August

August 1. Although it is a fine summer day, it is a day of dread, metaphorically a day of clouds and thick darkness. In June, it seems as if there will be enough time to get the necessary tasks done before fall. July comes, and my anxiety grows. It races by, and I make almost no progress. And now, August. There are twenty-four days until the first rehearsals, and I will be out of town for nine of them.

I was involved in the diocesan ministries retreat last weekend as pianist and director of the "diocesan youth choir," a first-time experiment. We ended up with nine young people plus two adult singers/chaperones (and one other chaperone, our most excellent Director of Christian Formation who does many things, but not choral singing). They sang very well and had a good time. They provided solid choral leadership for the "big" services involving the entire ministries retreat, which is mostly an adult activity, culminating in Sunday Eucharist with the Bishop. We worked, played, and slept separately from the adults, across the highway in the local parish church.

It is an old country church, white, wood-frame, with tall clear windows, the glass wavy with age. Some years ago, the Episcopal parish moved it to town on a truck and made it their own, the original congregation long since disbanded. It was perfect for our purposes, among which were choral services on our own, apart from the adults: Compline the two nights we were there, and Sunday Matins before going across for the big Eucharist.

The first night was stormy. One of the younger girls was afraid of the weather -- a sensible attitude in this tornado-prone region. I said a few words to them about Compline, how Christians have prayed it before bedtime for centuries, sometimes in very dangerous circumstances. Then, we sang the service, the lightning and thunder outside in the darkness.

"Be our light in the darkness, O Lord, and in your great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night. . . ."

The second night was calmer. By that time, we had quite a bit of music under our belts. We sang the anthem setting of Psalm 23 we had learned, and a setting of the Nunc Dimittis we had sung for the Evensong earlier that evening. Both were splendid in the little church, the candles bright on the altar.

Sunday morning was beautiful, bright and clear. The sun shone through the tall windows; the grass and trees and blue sky outside were glorious. We sang Rite One Choral Matins, probably the first time most of the choristers had encountered this service, with the Anglican Chant psalm we had prepared for the Eucharist a bit later, and a fine metrical setting of the Benedictus Dominus Deus. It was a good service.

The ministries retreat concluded, I had hopes of progress this week, but a funeral intervened. That likewise was good and fitting, a proper farewell to a grand lady. But I managed no more than the minimum needed for the funeral and this morning's services; no progress whatsoever on my preparations for the fall.

So here I am, facing the beginning of August. After church, I managed about eight hours of work this afternoon and evening, selecting organ voluntaries for the fall and starting to assemble materials for the youth choir folders. It is a start; if I had about thirty or forty days like this, I might be ready for rehearsals, and ready to play the organ voluntaries that are now piled high on my clavichord. But I don't. Twenty-four days, with nine of them out of town.

Lord God of hosts, our guide through every perplexity: I commit these my duties into thy hands. Grant that, through the grace of thy Holy Spirit, I might serve thee faithfully in these things, so that thy Name might be glorified and thy people strengthened: through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.