"I believe in . . . the communion of saints" (BCP p. 54)
Four persons received the sacrament of Confirmation this morning. As one of them, B., knelt before the bishop, his grandmother at his side as sponsor, I thought of the little choirboy who joined about the time that I came to this parish; his two big sisters were choristers and he had no choice. His eldest sister, in fact, was confirmed today along with him. She was a teenager when I arrived; along with all of the other teenagers in what had been a good choir, she quit, leaving me with the little kids to start over. But I accompanied her for a solo or two while she was in high school; she was a fine singer.
B. is now full-grown, taller than I am, and a fine young man. And he has this day, with the others, assumed his place as an adult in the faith community.
P., one of the jazzmen, arrived with a large group of family, who had driven all the way from Chicago. The bishop related how some are "cradle Episcopalians," others are "playpen Episcopalians" who weren't quite there from birth, but arrived at a young age, still others are "singing Episcopalians" who encounter a good children's choir at the right time. P. leaned over and told me he is a "trumpet Episcopalian." His participation in the jazz evensong combo has, over the course of a couple of years, brought him to this day of confirmation.
As I reset the hymnboards after the contemporary service, a young woman and handsome young man whom she identified as her husband-to-be wandered around the church arm in arm, looking at the windows, the new chancel, the altar and its accouterments. She was, as she told me, an acolyte in this parish as a child; she wanted her beloved to see this place which meant much to her.
At the traditional service, we opened with "Holy, Holy, Holy," to the great J. B. Dykes tune Nicaea. Before we started, I estimated the sparse congregation, and reduced my registration by a couple of stops. Would we be up to it?
I should never have doubted. It went sufficiently well that I dropped out for an unaccompanied stanza, tears in my eyes at the sound of their voices in beautiful harmony. Like no other group in my experience, these people embody the dictum that "the congregation is the true choir" of the parish. Afterwards, a distinguished elder of the congregation told me that the hymn "took [him] back seventy years" to his days as a choirboy in Wales.
J., an organist in the congregation, came up to the choir afterwards with her children. Both of them have been immersed in singing and church music from their pre-natal beginnings; I remember J. attending organ recitals while very pregnant, and herself playing in at least one while in that condition. I have little doubt that if the Lord grants these children long lives, they will one day take their place as choristers, and beside B. and his sister as confirmed adult members of the Church (whether this communion or another). They may come back for visits and show their future husband and wife this parish church, and all the places in it that they love and remember. If the Lord wills, they may one day sing hymns that take them back seventy or eighty years to their childhood in this parish. And they may stand as sponsors for their grandchildren at confirmation. May the Lord grant them all of these blessings and many more.
It was a Good Day. The bishop preached a splendid sermon despite forgetting to bring his notes; he is an excellent preacher and it is always good to hear him. The choir sang well: "As truly as God is our Father" by William Mathias, an anthem on texts by the Lady Julian of Norwich which they sang from the heart, finishing with the line "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well." The organ music -- Bach, the hymnody, and the service music -- was good, complete with that low "E" in the pedal at a couple of crucial points.
It will not be the last Good Day:
"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."
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
The Book of Common Prayer
The First Book of Common Prayer, 1549, is appropriately observed on a weekday following the Day of Pentecost. (BCP p. 23)
"So that here you have an order for prayer (as touching the reading of the holy Scripture), much agreeable to the mind and purpose of the old fathers, and a great deal more profitable and commodious, than that which of late was used. It is more profitable, because here are left out many things, whereof some be untrue, some uncertain, some vain and superstitious: and is ordained nothing to be read, but the very pure word of God, the holy Scriptures, or that which is evidently grounded upon the same. . . ." (Preface to the First Book of Common Prayer, 1549)
The Book of Common Prayer is what made me an Anglican. My first extensive exposure to the Daily Offices of Matins and Evensong is described here.
I immediately recognized the riches of the Offices, and of the Holy Eucharist conducted for the most part in the traditional Rite One language. Nonetheless, I had some scruples. I had been taught in my Fundamentalist upbringing that Episcopalians and Anglicans, like Roman Catholics, worshipped the Virgin Mary, did not believe the Scriptures, and were corrupted by atheistic liberal humanism.
Again, the BCP saved me; I found and studied the Articles of Religion (BCP p. 867-876). This was the true catholic and evangelical faith, in greater depth than anything I had encountered as a Baptist. I was convinced; I joined the teenagers in the year-long confirmation class, knelt before the bishop, and received the sacramental grace of Confirmation. For, as I learned, there were not two, but seven sacraments -- and "sacraments" indeed, not "ordinances."
It was in this (the seven sacraments) that I began to learn the limitations of the Articles of Religion (viz. Article XXV. Of the Sacraments). As the years passed, I learned that the Episcopal Church has pretty much discarded all Thirty-Nine of the Articles. Would that it were otherwise.
The BCP makes the Church look better than it is. Or, to state it more positively, it stands as a measuring rod for what the Church ought to be. It has been for me a school of prayer both liturgical and private; a comfort in perplexity and sorrow; a daily companion and teacher; a guide through the liturgical year and the Holy Scriptures; an introduction to the Saints; a connection in prayer, praise, and life with the "one holy Catholic and Apostolic Church."
Alongside the Scriptures in the Authorized Version (KJV), it has been a guide and teacher of my native tongue. It would be hard to find any passages in the English language, even in Shakespeare, to equal the traditional Confession (BCP p. 331: "Almighty God, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, maker of all things, judge of all men...." or any number of passages from the Eucharistic Prayer: "And although we are unworthy, through our manifold sins, to offer unto thee any sacrifice, yet we beseech thee to accept this our bounden duty and service, not weighing our merits, but pardoning our offenses, through Jesus Christ our Lord...." and "We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies...." Or the post-communion prayer, which lists in one magnificent sentence of eighty words the blessings of the "holy mysteries," continuing with the petition "that we may continue in that holy fellowship, and do all such good works as thou hast prepared for us to walk in," and concluding "through Jesus Christ our Lord to whom, with thee and the Holy Ghost, be all honor and glory, world without end. Amen."
And then there are the Te Deum, the Magnificat, and the Nunc Dimittis. These are words to grow into, by God's grace, through daily rehearsal. One does not tire of such things; they grow more precious with each repetition. I hope that if I live long enough to lose such mind as I have, the last things that remain in it are the Canticles of the Office and the Lord's Prayer as guides to lead me home.
Were I limited to only three books for the residue of this life, it would be the Holy Bible, the Book of Common Prayer, and a good Hymnal. Were I limited to two, the Prayerbook would come ahead of the Hymnal.
"So that here you have an order for prayer (as touching the reading of the holy Scripture), much agreeable to the mind and purpose of the old fathers, and a great deal more profitable and commodious, than that which of late was used. It is more profitable, because here are left out many things, whereof some be untrue, some uncertain, some vain and superstitious: and is ordained nothing to be read, but the very pure word of God, the holy Scriptures, or that which is evidently grounded upon the same. . . ." (Preface to the First Book of Common Prayer, 1549)
The Book of Common Prayer is what made me an Anglican. My first extensive exposure to the Daily Offices of Matins and Evensong is described here.
I immediately recognized the riches of the Offices, and of the Holy Eucharist conducted for the most part in the traditional Rite One language. Nonetheless, I had some scruples. I had been taught in my Fundamentalist upbringing that Episcopalians and Anglicans, like Roman Catholics, worshipped the Virgin Mary, did not believe the Scriptures, and were corrupted by atheistic liberal humanism.
Again, the BCP saved me; I found and studied the Articles of Religion (BCP p. 867-876). This was the true catholic and evangelical faith, in greater depth than anything I had encountered as a Baptist. I was convinced; I joined the teenagers in the year-long confirmation class, knelt before the bishop, and received the sacramental grace of Confirmation. For, as I learned, there were not two, but seven sacraments -- and "sacraments" indeed, not "ordinances."
It was in this (the seven sacraments) that I began to learn the limitations of the Articles of Religion (viz. Article XXV. Of the Sacraments). As the years passed, I learned that the Episcopal Church has pretty much discarded all Thirty-Nine of the Articles. Would that it were otherwise.
The BCP makes the Church look better than it is. Or, to state it more positively, it stands as a measuring rod for what the Church ought to be. It has been for me a school of prayer both liturgical and private; a comfort in perplexity and sorrow; a daily companion and teacher; a guide through the liturgical year and the Holy Scriptures; an introduction to the Saints; a connection in prayer, praise, and life with the "one holy Catholic and Apostolic Church."
Alongside the Scriptures in the Authorized Version (KJV), it has been a guide and teacher of my native tongue. It would be hard to find any passages in the English language, even in Shakespeare, to equal the traditional Confession (BCP p. 331: "Almighty God, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, maker of all things, judge of all men...." or any number of passages from the Eucharistic Prayer: "And although we are unworthy, through our manifold sins, to offer unto thee any sacrifice, yet we beseech thee to accept this our bounden duty and service, not weighing our merits, but pardoning our offenses, through Jesus Christ our Lord...." and "We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies...." Or the post-communion prayer, which lists in one magnificent sentence of eighty words the blessings of the "holy mysteries," continuing with the petition "that we may continue in that holy fellowship, and do all such good works as thou hast prepared for us to walk in," and concluding "through Jesus Christ our Lord to whom, with thee and the Holy Ghost, be all honor and glory, world without end. Amen."
And then there are the Te Deum, the Magnificat, and the Nunc Dimittis. These are words to grow into, by God's grace, through daily rehearsal. One does not tire of such things; they grow more precious with each repetition. I hope that if I live long enough to lose such mind as I have, the last things that remain in it are the Canticles of the Office and the Lord's Prayer as guides to lead me home.
Were I limited to only three books for the residue of this life, it would be the Holy Bible, the Book of Common Prayer, and a good Hymnal. Were I limited to two, the Prayerbook would come ahead of the Hymnal.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
organ issues
As mentioned last time, the pedal division of our instrument has issues. Mostly, they are now resolved. It took me all day.
It needed to be done: this Sunday's voluntaries, the Kyrie - Christe - Kyrie from the Clavierübung of Bach, are in the key of E flat, and the three worst-offending notes were E flat, A flat, and B flat. In practice on Sunday evening and Tuesday, the pieces sounded wretched.
I have been trained as a piano technician. I worked professionally in that field for a while back in the late 1970's, and have done a fair amount of piano maintenance in the churches I have served since then. With organ repair, I am an amateur.
Two churches ago, I had the privilege of playing a fine three-maunal instrument by the firm of Randall Dyer & Associates, who remain my favorte organbuilders. They built the instrument; their shop was a mere three hours from my church; they came through town regularly to service a number of instruments; and this was (and remains) one of their "flagship" installations. Thus, I happily left the work to them. And I got spoiled by their excellent and reasonably-priced service.
One church ago, the instrument was a large Hill, Norman & Beard electropneumatic. It was a good instrument, in a large stone neo-Gothic edifice with good acoustics (and a congregation that filled maybe ten percent of the seats on Sundays). It had a fine English Tuba and was spectacular for playing Howells, as well as accompanying the English choral repertory. And it needed to be rebuilt -- which it has been, a few years after I left. Its issues were mostly in regard with the forest of wiring between the console and the switchboards, and a nonfunctional combination action. This was beyond my ken, there was no money for even the most basic maintenance and tuning, and there was not a reliable technician anywhere in the area, so I played the parts of it that worked and left the rest to the Lord.
And now, I play a fine and historic mechanical action Pilcher, relocated to our parish by the Organ Clearing House. For many years, it was serviced by an outstanding local technician, but about the time I started work here, he indicated that he no longer wanted to work on it. He recommended another technician, who has done some work, not very satisfactorily. But it did not need much; it stayed in tune, except when the north wind would blow through the pipe chamber. Christmas Eve was often an adventure in intonation. It needed almost no repair work; it was nearly a century old and thoroughly "settled in." After a couple visits from the second technician, I took care of what little tuning and repair it needed myself.
We had to remove the organ for storage during the recent renovation project. This was done, very professionally, by an organbuilder in the next state. Since the re-installation, the pedal linkages have, again, "settled in" with regular playing, and a few of them have needed adjustment. But we have no money for additional work, not that there is a local technician I would trust to do it. Today was the day: I was determined to set things right, for the honor of J. S. Bach and the Holy Trinity.
The repair of a mechanical action organ is mostly straightforward. Anyone with patience and some mechanical aptitude can do it. The difficulties are two: diagnosis, and getting to the place in the chamber where the work needs to be done.
I needed to reach the locking adjustment nuts for three notes at the pedalboard. But they are behind the pedal coupler stickers. Finally, I figured out that if I removed the Swell pedal, that would give me enough room to do the work, and so it was: mission accomplished. Then, there were several notes where the pedal division played, but if the manuals were coupled, they would "half-play" -- partially open, sounding out of tune. In the end, I worked through the entire gamut of the manual-to-pedal coupler, getting all the notes nice and even and accurate.
The bottom octave of our Bourdon 16' is on its own little side chest, over against the wall. The low E has been silent since shortly after the re-installation. It can be reached only by climbing over the reservoir on one's belly, then working at an awkward angle without seeing what one is doing. The locking nut had fallen off; I found it, put it back on, and tightened it into place. Were it readily accessible, it would have been five minutes' work; as it was, it took me nearly two hours. But in the end: mission accomplished. From now on, I will take pride in that E when it plays.
We had some plastic over the Great division to protect it from leaks during the roofing project. The roof being complete, I took the plastic down. Enough of the pipework got bumped between the contractor putting the plastic in place and me taking it down that I spent another hour or so tuning pipes on the Great.
A few mysteries remain, for which I can only scratch my head at present. Most notably, two notes on the pedal reed play perfectly when that is the only stop pulled, but sound as if they are starved for air when other stops are pulled with it. I have no idea what could cause this, for if anything should be gasping for air, it should not be the reed stop, which does not use as much air as the other stops. But on the whole, the organ is in good shape, and all without costing the church a penny beyond my salary. If the past is any indication, it should need little additional work for the remainder of my tenure.
It is a joy to delve into the inner workings of a musical instrument -- or for that matter, any beautiful mechanism. I do a bit of auto repair, and it is the same joy. I love the beautiful, jewel-like perfection of the engine in our Honda Civic, just as much as the action of a Steinway grand piano -- or the linkages of a mechanical organ action. I love the pure intervals when the pipes come into tune. I love the sense that this day, I have accomplished something.
Soli Deo gloria.
It needed to be done: this Sunday's voluntaries, the Kyrie - Christe - Kyrie from the Clavierübung of Bach, are in the key of E flat, and the three worst-offending notes were E flat, A flat, and B flat. In practice on Sunday evening and Tuesday, the pieces sounded wretched.
I have been trained as a piano technician. I worked professionally in that field for a while back in the late 1970's, and have done a fair amount of piano maintenance in the churches I have served since then. With organ repair, I am an amateur.
Two churches ago, I had the privilege of playing a fine three-maunal instrument by the firm of Randall Dyer & Associates, who remain my favorte organbuilders. They built the instrument; their shop was a mere three hours from my church; they came through town regularly to service a number of instruments; and this was (and remains) one of their "flagship" installations. Thus, I happily left the work to them. And I got spoiled by their excellent and reasonably-priced service.
One church ago, the instrument was a large Hill, Norman & Beard electropneumatic. It was a good instrument, in a large stone neo-Gothic edifice with good acoustics (and a congregation that filled maybe ten percent of the seats on Sundays). It had a fine English Tuba and was spectacular for playing Howells, as well as accompanying the English choral repertory. And it needed to be rebuilt -- which it has been, a few years after I left. Its issues were mostly in regard with the forest of wiring between the console and the switchboards, and a nonfunctional combination action. This was beyond my ken, there was no money for even the most basic maintenance and tuning, and there was not a reliable technician anywhere in the area, so I played the parts of it that worked and left the rest to the Lord.
And now, I play a fine and historic mechanical action Pilcher, relocated to our parish by the Organ Clearing House. For many years, it was serviced by an outstanding local technician, but about the time I started work here, he indicated that he no longer wanted to work on it. He recommended another technician, who has done some work, not very satisfactorily. But it did not need much; it stayed in tune, except when the north wind would blow through the pipe chamber. Christmas Eve was often an adventure in intonation. It needed almost no repair work; it was nearly a century old and thoroughly "settled in." After a couple visits from the second technician, I took care of what little tuning and repair it needed myself.
We had to remove the organ for storage during the recent renovation project. This was done, very professionally, by an organbuilder in the next state. Since the re-installation, the pedal linkages have, again, "settled in" with regular playing, and a few of them have needed adjustment. But we have no money for additional work, not that there is a local technician I would trust to do it. Today was the day: I was determined to set things right, for the honor of J. S. Bach and the Holy Trinity.
The repair of a mechanical action organ is mostly straightforward. Anyone with patience and some mechanical aptitude can do it. The difficulties are two: diagnosis, and getting to the place in the chamber where the work needs to be done.
I needed to reach the locking adjustment nuts for three notes at the pedalboard. But they are behind the pedal coupler stickers. Finally, I figured out that if I removed the Swell pedal, that would give me enough room to do the work, and so it was: mission accomplished. Then, there were several notes where the pedal division played, but if the manuals were coupled, they would "half-play" -- partially open, sounding out of tune. In the end, I worked through the entire gamut of the manual-to-pedal coupler, getting all the notes nice and even and accurate.
The bottom octave of our Bourdon 16' is on its own little side chest, over against the wall. The low E has been silent since shortly after the re-installation. It can be reached only by climbing over the reservoir on one's belly, then working at an awkward angle without seeing what one is doing. The locking nut had fallen off; I found it, put it back on, and tightened it into place. Were it readily accessible, it would have been five minutes' work; as it was, it took me nearly two hours. But in the end: mission accomplished. From now on, I will take pride in that E when it plays.
We had some plastic over the Great division to protect it from leaks during the roofing project. The roof being complete, I took the plastic down. Enough of the pipework got bumped between the contractor putting the plastic in place and me taking it down that I spent another hour or so tuning pipes on the Great.
A few mysteries remain, for which I can only scratch my head at present. Most notably, two notes on the pedal reed play perfectly when that is the only stop pulled, but sound as if they are starved for air when other stops are pulled with it. I have no idea what could cause this, for if anything should be gasping for air, it should not be the reed stop, which does not use as much air as the other stops. But on the whole, the organ is in good shape, and all without costing the church a penny beyond my salary. If the past is any indication, it should need little additional work for the remainder of my tenure.
It is a joy to delve into the inner workings of a musical instrument -- or for that matter, any beautiful mechanism. I do a bit of auto repair, and it is the same joy. I love the beautiful, jewel-like perfection of the engine in our Honda Civic, just as much as the action of a Steinway grand piano -- or the linkages of a mechanical organ action. I love the pure intervals when the pipes come into tune. I love the sense that this day, I have accomplished something.
Soli Deo gloria.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Three Choirs (sort of)
Today, the Eve of Pentecost, was our Three (Youth) Choirs' Day. Make that two; the cathedral choir backed out a couple of days ago, when their director came down with the flu, and for various reasons many of her choristers who had indicated interest backed out. So, we had Two Choirs. Or parts of them. Our choir has fifteen singers; about half of them had other things to do and skipped out. The visiting choir sent three singers; they have quite a few more than that. Their director was unable to attend; his wife started having labor contractions, and they decided that they should stay close to home. But he found a choir mother and a grandmother to transport the young folk.
---------------------------
Part of what gets me through the year is the annual RSCM Course in St. Louis. For those who are new to these pages, here is my report on last year's course:
Part I
Part II
Part III
Each year when I come to the first rehearsal of the Course and hear "that sound" -- the sound of those trebles, some of them from our own choir -- I am always overcome with emotion. "This is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven" (Gen. 28:17). By the end of the week, it is even better, and almost impossible to return home. I want to sing with these people, and sing such music, forever.
One of the principal reasons for our Three (or Two) Choirs' Day is that most of our choristers will never hear or participate in "that sound," not in this life. They are disinterested, or too busy with other things, to attend an RSCM course, and we rarely achieve it in our regular rehearsals and services. And probably none of the singers from today's guest choir will ever go. But they can come to the Choir Day and have something of a taste of it.
Today's work was a mixed bag. We had some interpersonal issues, and there was a steady stream of lost items every time we moved from one room to another. "I forgot my folder upstairs. Can I go get it?" "I lost my phone. I have to find it." Memorably, one chorister lost his folder for about the third time in the day. He went looking for it, and we sent two others to look for him after a while. They returned after what must have been twenty minutes, without folder -- because it was sitting on the snack table in the choir room, where (of course) he had laid it.
Add to that a steady stream of people getting drinks and going to the bathroom, and I thought at times that we would never get anything done. But we did. There were a few moments in rehearsal when we had "that sound," just like at the RSCM courses. It was so foreign to the visiting choir that one girl complained that it hurt her ears. I said "Excellent!!! That means we are doing it right. We are singing with a good solid Ring to our tone." She appeared to think I was insane.
The choristers from the two choirs had, on the whole, a good time in recreation, and seemed to connect with one another between the two choirs. We had plenty of good food, almost too much of it, from homemade cinnamon rolls for morning break to an excellent lunch to chocolate oat bars (homemade again) for afternoon break.
I mentioned the young man who repeatedly lost his folder. He was in over his head a bit with the day; he has a good voice and a love of music, and I hope he continues to sing and play the piano. I am glad he was with us. There was a time when I was suggesting to him that he open his hymnal to sing the Responses rather than looking off into space. I said that unless he does Morning and Evening Prayer every day, he probably does not know all of the words. "But I do," he said, appearing to find it incredible that there might be people somewhere who don't say Morning and Evening Prayer every day. I smiled and said "I do, too," and we exchanged high fives.
When the service arrived, he was unable to get through it. He came to me and complained about the heat (it was 76 degrees; I checked after the service) and went to sit with his grandmother. That was fine; he was with us for the day, and participated as fully as he was able. May God bless him along his way.
Many of the choristers (and the adults who assisted) gave up much to be with us on a fine and sunny spring Saturday. I am glad that they did.
We were frazzled by the end, and I wondered how the service would go. I don't believe either I or they could have done it without the musical prelude; it gave enough space to settle down. I improvised on the tune "Bridegroom," along with the head motive of our Anthem. The afternoon sun shone through the windows, lighting the red streamers which had been hung in the church that afternoon for Pentecost, complete with origami paper doves. As instructed, each chorister pulled the rope for the church bell; some of them had been asking all day to ring the bell, and now was the time. Now we could tell the neighborhood that it was time for church. The bell rang as the improvisation continued; the choristers processed in, resplendent in their vestments, and we sang the service. It was good.
"Ye also, as lively stones, are built up a spiritual house, an holy priesthood, to offer up spiritual sacrifices, acceptable to God by Jesus Christ." (I Peter 2:5)
---------------
The organ had Issues; it was ciphering on me during the Hymn. This is unrelated to our recent adventures with water damage; rather, it dates from spending too many months in a storage building. Some of the pallets are "sticky," and don't fully close when the notes are released. They close when you jiggle the note a few times, but one cannot readily do that in the middle of a hymn. It has done this in practice a number of times since its reinstallation in February, less frequently as time has passed, but tonight was the first time it has done it in a service. We have the same hymn tomorrow; I hope it is better-behaved.
There are other issues that must be addressed this summer, mostly having to do with regulation of the pedal action. "This summer" is now only eight days away: the Day of Pentecost tomorrow, and Trinity Sunday a week away. We have stumbled to the finish line of another season.
---------------------------
Part of what gets me through the year is the annual RSCM Course in St. Louis. For those who are new to these pages, here is my report on last year's course:
Part I
Part II
Part III
Each year when I come to the first rehearsal of the Course and hear "that sound" -- the sound of those trebles, some of them from our own choir -- I am always overcome with emotion. "This is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven" (Gen. 28:17). By the end of the week, it is even better, and almost impossible to return home. I want to sing with these people, and sing such music, forever.
One of the principal reasons for our Three (or Two) Choirs' Day is that most of our choristers will never hear or participate in "that sound," not in this life. They are disinterested, or too busy with other things, to attend an RSCM course, and we rarely achieve it in our regular rehearsals and services. And probably none of the singers from today's guest choir will ever go. But they can come to the Choir Day and have something of a taste of it.
Today's work was a mixed bag. We had some interpersonal issues, and there was a steady stream of lost items every time we moved from one room to another. "I forgot my folder upstairs. Can I go get it?" "I lost my phone. I have to find it." Memorably, one chorister lost his folder for about the third time in the day. He went looking for it, and we sent two others to look for him after a while. They returned after what must have been twenty minutes, without folder -- because it was sitting on the snack table in the choir room, where (of course) he had laid it.
Add to that a steady stream of people getting drinks and going to the bathroom, and I thought at times that we would never get anything done. But we did. There were a few moments in rehearsal when we had "that sound," just like at the RSCM courses. It was so foreign to the visiting choir that one girl complained that it hurt her ears. I said "Excellent!!! That means we are doing it right. We are singing with a good solid Ring to our tone." She appeared to think I was insane.
The choristers from the two choirs had, on the whole, a good time in recreation, and seemed to connect with one another between the two choirs. We had plenty of good food, almost too much of it, from homemade cinnamon rolls for morning break to an excellent lunch to chocolate oat bars (homemade again) for afternoon break.
I mentioned the young man who repeatedly lost his folder. He was in over his head a bit with the day; he has a good voice and a love of music, and I hope he continues to sing and play the piano. I am glad he was with us. There was a time when I was suggesting to him that he open his hymnal to sing the Responses rather than looking off into space. I said that unless he does Morning and Evening Prayer every day, he probably does not know all of the words. "But I do," he said, appearing to find it incredible that there might be people somewhere who don't say Morning and Evening Prayer every day. I smiled and said "I do, too," and we exchanged high fives.
When the service arrived, he was unable to get through it. He came to me and complained about the heat (it was 76 degrees; I checked after the service) and went to sit with his grandmother. That was fine; he was with us for the day, and participated as fully as he was able. May God bless him along his way.
Many of the choristers (and the adults who assisted) gave up much to be with us on a fine and sunny spring Saturday. I am glad that they did.
We were frazzled by the end, and I wondered how the service would go. I don't believe either I or they could have done it without the musical prelude; it gave enough space to settle down. I improvised on the tune "Bridegroom," along with the head motive of our Anthem. The afternoon sun shone through the windows, lighting the red streamers which had been hung in the church that afternoon for Pentecost, complete with origami paper doves. As instructed, each chorister pulled the rope for the church bell; some of them had been asking all day to ring the bell, and now was the time. Now we could tell the neighborhood that it was time for church. The bell rang as the improvisation continued; the choristers processed in, resplendent in their vestments, and we sang the service. It was good.
"Ye also, as lively stones, are built up a spiritual house, an holy priesthood, to offer up spiritual sacrifices, acceptable to God by Jesus Christ." (I Peter 2:5)
---------------
The organ had Issues; it was ciphering on me during the Hymn. This is unrelated to our recent adventures with water damage; rather, it dates from spending too many months in a storage building. Some of the pallets are "sticky," and don't fully close when the notes are released. They close when you jiggle the note a few times, but one cannot readily do that in the middle of a hymn. It has done this in practice a number of times since its reinstallation in February, less frequently as time has passed, but tonight was the first time it has done it in a service. We have the same hymn tomorrow; I hope it is better-behaved.
There are other issues that must be addressed this summer, mostly having to do with regulation of the pedal action. "This summer" is now only eight days away: the Day of Pentecost tomorrow, and Trinity Sunday a week away. We have stumbled to the finish line of another season.
Friday, May 21, 2010
on a more serious note
As the oil spill spreads, we cannot say that we were never warned.
A speech by President Jimmy Carter: April 18, 1977
"... we do have a choice about how we will spend the next few years. Each American uses the energy equivalent of 60 barrels of oil per person each year. [Edit: the equivalent figure in 2003, the latest year I can easily find, is about 58 barrels per person per year. It remains nearly twice as much as Germany, Great Britain, or Japan. Sweden, which Mr. Carter named in his speech, is much closer to the U.S. nowadays at about 43 barrels.] Ours is the most wasteful nation on earth. We waste more energy than we import. With about the same standard of living, we use twice as much energy per person as do other countries like Germany, Japan and Sweden.
"One choice is to continue doing what we have been doing before. We can drift along for a few more years...
"If we do not act, then by 1985 we will be using 33 percent more energy than we do today. We can't substantially increase our domestic production, so we would need to import twice as much oil as we do now. Supplies will be uncertain. The cost will keep going up. Six years ago, we paid $3.7 billion for imported oil. Last year we spent $37 billion -- nearly ten times as much -- and this year we may spend over $45 billion..." [Edit: 2008 expenditures for imported oil = approx. $475 billion. They have since declined somewhat from that figure because of the recession, and the current decline in oil prices.]
"We will feel mounting pressure to plunder the environment. We will have a crash program to build more nuclear plants, strip-mine and burn more coal, and drill more offshore wells than we will need if we begin to conserve now." [my emphasis]
--------------
an old Ent's environmental rant
"Mr. Carter was vilified for saying these things, especially the "moral equivalent of war" phrase, and this speech was one reason that he lost the 1980 election. Americans were unwilling to live up to what he was asking of them; they wanted the empty feel-good platitudes of the Great Communicator, and the "me" decade of unbridled consumption and waste that he ushered in.
"Mr. Carter's work was not without benefit. Thanks in part to his efforts, US oil consumption declined for the next several years, though it has steadily increased since 1985. And there were, I think, many impressionable young people like me who heard the rallying cry, and took action on scales small and large.
"'The moral equivalent of war...' I have fought the "long defeat" for these thirty years in such ways as I have been able, watching the mountain-top removal strip mining and nuclear plants that Mr. Carter predicted, watching the continued state of denial in which most Americans live, watching the window of opportunity to make a difference for the planet be squandered by two generations of political leaders. I am tired, and discouraged."
Kyrie eleison.
A speech by President Jimmy Carter: April 18, 1977
"... we do have a choice about how we will spend the next few years. Each American uses the energy equivalent of 60 barrels of oil per person each year. [Edit: the equivalent figure in 2003, the latest year I can easily find, is about 58 barrels per person per year. It remains nearly twice as much as Germany, Great Britain, or Japan. Sweden, which Mr. Carter named in his speech, is much closer to the U.S. nowadays at about 43 barrels.] Ours is the most wasteful nation on earth. We waste more energy than we import. With about the same standard of living, we use twice as much energy per person as do other countries like Germany, Japan and Sweden.
"One choice is to continue doing what we have been doing before. We can drift along for a few more years...
"If we do not act, then by 1985 we will be using 33 percent more energy than we do today. We can't substantially increase our domestic production, so we would need to import twice as much oil as we do now. Supplies will be uncertain. The cost will keep going up. Six years ago, we paid $3.7 billion for imported oil. Last year we spent $37 billion -- nearly ten times as much -- and this year we may spend over $45 billion..." [Edit: 2008 expenditures for imported oil = approx. $475 billion. They have since declined somewhat from that figure because of the recession, and the current decline in oil prices.]
"We will feel mounting pressure to plunder the environment. We will have a crash program to build more nuclear plants, strip-mine and burn more coal, and drill more offshore wells than we will need if we begin to conserve now." [my emphasis]
--------------
an old Ent's environmental rant
"Mr. Carter was vilified for saying these things, especially the "moral equivalent of war" phrase, and this speech was one reason that he lost the 1980 election. Americans were unwilling to live up to what he was asking of them; they wanted the empty feel-good platitudes of the Great Communicator, and the "me" decade of unbridled consumption and waste that he ushered in.
"Mr. Carter's work was not without benefit. Thanks in part to his efforts, US oil consumption declined for the next several years, though it has steadily increased since 1985. And there were, I think, many impressionable young people like me who heard the rallying cry, and took action on scales small and large.
"'The moral equivalent of war...' I have fought the "long defeat" for these thirty years in such ways as I have been able, watching the mountain-top removal strip mining and nuclear plants that Mr. Carter predicted, watching the continued state of denial in which most Americans live, watching the window of opportunity to make a difference for the planet be squandered by two generations of political leaders. I am tired, and discouraged."
Kyrie eleison.
a follow-up for Raisin
It is not quite what you were describing: a drive-in rather than a drive-up. But here it is:
The Drive-In Christian Church, Daytona, Florida
Don't miss the first photo.
Here is the church website. They are celebrating their fiftieth anniversary, and appear to be a church that cares about the community, and about the poor both locally and around the world, and whose people love the Lord and one another: in other words, just like us in the things that matter. May God bless them in their ministry.
The Drive-In Christian Church, Daytona, Florida
Don't miss the first photo.
Here is the church website. They are celebrating their fiftieth anniversary, and appear to be a church that cares about the community, and about the poor both locally and around the world, and whose people love the Lord and one another: in other words, just like us in the things that matter. May God bless them in their ministry.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
learning from one another
Liturgically and musically, I am more at home with our parish's traditional service than with "the 8:45" (see the previous post for definition). It involves choir and organ, which is what I do. I took it personally when the committee which designed 8:45 repeatedly maligned the work of the parish choir and organist (that is, me), and made it clear that they wanted no part of either. It took some time to get over it, and I think it took some of the committee a long time to accept me as their musician.
We were greatly helped by the presence of a talented pianist and church musician, one T.W., who initially led the music at 8:45. In those days, I generally sat in the back corner of the church and participated as a member of the congregation. When T.W. moved to another state, the mantle fell onto my shoulders as pianist and songleader. I have done my best. The musical center of gravity of the 8:45 service was initially that of Roman Catholic "renewal" music -- songs such as "Here I am, Lord" and "On Eagle's Wings." These and similar songs remain important, but we also sing a lot of music from the Iona Community and from Taizé, a as well as a good bit of "world" music. For a while, we were blessed by the presence of a Congolese refugee who sang like an angel. When he sang (mostly in Swahili), it was like a voice from heaven. But I have tended to resist the frequent calls for more "special music." It would be easy for the 8:45 music to become more performance-oriented rather than congregational. For reasons of time, there is precious little music at 8:45 as it is. I would hate for the congregation to lose the opportunities that they have.
As I mentioned the other day, the traditional congregation needs some of this sort of congregational music, in balance with the hymnody they already sing. And they would resist it, I think. Some of them become thoroughly allergic when asked to sing a Taizé ostinato on an occasion such as Maundy Thursday, when people from all three "congregations" are present. I am certain that they would rebel were I to schedule "On Eagle's Wings" for their service.
The great strength of the 8:45 congregation, one that the other two congregations need in larger degree than they possess, is their tolerance for the unexpected. We are blessed with a large number of preschool children. They make noise. They go in all manner of unexpected directions. And the 8:45 people mostly accept it.
St. Paul writes: "Let everything be done decently and in order." True, and important -- but that "decency" and "order" must include room for young children and others. In another congregation that I served, there was a large Sunday School class of special-needs adults. They would sit together in church, about twenty of them, and participate joyfully. When there was a song or spoken prayer (such as the Lord's Prayer), they would go at their own speed, and generally finish up well after the rest of the congregation. And it was all right. It was more than all right; it was a palpable blessing. Mind you, this was a very traditional service in a very traditional and conservative Presbyterian congregation, with choir and organ and clergy in black Geneva gowns and thirty-minute expository sermons and the dourest and most Presbyterian-looking ushers you ever saw. But they knew enough to accept and love these young (and not-so-young) men and women with Down's Syndrome and other challenges, and fully include them in worship.
How does one balance commotion with the desire -- indeed, the need -- for people to listen attentively and thoughtfully to something of great seriousness, perhaps a choral psalm or anthem, or a sermon, or an organ prelude, or the Eucharistic Prayer, or (above all) the Holy Scriptures? I do not know. I suspect that two things must be balanced:
-- the congregation as a whole needs to be seriously attentive with full inward and spiritual participation in every aspect of the service. Adults can provide a good example to children in this, and they can, by their example, teach the children. I have seen excellent examples of this, such as parents getting their small children to lay aside what they are doing, stand on the pew so they can see, and face the Deacon as she reads the Gospel. Without saying so in words, it communicates the message that "This is important. It is so important, we all must listen to it." The saying goes "Liturgy is caught, not taught." The children will never learn how to do liturgy unless they are present with the full community from birth, doing it insofar as they are able. They will learn not so much from what we tell them, but from what we do.
-- at the same time, the congregation must be flexible and accept a level of disorder and randomness and noise. The congregation needs a sense of humor about itself, and a sense of family. This is hard for some people, especially those who have never been parents. But they -- we, for I fall in this category -- are the ones who most need the presence of children in the worshipping community. "Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein." (Mark 10:15)
We were greatly helped by the presence of a talented pianist and church musician, one T.W., who initially led the music at 8:45. In those days, I generally sat in the back corner of the church and participated as a member of the congregation. When T.W. moved to another state, the mantle fell onto my shoulders as pianist and songleader. I have done my best. The musical center of gravity of the 8:45 service was initially that of Roman Catholic "renewal" music -- songs such as "Here I am, Lord" and "On Eagle's Wings." These and similar songs remain important, but we also sing a lot of music from the Iona Community and from Taizé, a as well as a good bit of "world" music. For a while, we were blessed by the presence of a Congolese refugee who sang like an angel. When he sang (mostly in Swahili), it was like a voice from heaven. But I have tended to resist the frequent calls for more "special music." It would be easy for the 8:45 music to become more performance-oriented rather than congregational. For reasons of time, there is precious little music at 8:45 as it is. I would hate for the congregation to lose the opportunities that they have.
As I mentioned the other day, the traditional congregation needs some of this sort of congregational music, in balance with the hymnody they already sing. And they would resist it, I think. Some of them become thoroughly allergic when asked to sing a Taizé ostinato on an occasion such as Maundy Thursday, when people from all three "congregations" are present. I am certain that they would rebel were I to schedule "On Eagle's Wings" for their service.
The great strength of the 8:45 congregation, one that the other two congregations need in larger degree than they possess, is their tolerance for the unexpected. We are blessed with a large number of preschool children. They make noise. They go in all manner of unexpected directions. And the 8:45 people mostly accept it.
St. Paul writes: "Let everything be done decently and in order." True, and important -- but that "decency" and "order" must include room for young children and others. In another congregation that I served, there was a large Sunday School class of special-needs adults. They would sit together in church, about twenty of them, and participate joyfully. When there was a song or spoken prayer (such as the Lord's Prayer), they would go at their own speed, and generally finish up well after the rest of the congregation. And it was all right. It was more than all right; it was a palpable blessing. Mind you, this was a very traditional service in a very traditional and conservative Presbyterian congregation, with choir and organ and clergy in black Geneva gowns and thirty-minute expository sermons and the dourest and most Presbyterian-looking ushers you ever saw. But they knew enough to accept and love these young (and not-so-young) men and women with Down's Syndrome and other challenges, and fully include them in worship.
How does one balance commotion with the desire -- indeed, the need -- for people to listen attentively and thoughtfully to something of great seriousness, perhaps a choral psalm or anthem, or a sermon, or an organ prelude, or the Eucharistic Prayer, or (above all) the Holy Scriptures? I do not know. I suspect that two things must be balanced:
-- the congregation as a whole needs to be seriously attentive with full inward and spiritual participation in every aspect of the service. Adults can provide a good example to children in this, and they can, by their example, teach the children. I have seen excellent examples of this, such as parents getting their small children to lay aside what they are doing, stand on the pew so they can see, and face the Deacon as she reads the Gospel. Without saying so in words, it communicates the message that "This is important. It is so important, we all must listen to it." The saying goes "Liturgy is caught, not taught." The children will never learn how to do liturgy unless they are present with the full community from birth, doing it insofar as they are able. They will learn not so much from what we tell them, but from what we do.
-- at the same time, the congregation must be flexible and accept a level of disorder and randomness and noise. The congregation needs a sense of humor about itself, and a sense of family. This is hard for some people, especially those who have never been parents. But they -- we, for I fall in this category -- are the ones who most need the presence of children in the worshipping community. "Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein." (Mark 10:15)
Sunday, May 16, 2010
a bit of space, and our unhappy divisions
The people kneel or stand.
Then the Celebrant continues (BCP p. 334)
At this morning's contemporary service, the Celebrant paused here. I suspect that she was waiting for the noise of rhythm instruments played by young children during the Sanctus to settle down. Whatever her reason, it made me realize how much I miss having a moment's silence here.
Aside from the issue of standing or kneeling, I think that a bit of space after the Sanctus is helpful. Without the space, it is easy for the following sentences to seem trivial. They are not, and deserve our full interior participation.
-----
The sermon, based mostly on John 17, touched on the fact that our parish has three Sunday Eucharistic services in three differing styles: a spoken "eight o'clock Anglican" service [telephone conversation: "What time is your 8:00 service?" "It is at 7:45." "Thank you."], a "contemporary" service ("the 8:45"), and a "traditional" service. Today's preacher did not seem to think this a bad thing, but many people whom I respect in church music and liturgy do: John Ferguson and Marva Dawn, to name two. Dawn says that such divisions indicate that people are unwilling to love one another enough to sing songs or experience liturgy in a way that they personally dislike, setting aside their preferences for the good of the community. Ferguson says that it is a sign of the brokenness of our church and society, as well as our capitulation to consumerism in worship. We have choice, just like we do at Wal-Mart. Ferguson adds that such an arrangement often comes unglued when there is a conflict in the parish over money. The people's values have diverged, and they do not have enough community to hold together.
I am less sure that it is wrong than I used to be. It seems to work reasonably well here, and we have survived a building project without splitting the church. But I can say this: we are impoverished by not sharing one another's presence in worship. The "eight o-clock" service and the traditional service need the liveliness of children, who mostly attend the 8:45. The children, in turn, are growing up without saying the Nicene Creed, without regularly hearing the Old Testament in worship, without opening a Prayerbook, without ever experiencing the traditional language of a Rite One service, and with almost no exposure to the church's heritage of hymnody, unless they are in choir. The traditional service needs some of the newer songs that we sing at the 8:45. The 8:45 needs to sing with the pipe organ sometimes, and needs the strong congregational singing that the people in the traditional congregation could bring to it. They need to hear three lessons and a psalm, and they need to occasionally hear Bach and Messiaen on the organ. The "eight o'clock" needs more people, and might find it beneficial to sing some hymns once in a while. The other two services need the monastic simplicity of the spoken liturgy, conducted with elegance and grace.
All three congregations would resist the innovations I have suggested, and would fail to see any need for what the other services might have to offer. None of these innovations would be possible unless the people were all worshipping together. Then, there would be every need for them. We would need to sing one another's songs for the good of the community.
Today, we sang a fine spiritual at the 8:45:
"Paul and Silas, bound in jail,
Got nobody for to go them bail.
Keep your hand on the plow, hold on."
At the traditional service, we had a different hymn about Paul and Silas:
"Make your prayer and music one!
Lift your songs of faith as signs
That this world has not undone
Heaven's wonderful designs.
Alleluia. . . .
Sing as Paul and Silas sang:
Let no circling dark or wall
Muffle what their praises rang:
Jesus Christ is Lord of all!
Alleluia."
Neither congregation would have been capable of accepting the other hymn. But it would have been good for both groups to sing both songs. Without the "other," and what is represented thereby, their worship is incomplete, and the formation of the children and adults who attend this parish is incomplete. And it is not going to change, not in my lifetime.
Then the Celebrant continues (BCP p. 334)
At this morning's contemporary service, the Celebrant paused here. I suspect that she was waiting for the noise of rhythm instruments played by young children during the Sanctus to settle down. Whatever her reason, it made me realize how much I miss having a moment's silence here.
Aside from the issue of standing or kneeling, I think that a bit of space after the Sanctus is helpful. Without the space, it is easy for the following sentences to seem trivial. They are not, and deserve our full interior participation.
-----
The sermon, based mostly on John 17, touched on the fact that our parish has three Sunday Eucharistic services in three differing styles: a spoken "eight o'clock Anglican" service [telephone conversation: "What time is your 8:00 service?" "It is at 7:45." "Thank you."], a "contemporary" service ("the 8:45"), and a "traditional" service. Today's preacher did not seem to think this a bad thing, but many people whom I respect in church music and liturgy do: John Ferguson and Marva Dawn, to name two. Dawn says that such divisions indicate that people are unwilling to love one another enough to sing songs or experience liturgy in a way that they personally dislike, setting aside their preferences for the good of the community. Ferguson says that it is a sign of the brokenness of our church and society, as well as our capitulation to consumerism in worship. We have choice, just like we do at Wal-Mart. Ferguson adds that such an arrangement often comes unglued when there is a conflict in the parish over money. The people's values have diverged, and they do not have enough community to hold together.
I am less sure that it is wrong than I used to be. It seems to work reasonably well here, and we have survived a building project without splitting the church. But I can say this: we are impoverished by not sharing one another's presence in worship. The "eight o-clock" service and the traditional service need the liveliness of children, who mostly attend the 8:45. The children, in turn, are growing up without saying the Nicene Creed, without regularly hearing the Old Testament in worship, without opening a Prayerbook, without ever experiencing the traditional language of a Rite One service, and with almost no exposure to the church's heritage of hymnody, unless they are in choir. The traditional service needs some of the newer songs that we sing at the 8:45. The 8:45 needs to sing with the pipe organ sometimes, and needs the strong congregational singing that the people in the traditional congregation could bring to it. They need to hear three lessons and a psalm, and they need to occasionally hear Bach and Messiaen on the organ. The "eight o'clock" needs more people, and might find it beneficial to sing some hymns once in a while. The other two services need the monastic simplicity of the spoken liturgy, conducted with elegance and grace.
All three congregations would resist the innovations I have suggested, and would fail to see any need for what the other services might have to offer. None of these innovations would be possible unless the people were all worshipping together. Then, there would be every need for them. We would need to sing one another's songs for the good of the community.
Today, we sang a fine spiritual at the 8:45:
"Paul and Silas, bound in jail,
Got nobody for to go them bail.
Keep your hand on the plow, hold on."
At the traditional service, we had a different hymn about Paul and Silas:
"Make your prayer and music one!
Lift your songs of faith as signs
That this world has not undone
Heaven's wonderful designs.
Alleluia. . . .
Sing as Paul and Silas sang:
Let no circling dark or wall
Muffle what their praises rang:
Jesus Christ is Lord of all!
Alleluia."
Neither congregation would have been capable of accepting the other hymn. But it would have been good for both groups to sing both songs. Without the "other," and what is represented thereby, their worship is incomplete, and the formation of the children and adults who attend this parish is incomplete. And it is not going to change, not in my lifetime.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
concert time, and the "jazz church"
It is the end of the academic term in our university town. That means it is concert time. Over the past fortnight, the music department has presented nearly eighty student performances. Several of them have been in our parish church; five in the space of eight days. But it took one of my rare ventures into another performance venue to appreciate what it means for us to host student concerts, and one aspect of what it means to be a Christian community on the borders of the university.
The other night, I went to a doctoral recital by a fine violinist who attends our parish. The venue, which I have heard praised, was new to me; a room in what was once an art museum. No one was at the door, and I had a hard time finding the room. No one helped me, and there was no sign that the institution cared that this violinist had given most of a year of her life to prepare for this night. How could they? There are several thousand student recitals every year. What is one more?
Once I got to the right place, it was all stone and glass and metal, as brittle and icy in its acoustic as in its appearance. It would be better by day with what I suspect is a nice view through the windows, but this was an evening concert on a cold, rainy night, and the windows were black. How does a daughter of Eve walk into such a space and make music? I thought of Frodo and Sam on the Plains of Gorgoroth.
The audience was small: ten persons, four of them the faculty members of her committee, sitting in judgment. Small attendance is not unusual for student recitals. But four of the remaining six (plus one of the faculty) were from our parish: me, plus three students who came out on a rainy night during finals week when they probably could not afford the time. We had come to support our sister in this endeavor. This, I submit, is Campus Ministry. It is people "bearing one another's burdens," and thus fulfilling the law of Christ. It would not happen without someone caring enough to create an atmosphere for it, but it is probably not often the direct result of anything we do on the parish staff. It is, rather, the result of what the Holy Ghost is doing among us.
The violinist played well. Particularly memorable was the Bach Second Sonata for unaccompanied violin, BWV 1003, the one with the gigantic second-movement fugue. She played this prickly and difficult movement with ferocious intensity, which is probably the only way to properly play it.
She attends church. Most students do not. What of them?
[overheard in the hallway: one end of a cell phone conversation] "Yeah. I'm at the jazz church. . . ."
We currently host the university jazz department, an arrangement that is likely to last for another five years or more. It can be inconvenient. For much of the week, I can hardly hear myself think in my office because of the jazz classes and rehearsals in the choir room, outside my door. It is hard to find practice time, either on a piano anywhere in the building or upstairs in the church on the organ. And the concerts, both jazz concerts and programs by other musicians in the community: I do not "cover" them all, leaving many to our excellent church sexton, but for quite a few, I act as house manager. I open the doors, turn on the lights, act as "greeter" at the door as the audience arrives, help move gear (a harpsichord most recently: everyone ran off after the Early Music ensemble concert on Saturday, leaving me and the cellist to cart the instrument out and load it in a van), close things up afterwards. It takes a lot of time, four hours or more per concert, and means more late evenings than I would like, leaving me only five or six hours for sleep. But this, I submit, is Campus Ministry.
Last Friday's concert was an undergraduate trumpet recital, which we had squeezed into the schedule at the last minute. He had been on the calendar for another venue, but they bumped him off for a choral concert. I helped the young man find electrical outlets for his computer and sound gear -- one of his pieces was for trumpet with electronic sounds and effects processing, his own composition -- and then helped him carry things out afterwards. As we loaded the last gear into his car, he said "This has to be the friendliest church in town." His girlfriend, a bassist who has been here for jazz classes, agreed. Another student in the audience, a trumpet major whom I have encountered while singing in a community choir, talked with me at intermission. She was surprised to learn that I am the music director "here at the jazz church" -- that term again. She assures me that this is what "everyone" calls it.
It takes a lot of time. But if it demonstrates the love of Christ, it is what we ought to be doing. We can, following the Rule of Benedict, extend hospitality. We can treat the students and others who come here for their classes, rehearsals and recitals as children of God. It is not much, but it is more than people are finding elsewhere.
Will these students join our church? No. But years from now, they may remember that, in the Name of Christ, we at the "jazz church" treated them with respect. They may decide that the Lord we serve is for real, in a world where little else is.
The other night, I went to a doctoral recital by a fine violinist who attends our parish. The venue, which I have heard praised, was new to me; a room in what was once an art museum. No one was at the door, and I had a hard time finding the room. No one helped me, and there was no sign that the institution cared that this violinist had given most of a year of her life to prepare for this night. How could they? There are several thousand student recitals every year. What is one more?
Once I got to the right place, it was all stone and glass and metal, as brittle and icy in its acoustic as in its appearance. It would be better by day with what I suspect is a nice view through the windows, but this was an evening concert on a cold, rainy night, and the windows were black. How does a daughter of Eve walk into such a space and make music? I thought of Frodo and Sam on the Plains of Gorgoroth.
The audience was small: ten persons, four of them the faculty members of her committee, sitting in judgment. Small attendance is not unusual for student recitals. But four of the remaining six (plus one of the faculty) were from our parish: me, plus three students who came out on a rainy night during finals week when they probably could not afford the time. We had come to support our sister in this endeavor. This, I submit, is Campus Ministry. It is people "bearing one another's burdens," and thus fulfilling the law of Christ. It would not happen without someone caring enough to create an atmosphere for it, but it is probably not often the direct result of anything we do on the parish staff. It is, rather, the result of what the Holy Ghost is doing among us.
The violinist played well. Particularly memorable was the Bach Second Sonata for unaccompanied violin, BWV 1003, the one with the gigantic second-movement fugue. She played this prickly and difficult movement with ferocious intensity, which is probably the only way to properly play it.
She attends church. Most students do not. What of them?
[overheard in the hallway: one end of a cell phone conversation] "Yeah. I'm at the jazz church. . . ."
We currently host the university jazz department, an arrangement that is likely to last for another five years or more. It can be inconvenient. For much of the week, I can hardly hear myself think in my office because of the jazz classes and rehearsals in the choir room, outside my door. It is hard to find practice time, either on a piano anywhere in the building or upstairs in the church on the organ. And the concerts, both jazz concerts and programs by other musicians in the community: I do not "cover" them all, leaving many to our excellent church sexton, but for quite a few, I act as house manager. I open the doors, turn on the lights, act as "greeter" at the door as the audience arrives, help move gear (a harpsichord most recently: everyone ran off after the Early Music ensemble concert on Saturday, leaving me and the cellist to cart the instrument out and load it in a van), close things up afterwards. It takes a lot of time, four hours or more per concert, and means more late evenings than I would like, leaving me only five or six hours for sleep. But this, I submit, is Campus Ministry.
Last Friday's concert was an undergraduate trumpet recital, which we had squeezed into the schedule at the last minute. He had been on the calendar for another venue, but they bumped him off for a choral concert. I helped the young man find electrical outlets for his computer and sound gear -- one of his pieces was for trumpet with electronic sounds and effects processing, his own composition -- and then helped him carry things out afterwards. As we loaded the last gear into his car, he said "This has to be the friendliest church in town." His girlfriend, a bassist who has been here for jazz classes, agreed. Another student in the audience, a trumpet major whom I have encountered while singing in a community choir, talked with me at intermission. She was surprised to learn that I am the music director "here at the jazz church" -- that term again. She assures me that this is what "everyone" calls it.
It takes a lot of time. But if it demonstrates the love of Christ, it is what we ought to be doing. We can, following the Rule of Benedict, extend hospitality. We can treat the students and others who come here for their classes, rehearsals and recitals as children of God. It is not much, but it is more than people are finding elsewhere.
Will these students join our church? No. But years from now, they may remember that, in the Name of Christ, we at the "jazz church" treated them with respect. They may decide that the Lord we serve is for real, in a world where little else is.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Lessons from Leviticus: Atonement and Hope
In the Daily Offices, we spent about nine weeks with Genesis. Exodus took about five weeks. Leviticus? Ten days and we are done.
The preacher at Sunday's Evensong addressed this well; she said that Leviticus is probably not anyone's favorite book, and even her Hebrew Study Bible slights it. It is no wonder that the Daily Office gives it scant notice. I understand the reasoning of the framers of the Lectionary; a month or two of the fine points of the Law, read orally in public worship, would be daunting.
As I said recently, everything in Scripture is part of the Story, and none of it can be entirely overlooked without peril. I would compare Leviticus to the Appendices of Lord of the Rings. Many Tolkien fans read the book as far as Sam's return to Bag End and his family, and stop there. They turn the page and see the annals, the tale of years, page after page of family trees from the Shire, calendars, linguistic notes; they move on. A longtime fan who had read the book (but not the appendices) numerous times over several decades once argued with me that the story of Arwen and Aragorn in the movie version was constructed out of whole cloth, right up to her arrival with Elrond at Minas Tirith near the end. "No, it's not," I insisted, and finally dug out my book and showed her the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen in Appendix A.
The story contained in LOTR is comprehensible without the appendices, but much is contained therein that underlies the larger story, and there are moments of surpassing beauty among the mass of detail that reward the reader. So it is with Leviticus in its relation to the Torah, the remainder of the Old Testament, and the larger story of God's mighty acts continued in the New Testament and beyond, into church history, theology, and tradition. It contains much that underlies the rest of the story, and its own moments of surpassing beauty.
The first part of the book is, in essence, a Liturgical Customary. Precisely how were the various offerings to be made? Such details are as much the delight of some as the details of Sindarin are to a certain portion of Tolkien fandom. For a modern equivalent, visit the Customary of one of the great parishes of our denomination, the Church of the Advent in Boston. It outlines their customary procedures for Sundays and major feasts, the duties of each liturgical minister, the work of the Altar Guild, as well as the procedures for extraordinary services such as those of Holy Week. I am adding it to the list in the sidebar of the Music Box as one of the "places I like on the Net" because it is a delight to see how "it ought to be done," at least in that place. But as with much of Leviticus, it is enough to make one's eyes glaze, if such details are not one's interest:
The Customary of the Church of the Advent
"And the LORD called unto Moses, and spake unto him out of the tabernacle of the congregation, saying . . ." (Lev. 1:1)
The lasting significance of these opening chapters of Leviticus is that all of it, down to the most minute details of liturgical observance, is the direct word of God. It is not the work of a committee, or an amalgam of what we want as a congregation or larger polity. The clergy and the Levites, right up to Aaron himself, had no say in its composition.
Liturgy -- that is, the manner in which we worship the LORD -- is not something we create. It is a gift. We accept what has come to us through the tradition, or we ought to. One of the evil fruits of the 1960's and 1970's was the wholesale rejection of tradition, in liturgy as in all other areas. Liturgical "creativity" is dangerous, as Nadab and Abihu learned in Chapter Ten. More generally, the priesthood is dangerous, and the Levitical ministry as well. There are times when it all goes horribly wrong, as it did for Aaron and his family in this chapter. But the gifts and call of God are without repentance. There is no turning back from the responsibilities of the priesthood, or the Levitical ministry, including that of church organists and choirmasters, and for that matter choristers, deacons, acolytes, members of the Altar Guild, and others connected with the sacred mysteries. No matter how bad it gets, we must go on.
This is not to say that the liturgy is fixed for all time. It cannot be static if it is to continue as a living thing. The children of Israel had to learn this when the whole system outlined so carefully in Leviticus was swept away:
"Your adversaries roared in your holy place;
they set up their banners as tokens of victory.
They were like men coming up with axes to a grove of trees;
they broke down all your carved work with hatchets and hammers.
They set fire to your holy place;
they defiled the dwelling-place of your Name
and razed it to the ground.
They said to themselves, 'Let us destroy them altogether.'
They burned down all the meeting-places of God in the land." (Psalm 74:4-7)
In Psalm 137, we hear the Levitical musicians. They tried to lay aside their ministry and calling, because they could not see how to continue in it:
"As for our harps, we hung them up
on the trees in the midst of that land.
For those who led us away captive asked us for a song,
and our oppressors called for mirth:
'Sing us one of the songs of Zion.'
How shall we sing the LORD's song
upon an alien soil?"
Yet, they learned that the LORD's song could -- and must -- continue even "by the waters of Babylon," without the proper ministry of priests, without sacrifices and offerings, without any external support. It was there, in exile, that Judaism became something entirely new, a world religion implicitly (and, in Christ, explicitly) open to everyone, of every time and place. By necessity, their manner of worship changed, and this eventually changed their manner of belief. One can see this in the latter part of Isaiah (chapter 40 and onward), and some of the other Prophets.
Liturgy is a living thing, an ancient and gnarled tree. It is not static, but neither is it uprooted by every transient wind of secular culture. As soon as it becomes "free" -- that is, cut off from its roots in the tradition -- it degenerates into the gathered community's worship of itself and its own creativity. Examples abound, then and now. "The people gathered themselves together unto Aaron, and said unto him, Up, make us gods, which shall go before us; for as for this Moses . . . we wot not what is become of him." (Exodus 32:1)
In the Anglican tradition, and even more so in the Roman Catholic and Orthodox traditions, changes to the liturgy are not entered into lightly, and are never left to the whim of a local priest, congregation, or diocesan bishop, though (in our tradition) he or she is the arbiter, within the limits circumscribed by the mind of the wider church as delineated in the Prayerbook. Unfortunately, I have never heard of an Episcopal clergyperson being disciplined for departure from authorized liturgical forms, and sometimes the bishops are the worst offenders. I wish we were more careful of this.
From the Preface to the First Book of Common Prayer (BCP p. 867):
"[in case of question about liturgical practice] the parties that so doubt, or diversely take any thing, shall always resort to the Bishop of the Diocese, who by his discretion shall take order for the quieting and appeasing of the same; so that the same order be not contrary to any thing contained in this book." [my emphasis]
------
The great theme of Leviticus is Atonement. It is introduced in the first verses; it underlies all that follows.
"And he shall put his hand upon the head of the burnt offering; and it shall be accepted for him to make atonement for him." (Lev. 1:4)
The sermon at Evensong mentioned Atonement, as did our Anthem. It is a large word.
I continue to nibble away at the Hebrew tongue. More and more, I am drawn to the "large" words; it seems that Hebrew is filled with them: words that contain realms of thought and idea and passion in concentrated form -- words like "Shalom." To say that it means "peace" is insufficient; it is much more. "Kippur," or "Atonement," is such a word. So is "Kodesh," "Holy." The concordance indicates that both of these words appear more frequently in Leviticus than in any other book of the Old Testament.
From Wikipedia s.v. "Atonement in Christianity" (and other sources, including the Evensong sermon):
"The word 'atonement' was invented in the sixteenth century by William Tyndale who recognized that there was not a direct English translation of the biblical Hebraic concept [Kippur]. The word is composed of two parts 'at' and 'onement' in order to reflect the dual aspect of Christ's sacrifice: the remission of sin and reconciliation of man to God. Tyndale's concept overcomes the limitations of the word 'reconciliation' whilst incorporating aspects of propitiation and forgiveness."
-------
Not much happens in Leviticus. There are only two bits of narrative: Chapter Ten (already mentioned), and 24:10-23, which is the first example of putting the Law into practice. Both of these are ugly stories. If I were writing the book, I would leave them out; when I read the book, they are parts that I would prefer to skip. But there they are, and they (especially Chapter Ten) are the keys to the book. [Edit: see the first comment]
The story of Nadab and Abihu in Chapter Ten and what ensues, especially 10:10-11 ("And that ye may put difference between holy and unholy, and between clean and unclean. . . ."), is the gate into the remainder of Leviticus, wherein these matters are expounded at length. Hidden among the dietary laws, additional details of liturgical customary, a calendar of the liturgical year (Chapter 23), the regulations concerning leprosy, an equivalent in Chapter 18 to the 1662 Prayerbook's "Table of Kindred and Affinity", and many other matters are passages whose place in the Story was not to be fully comprehensible until much later. Among my favorites:
Chapter 12: concerning what in our tradition would be called the "Churching of Women," wherein the Father makes specific provision for his own Son and his Mother, thousands of years in the future, along with all others who share their poverty: "And if she be not able to bring a lamb, then she shall bring two turtles, or two young pigeons. . . ." (12:8, and St. Luke 2:22-39)
Chapter 16: the Customary for the Day of Atonement, filled with foreshadowings of the Cross, and the basis underlying much of the Epistle to the Hebrews. This chapter is perhaps the most important of the book. The two narrative passages of Leviticus both point to the need for it, and in one way or another all of the various "statutes and judgments and laws" (26:46) work at this problem. God says "Ye shall be holy, for I the LORD your God am holy" (19:2), and our Lord reiterates it in the Sermon on the Mount: "Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father in heaven is perfect" (St. Matt. 5:48), but we are unable to live up to it. Leviticus leaves us the question: how then can we be saved?
"Now when they heard this, they were pricked in their heart, and said unto Peter and to the rest of the apostles, Men and brethren, what shall we do? Then Peter said unto them, Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost." (Acts 2:37-38)
Chapter 25: the Seventh Year, and the Year of Jubilee, which have provided eschatological hope to oppressed and suffering people through all of time. It is significant that the trumpet -- a foreshadowing of what St. Paul describes in I Thess. 4:16-18 -- is blown to "proclaim liberty throughout all the land" (25:10) on the Day of Atonement, for our only hope, our only deliverance, is through the Cross. O Crux, ave, spes unica. It is significant also that these provision of the Law were disregarded more than they were observed; they remain a hope yet to be fulfilled. "There remaineth therefore a rest to the people of God" (Hebr. 4:9). Charles Wesley wrote a good hymn about this: "Blow ye the trumpet, blow!"
----
This brings us to the Eucharist, the sign of Hope and the ultimate End of the Sabbath, that which every earthly Sabbath and Jubilee foreshadows. Last Sunday morning, we sang Edgar Bainton's magnificent setting of Rev. 21:1-4, appointed as the Second Lesson of the Eucharist:
"And I saw a new heaven, and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea. And I John saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a great voice out of heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God. And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away."
It is the peculiar province of Music to remind us of these things, and the higher province still of Baptism and the Blessed Sacrament to be sign and seal of these things. Tolkien again -- from the Appendices, no less -- "Behold! we are not bound to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory." The day will come when at last we shall be the "holy city, new Jerusalem," even now through our tears and struggles and faltering efforts being "prepared as a bride adorned for her husband."
The preacher at Sunday's Evensong addressed this well; she said that Leviticus is probably not anyone's favorite book, and even her Hebrew Study Bible slights it. It is no wonder that the Daily Office gives it scant notice. I understand the reasoning of the framers of the Lectionary; a month or two of the fine points of the Law, read orally in public worship, would be daunting.
As I said recently, everything in Scripture is part of the Story, and none of it can be entirely overlooked without peril. I would compare Leviticus to the Appendices of Lord of the Rings. Many Tolkien fans read the book as far as Sam's return to Bag End and his family, and stop there. They turn the page and see the annals, the tale of years, page after page of family trees from the Shire, calendars, linguistic notes; they move on. A longtime fan who had read the book (but not the appendices) numerous times over several decades once argued with me that the story of Arwen and Aragorn in the movie version was constructed out of whole cloth, right up to her arrival with Elrond at Minas Tirith near the end. "No, it's not," I insisted, and finally dug out my book and showed her the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen in Appendix A.
The story contained in LOTR is comprehensible without the appendices, but much is contained therein that underlies the larger story, and there are moments of surpassing beauty among the mass of detail that reward the reader. So it is with Leviticus in its relation to the Torah, the remainder of the Old Testament, and the larger story of God's mighty acts continued in the New Testament and beyond, into church history, theology, and tradition. It contains much that underlies the rest of the story, and its own moments of surpassing beauty.
The first part of the book is, in essence, a Liturgical Customary. Precisely how were the various offerings to be made? Such details are as much the delight of some as the details of Sindarin are to a certain portion of Tolkien fandom. For a modern equivalent, visit the Customary of one of the great parishes of our denomination, the Church of the Advent in Boston. It outlines their customary procedures for Sundays and major feasts, the duties of each liturgical minister, the work of the Altar Guild, as well as the procedures for extraordinary services such as those of Holy Week. I am adding it to the list in the sidebar of the Music Box as one of the "places I like on the Net" because it is a delight to see how "it ought to be done," at least in that place. But as with much of Leviticus, it is enough to make one's eyes glaze, if such details are not one's interest:
The Customary of the Church of the Advent
"And the LORD called unto Moses, and spake unto him out of the tabernacle of the congregation, saying . . ." (Lev. 1:1)
The lasting significance of these opening chapters of Leviticus is that all of it, down to the most minute details of liturgical observance, is the direct word of God. It is not the work of a committee, or an amalgam of what we want as a congregation or larger polity. The clergy and the Levites, right up to Aaron himself, had no say in its composition.
Liturgy -- that is, the manner in which we worship the LORD -- is not something we create. It is a gift. We accept what has come to us through the tradition, or we ought to. One of the evil fruits of the 1960's and 1970's was the wholesale rejection of tradition, in liturgy as in all other areas. Liturgical "creativity" is dangerous, as Nadab and Abihu learned in Chapter Ten. More generally, the priesthood is dangerous, and the Levitical ministry as well. There are times when it all goes horribly wrong, as it did for Aaron and his family in this chapter. But the gifts and call of God are without repentance. There is no turning back from the responsibilities of the priesthood, or the Levitical ministry, including that of church organists and choirmasters, and for that matter choristers, deacons, acolytes, members of the Altar Guild, and others connected with the sacred mysteries. No matter how bad it gets, we must go on.
This is not to say that the liturgy is fixed for all time. It cannot be static if it is to continue as a living thing. The children of Israel had to learn this when the whole system outlined so carefully in Leviticus was swept away:
"Your adversaries roared in your holy place;
they set up their banners as tokens of victory.
They were like men coming up with axes to a grove of trees;
they broke down all your carved work with hatchets and hammers.
They set fire to your holy place;
they defiled the dwelling-place of your Name
and razed it to the ground.
They said to themselves, 'Let us destroy them altogether.'
They burned down all the meeting-places of God in the land." (Psalm 74:4-7)
In Psalm 137, we hear the Levitical musicians. They tried to lay aside their ministry and calling, because they could not see how to continue in it:
"As for our harps, we hung them up
on the trees in the midst of that land.
For those who led us away captive asked us for a song,
and our oppressors called for mirth:
'Sing us one of the songs of Zion.'
How shall we sing the LORD's song
upon an alien soil?"
Yet, they learned that the LORD's song could -- and must -- continue even "by the waters of Babylon," without the proper ministry of priests, without sacrifices and offerings, without any external support. It was there, in exile, that Judaism became something entirely new, a world religion implicitly (and, in Christ, explicitly) open to everyone, of every time and place. By necessity, their manner of worship changed, and this eventually changed their manner of belief. One can see this in the latter part of Isaiah (chapter 40 and onward), and some of the other Prophets.
Liturgy is a living thing, an ancient and gnarled tree. It is not static, but neither is it uprooted by every transient wind of secular culture. As soon as it becomes "free" -- that is, cut off from its roots in the tradition -- it degenerates into the gathered community's worship of itself and its own creativity. Examples abound, then and now. "The people gathered themselves together unto Aaron, and said unto him, Up, make us gods, which shall go before us; for as for this Moses . . . we wot not what is become of him." (Exodus 32:1)
In the Anglican tradition, and even more so in the Roman Catholic and Orthodox traditions, changes to the liturgy are not entered into lightly, and are never left to the whim of a local priest, congregation, or diocesan bishop, though (in our tradition) he or she is the arbiter, within the limits circumscribed by the mind of the wider church as delineated in the Prayerbook. Unfortunately, I have never heard of an Episcopal clergyperson being disciplined for departure from authorized liturgical forms, and sometimes the bishops are the worst offenders. I wish we were more careful of this.
From the Preface to the First Book of Common Prayer (BCP p. 867):
"[in case of question about liturgical practice] the parties that so doubt, or diversely take any thing, shall always resort to the Bishop of the Diocese, who by his discretion shall take order for the quieting and appeasing of the same; so that the same order be not contrary to any thing contained in this book." [my emphasis]
------
The great theme of Leviticus is Atonement. It is introduced in the first verses; it underlies all that follows.
"And he shall put his hand upon the head of the burnt offering; and it shall be accepted for him to make atonement for him." (Lev. 1:4)
The sermon at Evensong mentioned Atonement, as did our Anthem. It is a large word.
I continue to nibble away at the Hebrew tongue. More and more, I am drawn to the "large" words; it seems that Hebrew is filled with them: words that contain realms of thought and idea and passion in concentrated form -- words like "Shalom." To say that it means "peace" is insufficient; it is much more. "Kippur," or "Atonement," is such a word. So is "Kodesh," "Holy." The concordance indicates that both of these words appear more frequently in Leviticus than in any other book of the Old Testament.
From Wikipedia s.v. "Atonement in Christianity" (and other sources, including the Evensong sermon):
"The word 'atonement' was invented in the sixteenth century by William Tyndale who recognized that there was not a direct English translation of the biblical Hebraic concept [Kippur]. The word is composed of two parts 'at' and 'onement' in order to reflect the dual aspect of Christ's sacrifice: the remission of sin and reconciliation of man to God. Tyndale's concept overcomes the limitations of the word 'reconciliation' whilst incorporating aspects of propitiation and forgiveness."
-------
Not much happens in Leviticus. There are only two bits of narrative: Chapter Ten (already mentioned), and 24:10-23, which is the first example of putting the Law into practice. Both of these are ugly stories. If I were writing the book, I would leave them out; when I read the book, they are parts that I would prefer to skip. But there they are, and they (especially Chapter Ten) are the keys to the book. [Edit: see the first comment]
The story of Nadab and Abihu in Chapter Ten and what ensues, especially 10:10-11 ("And that ye may put difference between holy and unholy, and between clean and unclean. . . ."), is the gate into the remainder of Leviticus, wherein these matters are expounded at length. Hidden among the dietary laws, additional details of liturgical customary, a calendar of the liturgical year (Chapter 23), the regulations concerning leprosy, an equivalent in Chapter 18 to the 1662 Prayerbook's "Table of Kindred and Affinity", and many other matters are passages whose place in the Story was not to be fully comprehensible until much later. Among my favorites:
Chapter 12: concerning what in our tradition would be called the "Churching of Women," wherein the Father makes specific provision for his own Son and his Mother, thousands of years in the future, along with all others who share their poverty: "And if she be not able to bring a lamb, then she shall bring two turtles, or two young pigeons. . . ." (12:8, and St. Luke 2:22-39)
Chapter 16: the Customary for the Day of Atonement, filled with foreshadowings of the Cross, and the basis underlying much of the Epistle to the Hebrews. This chapter is perhaps the most important of the book. The two narrative passages of Leviticus both point to the need for it, and in one way or another all of the various "statutes and judgments and laws" (26:46) work at this problem. God says "Ye shall be holy, for I the LORD your God am holy" (19:2), and our Lord reiterates it in the Sermon on the Mount: "Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father in heaven is perfect" (St. Matt. 5:48), but we are unable to live up to it. Leviticus leaves us the question: how then can we be saved?
"Now when they heard this, they were pricked in their heart, and said unto Peter and to the rest of the apostles, Men and brethren, what shall we do? Then Peter said unto them, Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost." (Acts 2:37-38)
Chapter 25: the Seventh Year, and the Year of Jubilee, which have provided eschatological hope to oppressed and suffering people through all of time. It is significant that the trumpet -- a foreshadowing of what St. Paul describes in I Thess. 4:16-18 -- is blown to "proclaim liberty throughout all the land" (25:10) on the Day of Atonement, for our only hope, our only deliverance, is through the Cross. O Crux, ave, spes unica. It is significant also that these provision of the Law were disregarded more than they were observed; they remain a hope yet to be fulfilled. "There remaineth therefore a rest to the people of God" (Hebr. 4:9). Charles Wesley wrote a good hymn about this: "Blow ye the trumpet, blow!"
----
This brings us to the Eucharist, the sign of Hope and the ultimate End of the Sabbath, that which every earthly Sabbath and Jubilee foreshadows. Last Sunday morning, we sang Edgar Bainton's magnificent setting of Rev. 21:1-4, appointed as the Second Lesson of the Eucharist:
"And I saw a new heaven, and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea. And I John saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a great voice out of heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God. And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away."
It is the peculiar province of Music to remind us of these things, and the higher province still of Baptism and the Blessed Sacrament to be sign and seal of these things. Tolkien again -- from the Appendices, no less -- "Behold! we are not bound to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory." The day will come when at last we shall be the "holy city, new Jerusalem," even now through our tears and struggles and faltering efforts being "prepared as a bride adorned for her husband."
Sunday, May 2, 2010
ambitions, and a well-regulated liturgy
"The Holy Eucharist, the principal act of Christian worship on the Lord's Day and other major feasts, and Daily Morning and Evening Prayer, as set forth in this Book, are the regular services appointed for public worship in this Church." (BCP p. 13, "Concerning the Service of the Church")
How hard can that be?
Hard enough so that our parish cannot do it. There was a time when we did; Fr. S., our beloved former priest, said the Office in the parish church six mornings and evenings each week, taking one day off, and I covered Matins for that day (Friday). Thus, we lacked only one Daily Office service out of fourteen for the typical week. He said Mass at midday on every major feast, coming in on his day off to do so when necessary. He even came in for the daily Masses in Holy Week and Easter Week, and the three major feasts that follow Christmas Day.
When Fr. S. left, the midday Masses immediately ended. "They are not an effective use of our time," the rector said. "Who comes to them? A half dozen people?" Never mind that the point is not who shows up; the point is whether we as a parish are doing that which is "very meet, right, and our bounden duty," insofar as it is in our power. Neither have we carried on the Offices as we ought; between four of us as Officiants, we manage only eight of the possible fourteen services in the week.
Long ago, my ambition was to serve in a parish with a well-regulated worship life, and choral program to match. As late as ten years ago, it did not seem impossible to contemplate such a thing for a parish -- regular services "as set forth in this Book [of Common Prayer]" with support from choirs and organist. Fr. S. and I made it a priority to have Choral Evensong on the first Sunday of each month, and over these ten years the Choir has developed a strong commitment to it. This meant that the Choir could no longer present concerts as they used to do; it meant that Evensong would be humbler than the lavish events they used to include in their concert series once a year or so. We were too busy with the humdrum labor of learning the psalms appointed, and the canticles, along with our duties at the weekly Sunday Eucharist.
This year has not been a good year for us. First Sunday Evensong has been trumped several times by other events of wider interest to the parish community, such as the building dedication in February. But tonight was good. One of the basses called it the "best service all year," and in my opinion, he was right; it was certainly better than anything we have done on a Sunday morning in many years. It was the last Evensong of the season, and the only Evensong of the year for the Youth Choir, who combined with the adults. Our new configuration made it possible to set up chairs in order to make a divided choir, with the youth across from the adults. This made a remarkable difference in the psalmody. We had a brass quartet, repeating the piece for brass and organ composed by one of our basses for Easter Day and playing on the Anthem. The Smith Preces and Responses were spectacular; the canticles (a set by Martin How) equally so, with the youth choir alone on most of the Nunc Dimittis. The psalmody was best of all, as it ought to be at evensong. This was all topped off by splendid lessons from Leviticus and Hebrews, and a fine sermon. And a reception, featuring the odd combination of wine, cheese, and pizza.
When I auditioned for this parish, I also auditioned for an Anglo-Catholic parish back east with a well-established program: fine and historic Gothic edifice, all services in Rite One -- including daily morning and evening prayer and Mass on major feasts -- good pipe organ about three times larger than the one I now play, strong and vigorous congregational life, skilled choir of boys, girls, and men, with multiple weekly rehearsals for the boys and girls and well-established RSCM program, regular choral settings of the Ordinary -- the Sunday following my interview, they were doing the Vierne Messe Solenelle in the Eucharist, and I rehearsed them on the Gloria, as well as the psalmody for their weekly Sunday Evensong. In my younger days, my ambition was to work in precisely this kind of situation, and I think I would do it well. But in this case, I came in second; they hired an Englishman, and I came to the Midwest.
I can see some possible reasons why I belong here rather than there, and tonight was one of them. I think that I have done some good work here, along with much that is less good. Mingling with the people at the reception this evening, young choristers running back and forth, going outside in the rain with a couple of choir families to see a rainbow -- I have no higher ambition than this. I want to do precisely what I have done today, and this week; rehearse with these choristers (young and old), help them learn and grow, play the organ, and participate in liturgy with them.
We will not in any foreseeable future have a well-regulated liturgy; we will not be singing the Vierne Messe Solenelle (or any other choral setting of the ordinary) at the Eucharist; we will never have the boys and girls singing for church every Sunday and rehearsing three or four times a week; we will never have weekly Choral Evensong. But what we do have is liturgy and music, and choral training, that befits this parish and its people.
There are times, as I wrote recently, when church is not good. I am glad that there are also times like tonight when it is.
How hard can that be?
Hard enough so that our parish cannot do it. There was a time when we did; Fr. S., our beloved former priest, said the Office in the parish church six mornings and evenings each week, taking one day off, and I covered Matins for that day (Friday). Thus, we lacked only one Daily Office service out of fourteen for the typical week. He said Mass at midday on every major feast, coming in on his day off to do so when necessary. He even came in for the daily Masses in Holy Week and Easter Week, and the three major feasts that follow Christmas Day.
When Fr. S. left, the midday Masses immediately ended. "They are not an effective use of our time," the rector said. "Who comes to them? A half dozen people?" Never mind that the point is not who shows up; the point is whether we as a parish are doing that which is "very meet, right, and our bounden duty," insofar as it is in our power. Neither have we carried on the Offices as we ought; between four of us as Officiants, we manage only eight of the possible fourteen services in the week.
Long ago, my ambition was to serve in a parish with a well-regulated worship life, and choral program to match. As late as ten years ago, it did not seem impossible to contemplate such a thing for a parish -- regular services "as set forth in this Book [of Common Prayer]" with support from choirs and organist. Fr. S. and I made it a priority to have Choral Evensong on the first Sunday of each month, and over these ten years the Choir has developed a strong commitment to it. This meant that the Choir could no longer present concerts as they used to do; it meant that Evensong would be humbler than the lavish events they used to include in their concert series once a year or so. We were too busy with the humdrum labor of learning the psalms appointed, and the canticles, along with our duties at the weekly Sunday Eucharist.
This year has not been a good year for us. First Sunday Evensong has been trumped several times by other events of wider interest to the parish community, such as the building dedication in February. But tonight was good. One of the basses called it the "best service all year," and in my opinion, he was right; it was certainly better than anything we have done on a Sunday morning in many years. It was the last Evensong of the season, and the only Evensong of the year for the Youth Choir, who combined with the adults. Our new configuration made it possible to set up chairs in order to make a divided choir, with the youth across from the adults. This made a remarkable difference in the psalmody. We had a brass quartet, repeating the piece for brass and organ composed by one of our basses for Easter Day and playing on the Anthem. The Smith Preces and Responses were spectacular; the canticles (a set by Martin How) equally so, with the youth choir alone on most of the Nunc Dimittis. The psalmody was best of all, as it ought to be at evensong. This was all topped off by splendid lessons from Leviticus and Hebrews, and a fine sermon. And a reception, featuring the odd combination of wine, cheese, and pizza.
When I auditioned for this parish, I also auditioned for an Anglo-Catholic parish back east with a well-established program: fine and historic Gothic edifice, all services in Rite One -- including daily morning and evening prayer and Mass on major feasts -- good pipe organ about three times larger than the one I now play, strong and vigorous congregational life, skilled choir of boys, girls, and men, with multiple weekly rehearsals for the boys and girls and well-established RSCM program, regular choral settings of the Ordinary -- the Sunday following my interview, they were doing the Vierne Messe Solenelle in the Eucharist, and I rehearsed them on the Gloria, as well as the psalmody for their weekly Sunday Evensong. In my younger days, my ambition was to work in precisely this kind of situation, and I think I would do it well. But in this case, I came in second; they hired an Englishman, and I came to the Midwest.
I can see some possible reasons why I belong here rather than there, and tonight was one of them. I think that I have done some good work here, along with much that is less good. Mingling with the people at the reception this evening, young choristers running back and forth, going outside in the rain with a couple of choir families to see a rainbow -- I have no higher ambition than this. I want to do precisely what I have done today, and this week; rehearse with these choristers (young and old), help them learn and grow, play the organ, and participate in liturgy with them.
We will not in any foreseeable future have a well-regulated liturgy; we will not be singing the Vierne Messe Solenelle (or any other choral setting of the ordinary) at the Eucharist; we will never have the boys and girls singing for church every Sunday and rehearsing three or four times a week; we will never have weekly Choral Evensong. But what we do have is liturgy and music, and choral training, that befits this parish and its people.
There are times, as I wrote recently, when church is not good. I am glad that there are also times like tonight when it is.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
