Very early yesterday morning, Msgr. Richard J. Schuler passed away. He was 82, a priest of the diocese of St. Paul-Minneapolis, and founder of the Church Music Association of America. Jeffrey Tucker notes at New Liturgical Movement:

He was not only a brilliant musician; he was also pioneer in the use of large-scale polyphony and symphonic sung Masses after the Second Vatican Council. He never wavered in his dedication to what is both beautiful and true, even when it must have seemed that the world around him was crumbling. He left an amazing legacy: a new generation of Catholic musicians to carry forward his work.

Fr. Z has details on arrangements.

Reader Tim Ferguson sends in this remembrance:

For those that knew him, nothing further needs to be said than to request prayers for his soul. For those who did not have the privilege of knowing him, Monsignor, or Fr. Schuler, as he always answered his phone, was a priest of singular stature. Pastor of St. Agnes parish in St. Paul for over 30 years, he was steeped in the musical and liturgical heritage of the Church and sought to preserve and extend that heritage. Through the darkest of times in the 70’s and 80’s, he persisted in maintaining a level of liturgical excellence at St. Agnes, accompanied by a passionate orthodoxy that bore fruit in so many ways.

Those of us who attended the seminary in St. Paul can never forget the Tuesday nights at St. Agnes rectory, where Monsignor presided over night prayer and then hours of conversation around the rectory dining room, telling stories, listening to seminarian complaints, alternating between joviality and serious support. Those of us who got into trouble at one point or another in our seminary careers have (mostly) fond memories of the advice and support of someone who, ultimately, was a pastor of souls. Of his great impact on the Church, there is no doubt – some two dozen men ordained from the parish during his tenure, many more seminarians from all over the midwest inspired by his example, the maintainence of solemn liturgy and the preservation of the musical patrimony of the Church – all can be laid at his doorstep to a great extent. But, I’ll remember him primarily as a friend.

Two brief memories stick out from my two-month period living at St. Agnes rectory after I graduated from St. John Vianney college seminary: At one point, Msgr. came to my room and asked if I would accompany him to a parishioner’s apartment. She was a woman afflicted with agoraphobia. She had contacted Msgr. by phone some time before and made arrangements to be baptized and received into the Church. The day of her scheduled baptism, she failed to show up, because her fear of a crowd dissuaded her. Monsingor went to her apartment the next day and baptized her there, then came to get me as a sponsor to witness her confirmation. When she protested that she would, likely, not be able to make it to Sunday Mass – again because of the crowds – he calmly and lovingly assured her that Christ does not expect of us that which is impossible for us to fulfill, and encouraged her, every Sunday, to pray at her window, facing St. Agnes – and thereby she could join in the community of the Church as much as her condition would allow.

At another point, I had come back to the rectory between Masses on Sunday to put the roast in the oven for Sunday lunch (another weekly event that I was most privileged to be a part of for a time). Another student living in the rectory at that time ran downstairs to tell me that the second floor toilet was overflowing. I ran upstairs, pushed up the sleeves of my cassock and readjusted the workings in the tank behind the toiler so as to cease the overflowing. Monsignor walked by, saw me in a very wet cassock with my hands in the toilet tank and smiled, saying, "You have just mastered the first principle of pastoral theology – plumbing!"

I last saw Monsignor last spring, when I was in the Cities for ordinations. Much frailer and unsteady on his legs, he nonetheless immediately remembered me and asked me to sing for him a couple of the song parodies for which I developed a little reputation in college. After our conversation, when I went to take my leave, I asked for his blessing, which he gave, very tearfully. Then he said, "I have been alive too long. I should be going now." God rest you Monsignor, and may angels take you to your well-deserved rest. I hear they make strong coffee in heaven, and the angels play Mozart just for fun.