Bach, Howells, and the Communion of Saints

This time, I was ready. After my abject failure at Bach a couple of weeks ago, I worked especially hard on today's long list of music. I got up with my alarm; I was at the church in time for a good warmup before Matins. The major issue of the morning service was the Bach setting (the larger one) of the Vater unser, from the Clavierübung. It is a magnificent piece, with the chorale tune in canon, and what amounts to a trio sonata movement woven around it. It went pretty well; one measure got away from me in part, but the overall effect was what it should be. The choir had a fine anthem by K. Lee Scott on a Timothy Dudley-Smith text, "The love of God who died for me." S., the teacher of violin at the university, played an obbligato line with energy, the choir sang well, and the congregation joined for the final stanza. The hymns went well, as did the postlude, the smaller setting of the Vater unser.

Martin Luther wrote a series of hymns to help teach the Catechism. In the part of the Clavierübung that is for organ, Bach took each of these Catechism hymns and wrote not only a small, manuals-only, setting -- analogous to the Lesser Catechism, for which the hymns are meant -- but a large setting, analogous to the Greater Catechism, which explores the same ideas in depth. The larger Vater unser setting is an extended meditation on the Lord's Prayer. Perhaps one aspect of it might be the halting and stumbling nature of our prayers, which nonetheless, carried by this great Prayer of our Lord and his Church, persevere. Much more could be said, but all of it would be inadequate; the music is its own description.

It did not strike me until this morning what the smaller setting is; it is the Lord's Prayer as a child would say it. Gone are the convolutions of the large setting; it is simple, direct, and pure. I played it on a 4' principal, which seemed just right. It was the postlude, and a strange one (after my bombastic improvisation last Sunday), but I think it was the right music for the occasion.

There followed a committee meeting wherein some business was conducted which made me and a number of other people angry, and which (I fear) will have unintended repercussions. I should say no more of its substance in this public space.

After expressing my anger more than I should have to the excellent assistant priest, who (I think) spent the afternoon trying to pick up the pieces from the meeting by talking with as many participants as she could, I went up to practice for Evensong. "O Lord, open thou our lips: And our mouth shall shew forth thy praise." That was all it took; that opening into heaven, even in my mere practice for the prayers that were to come, put the afternoon in perspective. As if that weren't enough, there was the Psalm, which seemed a direct Word from the Father to me in my perplexity:

"Do not fret yourself because of evildoers. . . for they shall soon wither like the grass, and like the green grass fade away."

I played the Howells "De profundis" from the Psalm-Preludes for the Evensong prelude. It too was tailored for the occasion. My plans had been to do the Bach Passacaglia, but it became clear a week or two ago that I would not have it ready. As it proved, the Howells was what needed to be heard, not the Bach, and I would not have known that before today. About a half-dozen people who were at the meeting earlier were at the Evensong, as choristers or in the congregation. I hope that the music spoke to them as it did to me.

The Liturgy of the holy catholic Church. . . . and the Communion of Saints. I mentioned the assistant priest; I must also mention the Vestrywoman who is assigned to the committee as liason. After the meeting she sent a group e-mail to the Rector, the Wardens, and the committee expressing her displeasure with the manner in which the business was conducted. This woman, M., is a former chorister. She and her husband sang in the choir until they married and had children; the combination of law school and babies no longer permitted her to sing with us, though I hope they will return when their children are older. I hold her in very high esteem, and consider her one of the strongest people in this parish. I can hardly express what it meant to me to see that e-mail; it was like seeing Gandalf riding over the crest of the hill at Helm's Deep at the first light of dawn.

J.S. Bach, Herbert Howells, and others also reached their hands down the generations to this day, through their music. And young Molly after church this morning, walking at breakneck speed through the church ("Don't run in church, Molly!") with a friend, smiling and saying "Hi, Mr. Cassi!" and "Bye, Mr. Cassi!" as they went by, obviously glad to see me. And S. the violinist, and Martin Luther, and Timothy Dudley-Smith. And Thomas Cranmer, with his craftsmanship of the language of the Rite One Eucharist this morning and Evensong tonight. And Fr. T., the elderly priest who joins me for Sunday Matins. And his wife, who was at the meeting and whose opinions were crystal clear without her saying a word. And two of my online friends who wrote things that encouraged me and reminded me that we are all in this together; I thought of their words during the meeting, these people thousands of miles away with their own concerns and struggles, serving the same Lord in their places as I seek to do in this place. All of these people have been part of this day for me, for we are, indeed, all in this together.

"I believe in the Holy Ghost,
the holy catholic Church,
the communion of saints,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body,
and the life everlasting. Amen."