core message of an eternal, boundless love endures.

In Dulci Jubilo – arr. Michael Praetorius

Meaning “In sweet rejoicing,” In Dulci Jubilo is a medieval Christmas carol whose joyful spirit has endured for more than six centuries. Its original text blends Latin and German in a playful combination known as macaronic verse, bringing together the language of the Church and the language of everyday life. The melody appears in a manuscript dating to around 1400, preserved in the Leipzig University Library, although it may have circulated even earlier.

Over the centuries, the carol has inspired numerous translations and arrangements. One particularly popular English version, published by John Mason Neale in 1853, preserves the distinctive mixture of Latin and English, allowing the original text to retain its character while becoming accessible to new audiences. A 2008 survey by BBC Music Magazine found this to be the second most popular choral Christmas carol with British cathedral organists and choirmasters.

In Dulci Jubilo captures the spirit of Christmas Then and Now: a song born in the Middle Ages that continues to bring singers and listeners together through its exuberance, rhythmic vitality, and sense of communal celebration. Its blend of languages reminds us that Christmas music has never belonged to just one time or place; it has continually travelled, adapted, and found new life with each generation.

Bring a Torch, Jeannette, Isabella – Russell Robinson

Originating in the Provence region of France in the 17th century, this lively carol was originally titled Un flambeau, Jeannette, Isabelle. It was first published in 1688 and later translated into English, allowing its infectious melody to travel beyond its French roots. The tune was already popular enough to be borrowed by composer Marc-Antoine Charpentier for a drinking song associated with a 1672 revival of Molière’s play Le Médecin malgré lui—a reminder that melodies have often travelled between sacred and secular settings.

In Provence, the carol remains part of Christmas Eve tradition. Children dress as shepherds and milkmaids, carrying torches and candles as they sing on their way to Midnight Mass. In this way, Bring a Torch, Jeannette, Isabella brings Christmas; Then and Now together: a melody that has crossed languages and centuries continues to live not only in printed music and choral arrangements, but also in the customs of a community. Its message is expressed through the simple, enduring acts of gathering, singing, and carrying light into the winter darkness.

A Christmas Madrigal – Thomas Morley

Composed during the English Renaissance, A Christmas Madrigal reflects the lively musical culture of Elizabethan England, where Christmas celebrations could combine seasonal festivity with the popular art of secular music. Thomas Morley, one of the era’s best-known composers of secular song, lived in London during the time of Shakespeare and helped popularize the Italian-inspired ballett, a light, dance-like form often marked by playful “fa-la-la” refrains.

In this piece, Morley substitutes the familiar refrain with “lirum, lirum,” a whimsical phrase that may evoke the sound of a strummed lute, a popular instrument of the Renaissance. Rather than presenting Christmas through solemn ceremony, the madrigal captures the spirit of celebration through rhythm, wordplay, and communal singing. It offers a glimpse of Christmas then: a world in which music-making, dancing, and convivial gatherings were part of the season’s pleasures. Centuries later, its playful energy still invites us to share in that festive spirit.

To Us a Child Is Given — Johann Kuhnau (formerly attributed to J. S. Bach)

Uns ist ein Kind geboren (“To us a child is born”), BWV 142, is a festive Christmas cantata whose authorship remains uncertain, though it is now often attributed to Johann Kuhnau, Bach’s predecessor as Thomaskantor in Leipzig. Its text draws on a libretto by Erdmann Neumeister, published in 1711, and proclaims the joy at the heart of the Christmas story: “Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given.”

The work offers a glimpse into the extraordinary demands of Christmas in Bach’s time. As Thomaskantor, Bach was responsible not only for directing the famous boys’ choir at St. Thomas Church, but also for teaching students, preparing musicians, and providing music for Leipzig’s principal churches. Christmas was no single day of celebration: major services continued over several days, followed by further feast days through Epiphany. Each demanded music prepared, rehearsed, and performed to a tight schedule. Bach’s Christmas Oratorio, for example, comprises six cantatas intended for different feast days between Christmas Day and Epiphany in 1734–35. The Thomaskantor (the cantor and musical director of the Thomanerchor Leipzig) had an incredibly intense, grueling, and highly structured workload during the Christmas season. While the Thomaskantor enjoyed a period of musical silence (tempus clausum) during the fasting weeks of Advent, Christmas itself demanded a massive, multi-day musical production, involving intense performance and rehearsal schedules, no rest after Christmas, manually copying music for singers and instruments, and organizing the logistics of moving musicians and instruments between churches in the winter weather.

Compared with the pressures of our own Christmas preparations—planning meals, buying gifts, decorating, and bringing family together—Bach’s responsibilities may seem almost unimaginable. While we often try to create the perfect Christmas in our homes, he had to help create its musical life for an entire city. This cantata reminds us that, centuries before our modern holiday bustle, Christmas already called for enormous effort behind the scenes. In a way, it turns the theme into a kind of Christmas; Then vs Now, in a light-hearted, jovial fashion.

Shepherd’s Carol — William Billings

Although it is now known as The Shepherd’s Carol, this short piece was not given that title by William Billings himself. Just 22 measures long, it begins in G major with a simple, hymn-like setting before shifting from duple to compound meter, bringing changes in vocal texture and a more animated sense of movement to its conclusion. The interplay between the voices gives this modest work a character that is both intimate and communal.

William Billings was one of the most important American composers of his era, celebrated by his peers as “the father of our New England music.” A self-taught musician living in colonial and Revolutionary-era Boston, he was an unconventional figure whose physical disabilities and unpolished appearance stood in stark contrast to the influence he had on American musical life. In 1774, he established a singing school in Stoughton, Massachusetts, helping foster the tradition of community music-making that became central to early American choral culture. Yet despite his considerable contribution, Billings died in poverty and was buried in an unmarked grave.

There is something especially moving about hearing a Billings composition at Christmas. The season’s familiar songs often promise abundance, warmth, and celebration, but its deeper message is one of hope offered in a world that is far from perfect. Billings’s life reminds us that great beauty can emerge from difficult circumstances, and that music can create fellowship even when material rewards are scarce. Like the shepherds in the Nativity story, who receive the good news not from a position of wealth or power but out in the fields, Billings’s legacy belongs to ordinary people gathered together to sing. His Shepherd’s Carol invites us to find the heart of Christmas not in outward splendour, but in shared voices, community, and hope.

Gloria In Excelsis Deo – last movement from Johann Sebastian Bach’s (original) Magnificat

The “Gloria in excelsis Deo” appears in the original Christmas version of Johann Sebastian Bach’s Magnificat in E-flat major (BWV 243a), where the words are based on Luke 2:14 (“Glory to God in the highest”). The “Gloria in excelsis Deo” is considered “Christmas content” due to its reference to the Nativity. It has all the markers of the Baroque era; dazzling vocal lines and bright instrumentation, but with a timeless elegance that we continue to appreciate three hundred years later.

Videntes Stellam — Francis Poulenc

Composed in Aix-en-Provence in 1951 and published the following year, Videntes stellam (“Seeing the Star”) is the third motet in Francis Poulenc’s Quatre motets pour le temps de Noël (Four Motets for the Christmas Season). Its text comes from the liturgy for Epiphany, recounting the journey of the Magi, who see the star, recognize its significance, and follow it to the Christ child.

Written more than nineteen centuries after the Nativity story first took shape, Poulenc’s motet reminds us that the search for light and meaning continues across generations. Today, Christmas can easily become a journey of our own: navigating crowded calendars, shopping lists, family expectations, and the pressure to make everything perfect. The Magi offer a different model. They pause to look toward something beyond themselves, follow a light whose destination they cannot yet fully know, and discover wonder along the way. Poulenc’s setting invites us to look beyond the bustle of the modern season and ask what we are truly seeking—and what lights we choose to follow.

Choose Something Like a Star — Randall Thompson

Randall Thompson’s Choose Something Like a Star sets a poem by Robert Frost that asks us to look beyond ourselves for something steady, enduring, and worthy of our attention. Frost’s star offers no easy answers. When asked to explain itself, it simply declares, “I burn.” Yet its constancy becomes a lesson: in a world where praise and blame can swing wildly, we need something lasting to help us keep our balance. Frost’s reference to John Keats’s “Bright Star” reaches back to an earlier poetic tradition, reminding us that the search for steadfastness is itself timeless.

The star also offers a powerful connection to Christmas; Then and now. For generations, the star of Bethlehem has represented guidance and hope, leading the Magi toward the Christ child. Today, amid packed schedules, consumer pressures, social expectations, and the constant noise of modern life, Frost’s poem asks us to pause and consider what guides our own choices. What principles do we hold to when the world around us is divided or uncertain? What light can we follow when the way ahead is unclear? Like the Christmas star, Frost’s star does not tell us exactly what to do; it asks us to look higher, think more carefully, and choose something worthy of our trust. Thompson’s setting transforms that reflection into music, inviting us to seek a steadier light in the midst of the season’s bustle.;

Rideau Carol — David Rain

Rideau Carol holds a special place in David Rain’s heart: it was his very first composition, written as a love song to the Stairwell Carollers, the choir to which it is dedicated. The inspiration came to him while stopping for a drink at a fountain in Vincent Massey Park; Rain looked up and saw a sign pointing toward “Chutes Rideau Falls.” In that moment, an entire Christmas carol flashed before his eyes.

Three ideas immediately took shape. First, the carol would be bilingual. Second, Rideau Falls would be central to its imagery: the opening line, “As the icy curtain descends,” plays on the French word rideau, meaning “curtain.” Finally, the music itself would cascade like a waterfall. The French word chutes means “falls,” while its near-homophone chut means “hush”—a gentle invitation to quiet ourselves, as the baby Jesus sleeps.

From its very conception, Rideau Carol brought together the sacred and the secular. This makes the carol especially fitting for Christmas now: it finds the wonder of the season not only in an ancient story, but also in our own landscapes, languages, friendships, and communities. Its inspiration came from an ordinary moment, reminding us that Christmas magic can arrive when we least expect it.

Rain’s generosity extends beyond his music: he donates 50% of his composer income to Canadian charities, turning the joy of musical creation into practical support for others. In this sense, he might be considered a modern-day Santa—not delivering presents down chimneys, but using music to bring a little more hope and generosity into the world.

A Christmas Portrait — Jerry Nowak

Jerry Nowak’s A Christmas Portrait brings together three beloved songs that capture different facets of the modern Christmas season: It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas, The Christmas Song, and We Need a Little Christmas.

Meredith Willson’s It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas, first recorded in 1951, evokes the familiar signs that tell us the season has arrived—from decorated shop windows to trees and festive streets. Mel Tormé and Bob Wells wrote The Christmas Song on a sweltering summer day in 1945, imagining the winter comforts and childhood memories that could make the heat more bearable. Nat King Cole’s much-loved recordings helped turn it into one of the defining songs of the season. In contrast, Jerry Herman’s We Need a Little Christmas, introduced in the 1966 Broadway musical Mame, celebrates the deliberate choice to create joy in difficult circumstances. In the story, its characters turn to Christmas cheer after losing their fortune, reminding us that sometimes celebration is not a response to everything going well, but a way of finding hope when it does not.

Together, these songs reflect the many ways we experience Christmas today. We recognize the season through its familiar sights and sounds, seek comfort in traditions and memories, and sometimes need to make a conscious effort to bring light into challenging times. Christmas may be wrapped in nostalgia, but its meaning is renewed each year by the people with whom we share it—and by our willingness to create moments of warmth, connection, and joy. Nowak’s arrangement brings these musical portraits together in a celebration of the Christmas we remember, the Christmas we experience, and the Christmas spirit we choose to carry forward.

And so, our Christmas fruitcake is ready to serve: a little medieval chant, a generous helping of Renaissance festivity, a measure of Baroque splendour, a taste of folk tradition, and a contemporary layer of reflection, nostalgia, and joy. Some ingredients have been carefully preserved for centuries; others have been translated, rearranged, or given an entirely new flavour. Yet all have found their way to the same table.

Perhaps that is the enduring magic of Christmas music. It reminds us that, although the ways we celebrate may change, we continue to return to many of the same hopes: light in the darkness, comfort in uncertain times, welcome for the stranger, joy in one another’s company, and the promise of renewal.

In Christmas Then-and-Now, we listen across the centuries—not simply to discover how Christmas sounded in the past, but to recognize what still resonates in the present. And as we add our own voices to this long musical history, we become part of its next chapter. After all, Christmas comes but once a year; the music, thankfully, is evermore.