The day thou gavest, Lord, is ended

The day thou gavest, Lord, is ended,
the darkness falls at thy behest;
to thee our morning hymns ascended,
thy praise shall sanctify our rest.

For a variety of reasons I did not manage a proper warmup on the organ pieces either this morning or in the afternoon for Evensong; still, they all went well enough. I believe that I played well for the contemporary service too, finishing with a piano improvisation on St. Patrick's Breastplate, a tune which I love.

Better still, the choir sang well at both services. I was especially proud of them for repairing the pitch on the Evensong responses: we were drifting flat, I indicated to them that they should raise the pitch as we chanted the Lord's Prayer, and they did – just as we had practiced earlier in the choir season.

We had a small congregation at the Choral Eucharist, but they took a stanza of Nicaea (Holy, holy, holy; Lord God Almighty) unaccompanied with their usual elegant singing; this was another highlight of the day for me, much better than any of my own playing.

We thank thee that thy Church, unsleeping
while earth rolls onward into light,
through all the world her watch is keeping
and rests not now by day or night.

The day was not without its problems. One of the street people we have helped was in a bad way today; he came in at 6:30 am as I was attempting to practice, wanting money “to buy clothes.” He was acting strangely; I told him so, asking him if he was stoned. “No. That's the same thing the police thought; they said 'you're acting like you're on meth.' But I don't do drugs.” I am not convinced of that. I finally got him on his way, but he returned after the Choral Eucharist, again seeking money from the people “for some lunch.” They told him of the free dinner at the Salvation Army a bit later in the day.

I encountered him yet again as I returned from my own dinner at the Chinese restaurant. “My bus leaves at 4:00. I can't go to that Salvation Army dinner, and I'm hungry.” Despite my determination not to help him, I gave him $5.

Two of the fears I have about helping people were in evidence today: one is the idea that I am throwing money away, giving it to people who will immediately spend it on drugs or booze, which may have happened with that $5 (and some of the other money I have given this fellow over the past months). The other fear is entanglement: another of our “regulars” passed through a couple of times today. He was fresh out of jail, having spent a week there for marijuana possession, and full of cheer. But he was asking a long-term commitment of me that I am not willing to give.

And all of this was when I wanted to focus on the day's music, which is my primary duty.

As o'er each continent and island
the dawn leads on another day,
the voice of prayer is never silent,
nor dies the strain of praise away.

This weekend is the Queen's Jubilee. I believe that when an earthly monarch is faithful to her duty as she has been for these sixty years, it points toward the King of Kings, whose name is Faithful and True (Revelation 19:4-16). The manner in which Elizabeth's life is bound up with her nation and her subjects is not dissimilar in its way to the manner in which the Christ has become bound up with us his servants, giving his life for us. I think that she would be pleased if her life could point others toward the one whom she acknowledges as Lord and Saviour.

[EDITED to add, mostly for my own reference: A Sermon by the Archbishop of Canterbury, Tuesday 5th June 2012]

So be it, Lord; thy throne shall never,
like earth's proud empires, pass away;
thy kingdom stands, and grows for ever,
till all thy creatures own thy sway.

By the time I got everyone out the door after an evening concert and locked the church, I was reduced to puttering around and doing a few items from my overflowing “In” box while listening to the BBC Choral Evensong. As our fine Evensong sermon said, this day is a point of equipoise; we have finished one cycle and begin another.

There is a book entitled “Lark Rise to Candleford,” given to me by one of my dearest friends many years ago. In that book, it became clear in retrospect that Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee was a point of transition, after which most of what had been good fell into decay and death. It may be that this Diamond Jubilee is too; the world seems bent on careening toward ruin.

Unto God's care we commit ourselves, and all the families of the earth.