And now, I must step away for a time. It is a busy season in my work, and I have devoted most of this day to writing the previous essay. I consider it my duty, and the right use of this day (and much of last night: most of it came to me about 2 am).
But it is time now for action, not talk. Our first choral rehearsal of the fall is a week from today.
By saying this here, I am more accountable: I depart for now, with intention of returning, perhaps in October. Look for me when the leaves fall.
May the blessings of God be with all who read these pages.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
In defense of Choral Evensong: A reply to Bosco Peters
The Rev'd Bosco Peters, a priest in the Anglican Church of New Zealand, writes the most widely-read Liturgy blog in the world. I read it regularly with edification and enjoyment, and I commend it to you.
Recently he wrote an essay “Concert or Common Prayer?” Small as I am (my "Music Box" blog entries are read by an average of eight to ten persons), I am obliged to attempt a rebuttal.
Choral Evensong (and its sister Choral Matins, rarely seen these days) lies in lineal descent from the daily morning and evening offerings established in Exodus 29:38-46 -- “And there I will meet with the children of Israel, and the tabernacle shall be sanctified by my glory.” (v. 43). The daily sacrifices, and by extension prayer at the times of the sacrifices, carried over into the early Christian community. These sacrifices and prayers sanctified the places of worship where they were offered, and sanctified the day, making all the hours of it holy to the Lord.
As time passed, some persons received vocations from God to devote themselves more fully to prayer, first as anchorites in desert places and later more often in communities, a movement organized in the West under the Rule of St. Benedict. Chapters 8 through 20 of the Rule outline the manner in which the prayers of the Daily Office are to be conducted, with Psalmody and the reading of Scripture at their center.
In the Anglican Reformation, the seven Offices of the day became two, more plainly set forth and in English, parish clergy were directed to read them in the parish church every morning and evening, and it was expected that those from the parish who were able would join. Cathedrals and collegiate Chapels had a special obligation to maintain the Daily Office, which was already a part of their liturgical life. This process of revision is described in the Preface to the First Book of Common Prayer (1549), found in the American BCP of 1979 (hereafter “BCP”) at page 866-7.
The principal Offices had always been sung whenever possible, and it was logical that this should continue. As it happened, this was a golden age for choral music, and England was blessed with several great composers who turned their talents to the task of setting to music the new English texts. Much of their attention was devoted to music for Matins and Evensong. Polyphonic settings of the fixed prayers of the Offices appeared – one of the finest is by William Smith of Durham [Here is a rendition of the Responses], but there were others. Many polyphonic settings of the Magnificat, the Gospel Canticle for Vespers, already existed (in Latin); the composers wrote new settings for it in English, alongside the Nunc Dimittis, moved to Evensong from its former place in Compline. Here is one of my favorites from that era, from the Short Service of Gibbons.
Psalmody remained central to the Offices. Cranmer laid aside the complex arrangement of the Psalms that Benedict had established, and returned to the older and simpler Jewish devotional practice of praying the Psalter straight through in course over the space of a month. At first, they were sung to the plainsong tones. Over time, the plainsong was harmonized, and eventually developed into what we now know as Anglican Chant.
Thus it remains that “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”). The choral singing of any of these services, whether Eucharist or Daily Prayer, exists in the larger context of all regular public worship in the Anglican tradition, spoken or sung, modest or elaborate.
In his essay, Fr. Peters' objections to Evensong are three: Intelligibility (“I could not pick out a single word that the choir was chanting...”), the lack of opportunity for active participation by those in the congregation, and the piety of the choristers and organists (or lack thereof). With all three of these, his points are well taken, but some response must be made.
Intelligibility.
This is a challenge for choirs. We know it, and good choirs work hard at it. I recently completed a week at an RSCM Course with some of our choristers under the direction of Dr. Dale Adelmann, of St. Phillip's Cathedral in Atlanta; he in turn follows in most respects the model of his teacher, Dr. George Guest, formerly of St. John's College, Cambridge, one of the places where the tradition of Choral Evensong is strongest. It would be fair to estimate that half or more of our rehearsal time at the Course was devoted to matters of diction, all with the intent of more faithfully presenting the text intelligibly.
The Psalms present an especially great challenge: there is a lot of text, the rhythm of the text is fluid in a manner unlike the metered choral music we more often sing, and pacing of the text and the shaping of the musical line in order to emphasize one or two important syllables in each half-verse is vital. It takes rehearsal, and intense focus from all choristers, to achieve the unity in these matters that is essential in order for the congregation to have any chance to understand the text. Still, it remains difficult and requires attention from the listener as well. And if all this fails, the texts are in the Prayerbook.
Most of the sung texts at Evensong are either the fixed prayers, the Canticles, or the Psalms. In the first case, the form of prayer we sing is not exactly that in our American BCP of 1979, but is close enough so that people can get the drift of the meaning – and it is identical at every Evensong (differing only in musical setting), so regular attenders can learn the texts by heart soon enough, as are the Canticles, which exactly follow the wording in the Rite One service of Evening Prayer (BCP p. 65, 66). We purposely sing the Psalms in the modern text of the 1979 BCP, which is what is in our pews. Many places sing the older translations of Coverdale from the 1662 BCP and its predecessors, but even so, a person could follow in the 1979 BCP and have a clear idea as to what is being sung. Anthem texts ought to be printed in a service bulletin, as we do, with translations when we sing in a language other than English.
Piety.
Peters notes that at a service in this tradition that he attended, only two of the adult choristers received communion. He writes: “The choir is part of the leadership of the service. Is there a critical mass of people of faith needed in a choir (in the leadership of any service) to move a service from the concert end of the spectrum to the common prayer end?”
My short answer is Yes. In the older RSCM training materials, one aphorism was this: Religion is caught, not taught. For this to happen within a choir, or for that matter a parish, there must indeed be some critical mass. It need not be large – it has never been large, never more than a remnant, at one time as few as eight persons (cf. I Peter 3:20 – Noah and the Ark).
But it is not as simple as that. Long ago, controversy arose over the issue of whether the sacraments were valid when administered by a priest who was an unbeliever or a notorious sinner. The answer discerned by the church was that the sacraments are the work of God, and depend upon him for their validity – not upon the human hands that administer them. I would submit that to some degree the same can be said about the Song, the task entrusted to choir, organists, and other musicians (e.g., guitarists, cantors, praise band singers, members of a singing congregation). The Song is the expression and prayer of Holy Mother Church, is redeemed only by the blood of Christ, and has life only through the operation of the Holy Spirit. None of us fully cooperate in this activity. But when we are weak, we are carried along by others, by the “critical mass of people of faith” mentioned by Fr. Peters, and by the grace of God – manifested in part through the Song itself:
From the cheery “Good morning!!!” at the beginning of the Holy Eucharist to the end, the Sunday Eucharist is (at worst) all about the clergy, or (at best) about the gathered community there present (e.g., ten minutes of hugging and chitchat at the “peace,” followed by another ten minutes of parish announcements), and not to any great degree about the Lord. It is no wonder that many choristers and organists do not take communion, or do other things that the clergy would recognize as reflective of belief.
Instead, we sing. We play the organ, we direct the choir. Or if we can do none of these things, we attend Evensong. The Music is often all we have, the one thing that keeps us in the church, hanging on by our fingernails. I could name many people who would never come near a church were it not for choral music, and especially Choral Evensong. And, I submit, our faithful adherence to our bounden duty as choristers and organists is reflective of belief (cf. St. James 2:14-26), even if (when asked) we would say that we are “here for the music – full stop.”
For it is at Evensong that some degree of piety remains in the Church. There is no scope for the clergyperson's personality to shine, there is hopefully no Sermon, there is no hugging or chitchat, and certainly no recycled pop music. Instead, there is (for the choristers) Prayer at its most intense, immersion in Psalmody, and the constant companionship of the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis.
I have written mostly of those who participate as choristers in Evensong, and the spiritual benefit is for them the greatest. I have never prayed so intensely as when singing a good setting of the Preces and Responses (such as Smith, linked above); it requires all of one's spirit and mind and body (in terms of breath, posture, etc.), and absolute connection with the moment. I see this every time I teach the Smith, or Ayleward, or other good setting to the youth choir. They are drawn immediately to this music, and once they "get it," they are almost bursting with excitement at the beginning, like race horses at the starting gate: "O Lord, open thou our lips: And our mouth shall shew forth thy praise." [The Smith Preces are here, at the 4:10 mark in the YouTube clip, following a plainsong introit, and with an example of Anglican Chant psalmody following, all from the choir of Westminster Abbey]
In the “big league” choirs where Evensong is sung daily (such as Westminster Abbey), a chorister soon knows all 150 Psalms with an intimacy gained in no other way than by intense rehearsal – at St. John's, for example, Dr. Adelmann tells us that they sing the Morning Psalms for one term, and the Evening Psalms for the other term. Even in our parish, where we sing Evensong only once, the First Sunday of each month, the choristers have come to know that small selection of psalms – those appointed for the first seven evenings – extremely well. They know them well enough to have a good sense of what the entire Book of Psalms is about, why it is important to us, and how one might approach the other Psalms that we do not regularly sing. Like the Religious for whom the Offices and their Psalmody are central, this is a factor in Conversion of Life – at least for those who do not stop their ears to them.
For that is a challenge too: choristers and organists can become so angry at the church that they stop paying attention to what they are singing. That is why we begin our rehearsals with the Choristers' Prayer; we seek God's help in this matter.
There is benefit also for those who are not choristers, and for some of the same reasons. Attending Choral Evensong is precisely akin to the experience of visiting a monastic house, and listening in for a time on the conversation of their liturgy [“and there will I meet with the children of Israel...” it is, in some manner, through these Daily Prayers that God meets with the brothers or sisters – meets with them, forms them, and makes them into what he envisions them to be] – a conversation which began long before we arrived at their gate, and will continue long after we depart. As visitors, we are not fully part of it, but we are reminded of the great calm stream of liturgy and prayer, and invited to dip our toes into it – or wade in, or immerse ourselves in it and be carried away. Unlike the Eucharist, no one is going to pressure us at Evensong to “belong” and hug everyone, or chitchat, or preach at us, or give money (especially that; we are always asking for money in the church); the stream, the river of living water, is there (cf. St. John 7:38, Revelation 22:1-3), and we can approach it as we are able.
Most of all, we are not under the pressure of saying the right words at the right time, of what often passes for “active participation.” As when visiting the monastic house, we need not understand every word at Evensong, for much of what is going on is nonverbal. We certainly need not say anything or do anything; the activity is on a different level than that. We need not participate at all, if we are not ready. But when we are, we can join our heart and mind and spirit to the Psalms of David, the Magnificat, the prayers of Holy Mother Church. We can enter through the choral Office into the courts of heaven.
---
The office of Chorister is humble in comparison with that of Deacon, or Priest, or Bishop, but it is nonetheless a Vocation, and if it is the one to which God has called us, we must fulfill it. In the RSCM office of Admission to the Choir, the new Chorister answers these questions:
With this office of Chorister (and more so with the office of Organist or Choirmaster), there comes a responsibility to represent the Lord Jesus Christ in a special way, akin to the responsibility that one who wears the collar must bear. When we act in an impious manner during the church services, it reflects badly on our Lord, just as a priest who mumbles his way through the liturgy, preaches without preparation or study, or uses the liturgy as a platform to “prance around in his finery” (as one of our parishioners says) brings discredit to the the Church and its Lord.
We must do better, as Fr. Peters rightly suggests. All of us, clergy and musicians alike, young and old, are works in progress. We endure the “patient hammerblows of grace” (Olivier Messiaen) and the Conversion of Life that they bring, in order to fit us for our place in the kingdom: “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)
Fr. Peters is absolutely right that much of the problem lies in the lack of “liturgical training, study, and formation” which results in the forms of liturgy being passed on by “non-reflecting example,” and over time losing their content. It is incumbent upon choirmasters (of which I am one) to remedy this. We must ensure that our choristers understand what they are about when they sing Choral Evensong (or participate musically in the Eucharist). This can rarely happen, however, through explicit instruction. It must, after all, be primarily by example, or more precisely instruction backed by example. We must ourselves be “people of devout conduct, teaching the ways of earnestness to the Choirs committed to [our] charge” (“Declaration of Religious Principles” of the American Guild of Organists).
Opportunity arises when a young chorister raises her hand and asks what a phrase means in the Psalm that we are rehearsing, or the anthem text. Or a word, or phrase, from anywhere in the liturgy. As choirmaster, I must have created an atmosphere where choristers can inquire about such things, and then I must answer as best I can, or (better) help the group as a whole to come up with an answer. And it must be done without spending a lot of time on it – we have Work to do; we have to get the diction and pacing right for the Psalm, or get the Anthem learned. Those tasks in themselves are the more important part of formation; they require us to pay close attention to every word, every syllable of every word, and through the music devote our whole body, mind, spirit, and voice to the work at hand.
Last year, our combined choirs sang the Vaughan Williams anthem “Lord, thou hast been our refuge.” Psalm 90 is not part of our normal Evensong rotation, and this provided opportunity for us to learn the text in detail – about three months of work for our youth choir and perhaps two months for our adults – this was a stretch for us, about as great of a challenge as our all-volunteer parish choir can manage. I believe that what they carried away from the experience were these things, among others: they saw that I (and behind me Holy Mother Church) care enough about this text to spend three months working on it with them and then to sing it in church, and to do so in the finest manner possible (and in a setting composed by precisely the sort of agnostic described earlier, whose faith is most evident in his works). [Here is my essay about that day, last October]
They saw that the liturgy must include music of this sort, texts of this sort, and that such things do not happen without a lot of work – and that it is very much worth all that work. When the day arrived, they noted that Psalm 90 was appointed for the liturgy at that Eucharist, saw its relation to the liturgy as a response to the Old Testament lesson (I pointed out the nature of the connection explicitly that morning in the warmup), and they saw (not for the first time) that the choice of psalmody or anthem or hymnody is not based on personal whim or taste, whether mine or the Rector's, but on the considered and prayerful deployment of Scripture in the Lectionary, telling the Story over the course of the year – and this anthem, this day, had its place in that Story.
Recently he wrote an essay “Concert or Common Prayer?” Small as I am (my "Music Box" blog entries are read by an average of eight to ten persons), I am obliged to attempt a rebuttal.
Choral Evensong (and its sister Choral Matins, rarely seen these days) lies in lineal descent from the daily morning and evening offerings established in Exodus 29:38-46 -- “And there I will meet with the children of Israel, and the tabernacle shall be sanctified by my glory.” (v. 43). The daily sacrifices, and by extension prayer at the times of the sacrifices, carried over into the early Christian community. These sacrifices and prayers sanctified the places of worship where they were offered, and sanctified the day, making all the hours of it holy to the Lord.
As time passed, some persons received vocations from God to devote themselves more fully to prayer, first as anchorites in desert places and later more often in communities, a movement organized in the West under the Rule of St. Benedict. Chapters 8 through 20 of the Rule outline the manner in which the prayers of the Daily Office are to be conducted, with Psalmody and the reading of Scripture at their center.
In the Anglican Reformation, the seven Offices of the day became two, more plainly set forth and in English, parish clergy were directed to read them in the parish church every morning and evening, and it was expected that those from the parish who were able would join. Cathedrals and collegiate Chapels had a special obligation to maintain the Daily Office, which was already a part of their liturgical life. This process of revision is described in the Preface to the First Book of Common Prayer (1549), found in the American BCP of 1979 (hereafter “BCP”) at page 866-7.
The principal Offices had always been sung whenever possible, and it was logical that this should continue. As it happened, this was a golden age for choral music, and England was blessed with several great composers who turned their talents to the task of setting to music the new English texts. Much of their attention was devoted to music for Matins and Evensong. Polyphonic settings of the fixed prayers of the Offices appeared – one of the finest is by William Smith of Durham [Here is a rendition of the Responses], but there were others. Many polyphonic settings of the Magnificat, the Gospel Canticle for Vespers, already existed (in Latin); the composers wrote new settings for it in English, alongside the Nunc Dimittis, moved to Evensong from its former place in Compline. Here is one of my favorites from that era, from the Short Service of Gibbons.
Psalmody remained central to the Offices. Cranmer laid aside the complex arrangement of the Psalms that Benedict had established, and returned to the older and simpler Jewish devotional practice of praying the Psalter straight through in course over the space of a month. At first, they were sung to the plainsong tones. Over time, the plainsong was harmonized, and eventually developed into what we now know as Anglican Chant.
Thus it remains that “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”). The choral singing of any of these services, whether Eucharist or Daily Prayer, exists in the larger context of all regular public worship in the Anglican tradition, spoken or sung, modest or elaborate.
In his essay, Fr. Peters' objections to Evensong are three: Intelligibility (“I could not pick out a single word that the choir was chanting...”), the lack of opportunity for active participation by those in the congregation, and the piety of the choristers and organists (or lack thereof). With all three of these, his points are well taken, but some response must be made.
Intelligibility.
This is a challenge for choirs. We know it, and good choirs work hard at it. I recently completed a week at an RSCM Course with some of our choristers under the direction of Dr. Dale Adelmann, of St. Phillip's Cathedral in Atlanta; he in turn follows in most respects the model of his teacher, Dr. George Guest, formerly of St. John's College, Cambridge, one of the places where the tradition of Choral Evensong is strongest. It would be fair to estimate that half or more of our rehearsal time at the Course was devoted to matters of diction, all with the intent of more faithfully presenting the text intelligibly.
The Psalms present an especially great challenge: there is a lot of text, the rhythm of the text is fluid in a manner unlike the metered choral music we more often sing, and pacing of the text and the shaping of the musical line in order to emphasize one or two important syllables in each half-verse is vital. It takes rehearsal, and intense focus from all choristers, to achieve the unity in these matters that is essential in order for the congregation to have any chance to understand the text. Still, it remains difficult and requires attention from the listener as well. And if all this fails, the texts are in the Prayerbook.
Most of the sung texts at Evensong are either the fixed prayers, the Canticles, or the Psalms. In the first case, the form of prayer we sing is not exactly that in our American BCP of 1979, but is close enough so that people can get the drift of the meaning – and it is identical at every Evensong (differing only in musical setting), so regular attenders can learn the texts by heart soon enough, as are the Canticles, which exactly follow the wording in the Rite One service of Evening Prayer (BCP p. 65, 66). We purposely sing the Psalms in the modern text of the 1979 BCP, which is what is in our pews. Many places sing the older translations of Coverdale from the 1662 BCP and its predecessors, but even so, a person could follow in the 1979 BCP and have a clear idea as to what is being sung. Anthem texts ought to be printed in a service bulletin, as we do, with translations when we sing in a language other than English.
Piety.
Peters notes that at a service in this tradition that he attended, only two of the adult choristers received communion. He writes: “The choir is part of the leadership of the service. Is there a critical mass of people of faith needed in a choir (in the leadership of any service) to move a service from the concert end of the spectrum to the common prayer end?”
My short answer is Yes. In the older RSCM training materials, one aphorism was this: Religion is caught, not taught. For this to happen within a choir, or for that matter a parish, there must indeed be some critical mass. It need not be large – it has never been large, never more than a remnant, at one time as few as eight persons (cf. I Peter 3:20 – Noah and the Ark).
But it is not as simple as that. Long ago, controversy arose over the issue of whether the sacraments were valid when administered by a priest who was an unbeliever or a notorious sinner. The answer discerned by the church was that the sacraments are the work of God, and depend upon him for their validity – not upon the human hands that administer them. I would submit that to some degree the same can be said about the Song, the task entrusted to choir, organists, and other musicians (e.g., guitarists, cantors, praise band singers, members of a singing congregation). The Song is the expression and prayer of Holy Mother Church, is redeemed only by the blood of Christ, and has life only through the operation of the Holy Spirit. None of us fully cooperate in this activity. But when we are weak, we are carried along by others, by the “critical mass of people of faith” mentioned by Fr. Peters, and by the grace of God – manifested in part through the Song itself:
Sometimes a light surprisesThere is, I suspect, another issue at play: many church musicians (including choristers) do not like the Episcopal Church, and our dislike is most intensely focused on the clergy. We have watched for fifty years as they have denigrated our work, disbanded choirs, silenced organists, and presented us with a parade of liturgical texts increasingly divorced from Scripture or tradition (the New Zealand Church's recent efforts in regard to the Collects of the Day, said efforts rightly opposed by Fr. Peters, are an example). They have taken away the great hymns of the church and replaced them with trite recycled pop.
the Christian while he sings;
it is the Lord who rises
with healing in his wings:
when comforts are declining,
he grants the soul again
a season of clear shining,
to cheer it after rain.
(William Cowper)
From the cheery “Good morning!!!” at the beginning of the Holy Eucharist to the end, the Sunday Eucharist is (at worst) all about the clergy, or (at best) about the gathered community there present (e.g., ten minutes of hugging and chitchat at the “peace,” followed by another ten minutes of parish announcements), and not to any great degree about the Lord. It is no wonder that many choristers and organists do not take communion, or do other things that the clergy would recognize as reflective of belief.
Instead, we sing. We play the organ, we direct the choir. Or if we can do none of these things, we attend Evensong. The Music is often all we have, the one thing that keeps us in the church, hanging on by our fingernails. I could name many people who would never come near a church were it not for choral music, and especially Choral Evensong. And, I submit, our faithful adherence to our bounden duty as choristers and organists is reflective of belief (cf. St. James 2:14-26), even if (when asked) we would say that we are “here for the music – full stop.”
For it is at Evensong that some degree of piety remains in the Church. There is no scope for the clergyperson's personality to shine, there is hopefully no Sermon, there is no hugging or chitchat, and certainly no recycled pop music. Instead, there is (for the choristers) Prayer at its most intense, immersion in Psalmody, and the constant companionship of the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis.
I have written mostly of those who participate as choristers in Evensong, and the spiritual benefit is for them the greatest. I have never prayed so intensely as when singing a good setting of the Preces and Responses (such as Smith, linked above); it requires all of one's spirit and mind and body (in terms of breath, posture, etc.), and absolute connection with the moment. I see this every time I teach the Smith, or Ayleward, or other good setting to the youth choir. They are drawn immediately to this music, and once they "get it," they are almost bursting with excitement at the beginning, like race horses at the starting gate: "O Lord, open thou our lips: And our mouth shall shew forth thy praise." [The Smith Preces are here, at the 4:10 mark in the YouTube clip, following a plainsong introit, and with an example of Anglican Chant psalmody following, all from the choir of Westminster Abbey]
In the “big league” choirs where Evensong is sung daily (such as Westminster Abbey), a chorister soon knows all 150 Psalms with an intimacy gained in no other way than by intense rehearsal – at St. John's, for example, Dr. Adelmann tells us that they sing the Morning Psalms for one term, and the Evening Psalms for the other term. Even in our parish, where we sing Evensong only once, the First Sunday of each month, the choristers have come to know that small selection of psalms – those appointed for the first seven evenings – extremely well. They know them well enough to have a good sense of what the entire Book of Psalms is about, why it is important to us, and how one might approach the other Psalms that we do not regularly sing. Like the Religious for whom the Offices and their Psalmody are central, this is a factor in Conversion of Life – at least for those who do not stop their ears to them.
For that is a challenge too: choristers and organists can become so angry at the church that they stop paying attention to what they are singing. That is why we begin our rehearsals with the Choristers' Prayer; we seek God's help in this matter.
Bless, O Lord, us thy servants who minister in thy temple: Grant that what we sing with our lips we may believe in our hearts, and what we believe in our hearts we may shew forth in our lives; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.Lack of active participation:
There is benefit also for those who are not choristers, and for some of the same reasons. Attending Choral Evensong is precisely akin to the experience of visiting a monastic house, and listening in for a time on the conversation of their liturgy [“and there will I meet with the children of Israel...” it is, in some manner, through these Daily Prayers that God meets with the brothers or sisters – meets with them, forms them, and makes them into what he envisions them to be] – a conversation which began long before we arrived at their gate, and will continue long after we depart. As visitors, we are not fully part of it, but we are reminded of the great calm stream of liturgy and prayer, and invited to dip our toes into it – or wade in, or immerse ourselves in it and be carried away. Unlike the Eucharist, no one is going to pressure us at Evensong to “belong” and hug everyone, or chitchat, or preach at us, or give money (especially that; we are always asking for money in the church); the stream, the river of living water, is there (cf. St. John 7:38, Revelation 22:1-3), and we can approach it as we are able.
Most of all, we are not under the pressure of saying the right words at the right time, of what often passes for “active participation.” As when visiting the monastic house, we need not understand every word at Evensong, for much of what is going on is nonverbal. We certainly need not say anything or do anything; the activity is on a different level than that. We need not participate at all, if we are not ready. But when we are, we can join our heart and mind and spirit to the Psalms of David, the Magnificat, the prayers of Holy Mother Church. We can enter through the choral Office into the courts of heaven.
---
The office of Chorister is humble in comparison with that of Deacon, or Priest, or Bishop, but it is nonetheless a Vocation, and if it is the one to which God has called us, we must fulfill it. In the RSCM office of Admission to the Choir, the new Chorister answers these questions:
Minister: N., do you wish to join the choir?For many of the nine-and-ten year olds who join our choir, this will prove to be a Life Profession. Many of them will still be singing in choirs when they are grandmothers and grandfathers.
New Chorister: I do.
Minister: As a member of the choir, will you do your best to help the people worship God?
New Chorister: I will.
With this office of Chorister (and more so with the office of Organist or Choirmaster), there comes a responsibility to represent the Lord Jesus Christ in a special way, akin to the responsibility that one who wears the collar must bear. When we act in an impious manner during the church services, it reflects badly on our Lord, just as a priest who mumbles his way through the liturgy, preaches without preparation or study, or uses the liturgy as a platform to “prance around in his finery” (as one of our parishioners says) brings discredit to the the Church and its Lord.
We must do better, as Fr. Peters rightly suggests. All of us, clergy and musicians alike, young and old, are works in progress. We endure the “patient hammerblows of grace” (Olivier Messiaen) and the Conversion of Life that they bring, in order to fit us for our place in the kingdom: “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)
Fr. Peters is absolutely right that much of the problem lies in the lack of “liturgical training, study, and formation” which results in the forms of liturgy being passed on by “non-reflecting example,” and over time losing their content. It is incumbent upon choirmasters (of which I am one) to remedy this. We must ensure that our choristers understand what they are about when they sing Choral Evensong (or participate musically in the Eucharist). This can rarely happen, however, through explicit instruction. It must, after all, be primarily by example, or more precisely instruction backed by example. We must ourselves be “people of devout conduct, teaching the ways of earnestness to the Choirs committed to [our] charge” (“Declaration of Religious Principles” of the American Guild of Organists).
Opportunity arises when a young chorister raises her hand and asks what a phrase means in the Psalm that we are rehearsing, or the anthem text. Or a word, or phrase, from anywhere in the liturgy. As choirmaster, I must have created an atmosphere where choristers can inquire about such things, and then I must answer as best I can, or (better) help the group as a whole to come up with an answer. And it must be done without spending a lot of time on it – we have Work to do; we have to get the diction and pacing right for the Psalm, or get the Anthem learned. Those tasks in themselves are the more important part of formation; they require us to pay close attention to every word, every syllable of every word, and through the music devote our whole body, mind, spirit, and voice to the work at hand.
Last year, our combined choirs sang the Vaughan Williams anthem “Lord, thou hast been our refuge.” Psalm 90 is not part of our normal Evensong rotation, and this provided opportunity for us to learn the text in detail – about three months of work for our youth choir and perhaps two months for our adults – this was a stretch for us, about as great of a challenge as our all-volunteer parish choir can manage. I believe that what they carried away from the experience were these things, among others: they saw that I (and behind me Holy Mother Church) care enough about this text to spend three months working on it with them and then to sing it in church, and to do so in the finest manner possible (and in a setting composed by precisely the sort of agnostic described earlier, whose faith is most evident in his works). [Here is my essay about that day, last October]
They saw that the liturgy must include music of this sort, texts of this sort, and that such things do not happen without a lot of work – and that it is very much worth all that work. When the day arrived, they noted that Psalm 90 was appointed for the liturgy at that Eucharist, saw its relation to the liturgy as a response to the Old Testament lesson (I pointed out the nature of the connection explicitly that morning in the warmup), and they saw (not for the first time) that the choice of psalmody or anthem or hymnody is not based on personal whim or taste, whether mine or the Rector's, but on the considered and prayerful deployment of Scripture in the Lectionary, telling the Story over the course of the year – and this anthem, this day, had its place in that Story.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Three Links and an Observation
A housekeeping detail: I have modified the settings for Comments, so that one should now be able to make Anonymous comments -- so long as one can decipher the word recognition gadget. Perhaps this will allow human beings to comment, which I desire, but not spambots, which I do not welcome.
I was playing the organ fairly well in May and June by necessity, for there was a lot of playing to be done and I spent more than twice my usual amount of time on the bench. But then came a span of almost a month, from July 15 until August 5, when my services at the organ were not required, so I did no practicing whatsoever until August 3.
The Observation: I expected my improvisation skills to decline and they did, but what suffered the most was the playing of hymns. With three weeks off, I got sloppy. My sense of pulse, the keeping of a steady rhythmic flow, and the breathing space between phrases and especially stanzas, all needed attention. I worked carefully on them this week, running my tape recorder, and played more accurately today.
Robin Denney is a former agricultural missionary to what is now the nation of South Sudan. Her website has not been active since she left South Sudan about a year ago, but she posted a video seminar recently which I commend to you.
While in Africa, she worked as an Episcopal missionary with the Anglican Church of the Sudan, travelling through the bush, teaching sustainable agricultural methods to subsistence farmers. As she describes in the video and the written curriculum, the secular NGOs have difficulty convincing the farmers to try something different, and rightly so: bringing in a crop is life-or-death for them. "But when the local church, of which subsistence farmers are members, presents them with a new teaching (their calling to be caretakers of creation, and God's faithfulness in increasing their yield), their response is shocking!"
The video records how she has adapted her teaching to a different (and in many ways less capable) audience – Americans. It runs about an hour, with the first half indoors and the second half outside in the field. For a short summary, one can view her curriculum, which I believe she has prepared so that other people can teach this workshop in their parishes, or their communities, here and elsewhere in the world:
I often despair of the Episcopal Church in the United States. But Robin, and others like her – including some whom I know personally from this parish – make me proud of it. I believe that the strength of the church has nothing to do with the ranting and posturing of General Conventions, and little to do with clergy or church programming or buildings or even church music; the strength is the unique and irreplaceable work that many Episcopalians do “out in the world.”
Just this afternoon I spoke with a young woman who, because of her faith and the situation in which she finds herself, has become an activist against “fracking.” It has isolated her from most of the community in which she lives, and perhaps placed her and her family in physical danger. But she is doing what she has to, and part of me does not think she would be able to do so without the Episcopal Church somewhere in the background.
She is, in short, a Heroine.
And that brings me to my second link: Bill Moyers maintains a presence on the Web these days which is, again, an irreplaceable and unique Christian answer to the situation in which he (and in many respects all of us) finds himself. I commend his weekly webcasts to you.
This week, his audio podcast is a revisiting of his interview with Joseph Campbell in 1987, twenty-five years ago. Campbell's views are probably well-known to most of my readers. The “Hero's Adventure” is a focus of his work, and of this interview.
My largest disagreement with Campbell has to do with his failure to recognize that the mythos recounted in the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures, especially in relation to Jesus of Nazareth, is, as C. S. Lewis often said, the fulfillment of all the myths, not least because it is True, in sober historical fact. There was a day, a day just as real as this day in August 2012, when the children of Israel stood on the far shore of the Sea of Reeds and saw the dead bodies of the Egyptians wash ashore. There was a night when angels sang in the sky over Bethlehem, and the shepherds gazed upon a virgin mother and her Child. And there was a day when the women brought spices to the tomb and found it empty, and later saw one whom they knew beyond any doubt had been dead.
Still, one should listen to Campbell, for he has much to say. Certainly, the myth of the Hero is in every culture, as Lewis also describes. I especially commend the segment beginning about 43 minutes into the podcast: “What the myths are for is to bring us into a level of consciousness that is spiritual.” He describes walking from the streets of New York City into St. Patrick's Cathedral – “and everything around me speaks of spiritual mystery.” And then he walks back out. Can he hold something of the mystery out on the street? The answer is “Yes,” but you must listen to Campbell for that.
Campbell is also right that each of us is on a Hero's Journey. But I would add that we cannot be “mavericks,” as he described himself; we cannot be our own master. Rather, our Journey makes sense only when viewed as a part of the larger Journey that includes Adam and Enoch and Abraham and Sarah and Moses and Deborah and Samuel and David and Hezekiah and Jeremiah and the Maccabees and Mary and Jesus (most of all) and Paul of Tarsus and Timothy and Clement of Rome and Augustine and all the rest.
“Everything around me speaks of spiritual mystery...” As Campbell says, we can eventually realize that the sidewalks and traffic and concrete outside the doors of St. Patrick's are part of the same mystery. I said this too, in another way:
It is all true, all of the time. But it is more true in some times and places: thus my third link. We will sing this piece in the Choral Evensong for the commemoration of All Saints, Sunday November 4 at 5 pm. As is our practice when we have something especially beautiful, I seek to involve the children and youth as well as the adults, so we will combine the choirs for this service.
We will not sound as good as the choir on this YouTube link (King's College, Cambridge), and our little parish church is a far cry from that glorious space – especially glorious at Evensong in candlelight, as in the video – but the difference between us and them is of degree, not of kind. For one of the mysteries is that the Qodesh is not limited by time or space.
And I saw a new heaven (Edgar Bainton)
I was playing the organ fairly well in May and June by necessity, for there was a lot of playing to be done and I spent more than twice my usual amount of time on the bench. But then came a span of almost a month, from July 15 until August 5, when my services at the organ were not required, so I did no practicing whatsoever until August 3.
The Observation: I expected my improvisation skills to decline and they did, but what suffered the most was the playing of hymns. With three weeks off, I got sloppy. My sense of pulse, the keeping of a steady rhythmic flow, and the breathing space between phrases and especially stanzas, all needed attention. I worked carefully on them this week, running my tape recorder, and played more accurately today.
Robin Denney is a former agricultural missionary to what is now the nation of South Sudan. Her website has not been active since she left South Sudan about a year ago, but she posted a video seminar recently which I commend to you.
While in Africa, she worked as an Episcopal missionary with the Anglican Church of the Sudan, travelling through the bush, teaching sustainable agricultural methods to subsistence farmers. As she describes in the video and the written curriculum, the secular NGOs have difficulty convincing the farmers to try something different, and rightly so: bringing in a crop is life-or-death for them. "But when the local church, of which subsistence farmers are members, presents them with a new teaching (their calling to be caretakers of creation, and God's faithfulness in increasing their yield), their response is shocking!"
The video records how she has adapted her teaching to a different (and in many ways less capable) audience – Americans. It runs about an hour, with the first half indoors and the second half outside in the field. For a short summary, one can view her curriculum, which I believe she has prepared so that other people can teach this workshop in their parishes, or their communities, here and elsewhere in the world:
God is calling YOU to the work of tending and taking care of creation. To:[In the curriculum, she is being modest about one thing: she mentions an introductory handbook to tropical agriculture, but neglects to mention that she wrote it.]
-- Pray while you work and for the work of your hands
-- Look for solutions to the problems you face by praying and observing creation
-- Try techniques on a small portion of your crop, and compare it to the rest
-- Give out of your harvest to God and to those in need
I often despair of the Episcopal Church in the United States. But Robin, and others like her – including some whom I know personally from this parish – make me proud of it. I believe that the strength of the church has nothing to do with the ranting and posturing of General Conventions, and little to do with clergy or church programming or buildings or even church music; the strength is the unique and irreplaceable work that many Episcopalians do “out in the world.”
Just this afternoon I spoke with a young woman who, because of her faith and the situation in which she finds herself, has become an activist against “fracking.” It has isolated her from most of the community in which she lives, and perhaps placed her and her family in physical danger. But she is doing what she has to, and part of me does not think she would be able to do so without the Episcopal Church somewhere in the background.
She is, in short, a Heroine.
And that brings me to my second link: Bill Moyers maintains a presence on the Web these days which is, again, an irreplaceable and unique Christian answer to the situation in which he (and in many respects all of us) finds himself. I commend his weekly webcasts to you.
This week, his audio podcast is a revisiting of his interview with Joseph Campbell in 1987, twenty-five years ago. Campbell's views are probably well-known to most of my readers. The “Hero's Adventure” is a focus of his work, and of this interview.
My largest disagreement with Campbell has to do with his failure to recognize that the mythos recounted in the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures, especially in relation to Jesus of Nazareth, is, as C. S. Lewis often said, the fulfillment of all the myths, not least because it is True, in sober historical fact. There was a day, a day just as real as this day in August 2012, when the children of Israel stood on the far shore of the Sea of Reeds and saw the dead bodies of the Egyptians wash ashore. There was a night when angels sang in the sky over Bethlehem, and the shepherds gazed upon a virgin mother and her Child. And there was a day when the women brought spices to the tomb and found it empty, and later saw one whom they knew beyond any doubt had been dead.
Still, one should listen to Campbell, for he has much to say. Certainly, the myth of the Hero is in every culture, as Lewis also describes. I especially commend the segment beginning about 43 minutes into the podcast: “What the myths are for is to bring us into a level of consciousness that is spiritual.” He describes walking from the streets of New York City into St. Patrick's Cathedral – “and everything around me speaks of spiritual mystery.” And then he walks back out. Can he hold something of the mystery out on the street? The answer is “Yes,” but you must listen to Campbell for that.
Campbell is also right that each of us is on a Hero's Journey. But I would add that we cannot be “mavericks,” as he described himself; we cannot be our own master. Rather, our Journey makes sense only when viewed as a part of the larger Journey that includes Adam and Enoch and Abraham and Sarah and Moses and Deborah and Samuel and David and Hezekiah and Jeremiah and the Maccabees and Mary and Jesus (most of all) and Paul of Tarsus and Timothy and Clement of Rome and Augustine and all the rest.
“Everything around me speaks of spiritual mystery...” As Campbell says, we can eventually realize that the sidewalks and traffic and concrete outside the doors of St. Patrick's are part of the same mystery. I said this too, in another way:
The Qodesh, the holy place, is not limited to the Temple. It is, as the Sages wrote, a state of mind and spirit. Were a person sufficiently advanced, he would dwell in that place day and night, as did Joshua the son of Nun (Exodus 33:11). Most of us need help to perceive the Qodesh. Even Moses needed admonition from the LORD at the burning bush (Exodus 3:5). Sacred Music is one point of entry; the holy Icons are another, as is the acoustic of a place such as the Basilica, where the Song lingers in the air.
It is all true, all of the time. But it is more true in some times and places: thus my third link. We will sing this piece in the Choral Evensong for the commemoration of All Saints, Sunday November 4 at 5 pm. As is our practice when we have something especially beautiful, I seek to involve the children and youth as well as the adults, so we will combine the choirs for this service.
We will not sound as good as the choir on this YouTube link (King's College, Cambridge), and our little parish church is a far cry from that glorious space – especially glorious at Evensong in candlelight, as in the video – but the difference between us and them is of degree, not of kind. For one of the mysteries is that the Qodesh is not limited by time or space.
And I saw a new heaven (Edgar Bainton)
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Corn: a follow-up
Here is an article that reinforces my concerns about the Midwestern drought this summer, and its likely effect on the world:
My favorite line: "Central banks cannot grow corn."
In the U.S., rising food prices are an inconvenience. In many other parts of the world, they are a disaster.
My favorite line: "Central banks cannot grow corn."
We discussed corn, soybeans, and drought effects on world prices. We examined emerging economies, where food is a large component of the price index. We talked about how food spending drives the political constituencies in those countries. Bottom line: the geopolitical risk premium rises as food prices consume increasing amounts of household budgets.
The biggest take-away for me was the explanation that this decline in food production is likely to be a multi-year cycle. And this is not just one in one drought-stricken region of the world. The impact of food price increases is now global. Moreover, we have run down the inventory cushions.....
A personal note: I recall conversations several years ago with the chief economist of the Central Bank of Zambia. I met with him while planning the Global Interdependence Center conference at Victoria Falls in Livingstone. A number of sub-Saharan African nations participated in that conference.
He described to me how the economy of his country was maize-based. He said, “Here I am trying to advise the governor of my central bank about what interest rate he should use for monetary policy. Half of my price index is being driven by rising corn prices.” [my emphasis]
In the U.S., rising food prices are an inconvenience. In many other parts of the world, they are a disaster.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
A gift of Mozart
What should appear in my mailbox at the church this morning but the score and parts to Inter natos mulierum, KV 72, by W. A. Mozart!
Truth, I ordered it from the music dealer and expected it to arrive this month. But it is no less beautiful. It is in the Carus Verlag edition, the Stuttgarter Mozart-Ausgaben. There is a conductor's score, a little packet of instrumental parts (violins 1 and 2, violoncello, organ continuo, trombones doubling the vocal ATB parts), and the choral parts.
I am as giddy as a child on Christmas morning.
There is always something about a new piece of music. It is the same feeling as one gets from a new book, except more intense, more filled with promise (well, at least for someone like me).
One of the chief events of my life came when I was in my mid-twenties and a new organist, trying to teach myself to play and having available at that time only two volumes of organ music: the organ method of Sir John Stainer, which I had found in the organ bench at the church, and the Dover edition of a selection of Bach's chorale-based compositions, especially the Orgelbüchlein. The Edwin F. Kalmus company put their already-inexpensive catalogue of keyboard music on a half-price sale at the time that they were selling that part of their business to Belwin-Mills, and I cleared out my checking account to buy all that I could.
In due time there arrived a large box of music: the complete organ works of Buxtehude, Bach, Couperin, Brahms, Mendelssohn, and Franck, plus other assorted volumes as I was able to afford – and a goodly amount of piano music as well, since I was still more a pianist than organist: the piano works of Mozart, Haydn, Schumann, Brahms, and a good number of miniature orchestral scores. To this day these volumes remain at the core of my music library, and I have had to purchase replacement copies for some of them after they fell apart from use.
That night, I went to the church and played from these volumes until the wee hours. I was interrupted by the police; someone had heard organ music from outside and called them. They called the pastor, who had no idea anyone would be crazy enough to stay up all night playing organ music, and they came in, expecting an intruder. My long-haired scruffy appearance in those days probably did not help matters, but once I convinced them I was the legitimate organist of the church, they put their guns away and left with a gruff “Next time you do this, call us.”
I am older now; I will not stay up all night with Mozart, though part of me wishes that I still had the zeal that I did in those days, preferring Music to food or sleep. Perhaps I have learned that Music cannot go on for long without both of these mundane essentials.
KV 72 is intended for the Feast of St. John Baptist, which falls in midsummer. Mozart probably wrote it in 1771 when he was fifteen, and by one anecdote tossed it off one night, perhaps when he too preferred Music to food or sleep [I suspect that he kept that preference to his dying day.] We will hopefully sing it on the First Sunday after the Epiphany, January 13, 2013, wherein the Gospel is St. Luke's account of the ministry of St. John Baptist and his baptism of Our Lord; the latter part of the text for the piece justifies the performance of the piece on that day, in my view. I especially love the juxtaposition of “Alleluia” with “Behold the Lamb of God” – not a connection one would immediately make, but perfect for the Sunday after the Epiphany. We will seek to engage the instrumentalists for the piece, although it will be a strain on our budget – but then again, Music must take precedence at times. Especially Mozart.
Truth, I ordered it from the music dealer and expected it to arrive this month. But it is no less beautiful. It is in the Carus Verlag edition, the Stuttgarter Mozart-Ausgaben. There is a conductor's score, a little packet of instrumental parts (violins 1 and 2, violoncello, organ continuo, trombones doubling the vocal ATB parts), and the choral parts.
I am as giddy as a child on Christmas morning.
There is always something about a new piece of music. It is the same feeling as one gets from a new book, except more intense, more filled with promise (well, at least for someone like me).
One of the chief events of my life came when I was in my mid-twenties and a new organist, trying to teach myself to play and having available at that time only two volumes of organ music: the organ method of Sir John Stainer, which I had found in the organ bench at the church, and the Dover edition of a selection of Bach's chorale-based compositions, especially the Orgelbüchlein. The Edwin F. Kalmus company put their already-inexpensive catalogue of keyboard music on a half-price sale at the time that they were selling that part of their business to Belwin-Mills, and I cleared out my checking account to buy all that I could.
In due time there arrived a large box of music: the complete organ works of Buxtehude, Bach, Couperin, Brahms, Mendelssohn, and Franck, plus other assorted volumes as I was able to afford – and a goodly amount of piano music as well, since I was still more a pianist than organist: the piano works of Mozart, Haydn, Schumann, Brahms, and a good number of miniature orchestral scores. To this day these volumes remain at the core of my music library, and I have had to purchase replacement copies for some of them after they fell apart from use.
That night, I went to the church and played from these volumes until the wee hours. I was interrupted by the police; someone had heard organ music from outside and called them. They called the pastor, who had no idea anyone would be crazy enough to stay up all night playing organ music, and they came in, expecting an intruder. My long-haired scruffy appearance in those days probably did not help matters, but once I convinced them I was the legitimate organist of the church, they put their guns away and left with a gruff “Next time you do this, call us.”
I am older now; I will not stay up all night with Mozart, though part of me wishes that I still had the zeal that I did in those days, preferring Music to food or sleep. Perhaps I have learned that Music cannot go on for long without both of these mundane essentials.
KV 72 is intended for the Feast of St. John Baptist, which falls in midsummer. Mozart probably wrote it in 1771 when he was fifteen, and by one anecdote tossed it off one night, perhaps when he too preferred Music to food or sleep [I suspect that he kept that preference to his dying day.] We will hopefully sing it on the First Sunday after the Epiphany, January 13, 2013, wherein the Gospel is St. Luke's account of the ministry of St. John Baptist and his baptism of Our Lord; the latter part of the text for the piece justifies the performance of the piece on that day, in my view. I especially love the juxtaposition of “Alleluia” with “Behold the Lamb of God” – not a connection one would immediately make, but perfect for the Sunday after the Epiphany. We will seek to engage the instrumentalists for the piece, although it will be a strain on our budget – but then again, Music must take precedence at times. Especially Mozart.
Among all those born of women, there has been none greater than John the Baptist, who has prepared the way for the Lord in the wilderness.
Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world.
Alleluia.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
RSCM Epilogue: Rain
Sunday, July 27: The Lord's Day
The morning began with low grey rain clouds filling the sky. It began to sprinkle as I loaded my luggage into the car. By the end of breakfast and our drive into St. Louis and the Basilica, it was a proper rain, steady and gentle. It continued half the day, the first such rain in two months or more – and widespread, not just a localized shower.
After Evensong, I stood in the parking lot with the elderly bus driver. “Are they finished?” he asked. “Yes. The service is over. They are hugging on each other, saying good-by; they will be out here soon.”
“That rain was a gift from God,” he said. “It has already perked things up a little.”
As is my custom on the way home from the Course, I stopped at the roadside park north of Hannibal for a picnic supper in the early evening. There were puddles on the roadway at the turning into the little park. The birds and cicadas sang, bats darted through the sky above the ruined cornfield across the road, the moon sailed through the heavens.
The morning began with low grey rain clouds filling the sky. It began to sprinkle as I loaded my luggage into the car. By the end of breakfast and our drive into St. Louis and the Basilica, it was a proper rain, steady and gentle. It continued half the day, the first such rain in two months or more – and widespread, not just a localized shower.
You sent a gracious rain, O God, upon your inheritance; you refreshed the land when it was weary. (Psalm 68:9)For the first part of the Eucharist, the ATBs were shunted off into the same side chapel where I had prayed on Friday before the Tabernacle. We listened with delight as the trebles began the Mass:
Gloria in excelsis Deo.It was a moment of grace, almost unbearable. How could God be so good?
Et in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis.
Laudamus te.
Benedicimus te.
Adoramus te.
Glorificamus te.
Gratias agimus tibi propter magnam gloriam tuam.
After Evensong, I stood in the parking lot with the elderly bus driver. “Are they finished?” he asked. “Yes. The service is over. They are hugging on each other, saying good-by; they will be out here soon.”
“That rain was a gift from God,” he said. “It has already perked things up a little.”
As is my custom on the way home from the Course, I stopped at the roadside park north of Hannibal for a picnic supper in the early evening. There were puddles on the roadway at the turning into the little park. The birds and cicadas sang, bats darted through the sky above the ruined cornfield across the road, the moon sailed through the heavens.
All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
RSCM Report, Part Five: The Conclusion of the Matter
What is to become of these young people? Not just the ones here, but the young adults of Spain where there are not enough jobs, the children in Greece abandoned by their parents because they cannot care for them, the child soldiers of Sudan, poor and hungry children everywhere? Last winter's unusual cold in Europe, this summer's drought, crop failures and wildfires in the United States are perhaps harbingers that this is the generation that will reap the fruit of a century of excess. At present, the “one percent” of the world are firmly in control, grinding the poor into the dust. But their days are numbered:
The future that seems least likely is the one that I would wish for these choristers: long, quiet, and prosperous lives, and peace for our nation. But I see signs that this generation may equal the “Greatest Generation” of the Depression, World War and its aftermath, both in the trials that they will face and in the way that they will rise to the challenge, by God's grace:
Even by next summer's Course, food may be much more expensive and perhaps scarce, and worse times may come. But we have food of which this world knows nothing:
He hath filled the hungry with good things,I believe that the hand of God is at work among the children and youth that I teach in our parish choir, the RSCM choristers, and their peers throughout the world. A new thing is coming.
and the rich he hath sent empty away.
The future that seems least likely is the one that I would wish for these choristers: long, quiet, and prosperous lives, and peace for our nation. But I see signs that this generation may equal the “Greatest Generation” of the Depression, World War and its aftermath, both in the trials that they will face and in the way that they will rise to the challenge, by God's grace:
When through the deep waters I call thee to go,I am old; I will not live long into these days. I must use the time remaining to me to equip them for their task, not knowing what that task will be nor what they will need. This I know: they will need the Song, they will need each other, and they will need the Lord their God.
the rivers of woe shall not thee overflow;
for I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,
and sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.
When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
my grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply;
the flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.
(“K,” in Rippon's Selection, 1787 [sung at the closing Eucharist])
Even by next summer's Course, food may be much more expensive and perhaps scarce, and worse times may come. But we have food of which this world knows nothing:
Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
If I lack'd anything.
A guest, I answer'd, worthy to be here:
Love said, You shall be he.
I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?
Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?
My dear, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.
(George Herbert: anthem text from the Course)
Saturday, August 4, 2012
RSCM Report, Part Four: Holy Ground
Friday, July 27
Our rehearsal at the Cathedral Basilica of Saint Louis came late, as they were closing the building for the day. After we completed the SATB music, the ATBs were dismissed while Dr. Adelmann rehearsed the Mass setting (Christchurch Mass, by Malcolm Archer) with the trebles. By this time they had turned off the lights in the Nave, but sunlight streamed through the western windows.
David wrote of entrance into the Holy Place, the Sanctuary:
So it was this day. I wandered about the space, the mosaics high in the dome glittering in the late afternoon sun, the trebles and organ giving voice to the moment:
Friday evening at the Course traditionally brings a dinner party for the adults, a dress-up night out at a local restaurant for the proctors, pizza and a movie for the choristers. It fell to Eric and me to assist Miz Deb with supervision of the latter. At first, the young people settled in on the floor with pillows for the movie. Most of the younger ones stayed; they were tired. But many of the teenagers and a few energetic children soon began to wander outside to the parking lot. I went with them. By now, the hot day had given way to a fine cloudless summer night. One group of four teens tossed a frisbee – my heart was with them, for I have seen their friendship develop over their years at the Course and they have become close to one another. Another larger group of teens and younger folk played a game of keep-away with a dodge ball. A third group, all girls, had a bit of a pillow fight and eventually settled down, sitting on their pillows in the parking lot, giggling and talking. Three of the girls learned that one of the young tenors was ticklish, and they entertained themselves by chasing him. By 9:30, all had settled down in their groups (excepting the tenor and his pursuers), engaging in the primordial teenage activity of “hanging out.”
It is of this that RSCM Courses are made, every bit as much as the singing. In the three faiths descended from Abraham, prayer rises from the community more than the individual. From working together – rehearsing together, singing together – a bond develops which is like no other. It is a gift of the Holy Spirit, ultimately mediated through the Holy Eucharist and the essential core of our vocation:
Our rehearsal at the Cathedral Basilica of Saint Louis came late, as they were closing the building for the day. After we completed the SATB music, the ATBs were dismissed while Dr. Adelmann rehearsed the Mass setting (Christchurch Mass, by Malcolm Archer) with the trebles. By this time they had turned off the lights in the Nave, but sunlight streamed through the western windows.
David wrote of entrance into the Holy Place, the Sanctuary:
O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh fainteth for thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is; to see thy power and thy glory, so as I have seen thee in the sanctuary (Hebrew “Qodesh,” or “Holy”). Because thy lovingkindness (“Chesed”) is better than life, my lips shall praise thee. (Psalm 63:1-3)The Qodesh, the holy place, is not limited to the Temple. It is, as the Sages wrote, a state of mind and spirit. Were a person sufficiently advanced, he would dwell in that place day and night, as did Joshua the son of Nun (Exodus 33:11). Most of us need help to perceive the Qodesh. Even Moses needed admonition from the LORD at the burning bush (Exodus 3:5). Sacred Music is one point of entry; the holy Icons are another, as is the acoustic of a place such as the Basilica, where the Song lingers in the air. The Book of Nature, with the hours of prayer at the rising and the setting of the sun, has been especially important as an entry into the Qodesh from the earliest times (cf. Exodus 29:38-43).
So it was this day. I wandered about the space, the mosaics high in the dome glittering in the late afternoon sun, the trebles and organ giving voice to the moment:
Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus,I prayed for a while before the Blessed Sacrament in the chapel to the left of the High Altar, and was joined in this by one of the young tenors. I soon found that the side aisle gave a direct line of sight from the Tabernacle to an icon of the Theotokos, the Mother of God. In near-darkness, Our Lady and her Son were two black figures in silhouette, the sacred Ground behind them golden in the dimness:
Dominus Deus Sabaoth.
Pleni sunt coeli et terra gloria tua.
Hosanna in excelsis.
Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini.
Hosanna in excelsis.
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi: miserere nobis.
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi: miserere nobis.
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi: dona nobis pacem.
Friday evening at the Course traditionally brings a dinner party for the adults, a dress-up night out at a local restaurant for the proctors, pizza and a movie for the choristers. It fell to Eric and me to assist Miz Deb with supervision of the latter. At first, the young people settled in on the floor with pillows for the movie. Most of the younger ones stayed; they were tired. But many of the teenagers and a few energetic children soon began to wander outside to the parking lot. I went with them. By now, the hot day had given way to a fine cloudless summer night. One group of four teens tossed a frisbee – my heart was with them, for I have seen their friendship develop over their years at the Course and they have become close to one another. Another larger group of teens and younger folk played a game of keep-away with a dodge ball. A third group, all girls, had a bit of a pillow fight and eventually settled down, sitting on their pillows in the parking lot, giggling and talking. Three of the girls learned that one of the young tenors was ticklish, and they entertained themselves by chasing him. By 9:30, all had settled down in their groups (excepting the tenor and his pursuers), engaging in the primordial teenage activity of “hanging out.”
It is of this that RSCM Courses are made, every bit as much as the singing. In the three faiths descended from Abraham, prayer rises from the community more than the individual. From working together – rehearsing together, singing together – a bond develops which is like no other. It is a gift of the Holy Spirit, ultimately mediated through the Holy Eucharist and the essential core of our vocation:
I therefore, the prisoner of the Lord, beseech you that ye walk worthy of the vocation wherewith ye are called, with all lowliness and meekness, with longsuffering, forbearing one another in love; endeavoring to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.
There is one body, and one Spirit, even as ye are called in one hope of your calling; one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all, and through all, and in you all. (Ephesians 4:1-6, the Epistle at Sunday's Eucharist)
Friday, August 3, 2012
RSCM Report, Part Three: My soul doth magnify the Lord
Thursday, July 26: Joachim and Anne, the Parents of the Blessed Virgin Mary
It is well to remember this family, who, in a time darker than ours, with a few others such as Zechariah and Elisabeth, Simeon and Anna, and their future son-in-law Joseph, “looked for redemption” (St. Luke 2:38). At that time, as at many times, people considered such things as old-fashioned superstition, or at best something that could not happen in their time and place. It was only a handful that believed the promise of the forefathers, and taught their children of these things (cf. St. Luke 1:54-55 and 1:72-75).
But it was through this little flock, this remnant, that the truth of God endured from generation to generation. It is not without reason that St. Matthew began his account with a genealogy, and St. Luke got around to it by the end of the third chapter.
It was noted in one of the adult discussions that the children of privilege rarely sing in our church choirs; they have too many other options. This is nothing new: throughout the seventeen-plus centuries of organized choral music in the Church, treble choristers have usually come from humble origins. The purposes of God seldom bear fruit among the “one percent” of this or any generation. But God continues to “regard the lowliness of his handmaiden[s].” No one would have expected the faith of a little girl in Nazareth to change the world. Who can tell what these little ones at the Course will do to continue the work of redemption in their generation? “Fear ye not, stand still, and see the salvation of the LORD” (Genesis 14:13).
Today is our last full day of rehearsal at the camp; tomorrow we board bus and cars to go rehearse at the churches. We have come far in these few days. The singing has become strong, confident, expressive, and intelligent. Our little tenor section, most of them with newly-changed voices, is splendid. They are singing at a level well beyond their years. May this week be the impetus for a lifetime of song.
For three nights we have sung Evensong in the little Chapel of St. Cecilia where we rehearse. A few of our past directors have seemed to consider these services little more than dress rehearsals for the one that matters on Sunday evening at the conclusion of the Course. With his training under Dr. Guest, Dr. Adelmann knows that every Evensong is important. We must pour all of ourselves into them without regard for the presence or absence of a congregation.
Each year, these Evensongs at Todd Hall are among my favorite aspects of the Course. On this night, the finest music was in the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis of Harold Friedell, and the anthem (linked in Part Two: “Let all the world” by Kenneth Leighton). I was quite overcome with emotion by the end of the service.
Such emotion is at times a negative in my conducting, organ playing, and singing; it interferes with my duty to play or sing the right notes and to lead the choirs entrusted to my care. Yet, without feeling there is no genuine music. The motto by my office door (from St. Augustine) is this: Cantare amantis est, which more or less means “Singing is generated by Love.” Somehow, there must be a balance. One of the old Italian singing-masters said “The heart must burn with fire, but the head must be as cool and clear as ice.” Or as we find in St. Paul:
Yet I have left me seven thousand in Israel... (I Kings 19:18)We know nothing, really, of the parents of St. Mary, not even their names. But all that one need know of them can be seen in the character of their daughter.
It is well to remember this family, who, in a time darker than ours, with a few others such as Zechariah and Elisabeth, Simeon and Anna, and their future son-in-law Joseph, “looked for redemption” (St. Luke 2:38). At that time, as at many times, people considered such things as old-fashioned superstition, or at best something that could not happen in their time and place. It was only a handful that believed the promise of the forefathers, and taught their children of these things (cf. St. Luke 1:54-55 and 1:72-75).
But it was through this little flock, this remnant, that the truth of God endured from generation to generation. It is not without reason that St. Matthew began his account with a genealogy, and St. Luke got around to it by the end of the third chapter.
It was noted in one of the adult discussions that the children of privilege rarely sing in our church choirs; they have too many other options. This is nothing new: throughout the seventeen-plus centuries of organized choral music in the Church, treble choristers have usually come from humble origins. The purposes of God seldom bear fruit among the “one percent” of this or any generation. But God continues to “regard the lowliness of his handmaiden[s].” No one would have expected the faith of a little girl in Nazareth to change the world. Who can tell what these little ones at the Course will do to continue the work of redemption in their generation? “Fear ye not, stand still, and see the salvation of the LORD” (Genesis 14:13).
Today is our last full day of rehearsal at the camp; tomorrow we board bus and cars to go rehearse at the churches. We have come far in these few days. The singing has become strong, confident, expressive, and intelligent. Our little tenor section, most of them with newly-changed voices, is splendid. They are singing at a level well beyond their years. May this week be the impetus for a lifetime of song.
For three nights we have sung Evensong in the little Chapel of St. Cecilia where we rehearse. A few of our past directors have seemed to consider these services little more than dress rehearsals for the one that matters on Sunday evening at the conclusion of the Course. With his training under Dr. Guest, Dr. Adelmann knows that every Evensong is important. We must pour all of ourselves into them without regard for the presence or absence of a congregation.
Each year, these Evensongs at Todd Hall are among my favorite aspects of the Course. On this night, the finest music was in the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis of Harold Friedell, and the anthem (linked in Part Two: “Let all the world” by Kenneth Leighton). I was quite overcome with emotion by the end of the service.
Such emotion is at times a negative in my conducting, organ playing, and singing; it interferes with my duty to play or sing the right notes and to lead the choirs entrusted to my care. Yet, without feeling there is no genuine music. The motto by my office door (from St. Augustine) is this: Cantare amantis est, which more or less means “Singing is generated by Love.” Somehow, there must be a balance. One of the old Italian singing-masters said “The heart must burn with fire, but the head must be as cool and clear as ice.” Or as we find in St. Paul:
Psallam spiritu et mente (I Corinthians 14:15)
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
RSCM Report, Part Two: From generation to generation
Tuesday, July 25: The Feast of St. James the Apostle
His truth endureth not only in the cosmic order, but in his people. And for his truth to endure in the sons of Adam and daughters of Eve, it must do so “from generation to generation.” This is because of his own free will and being, the LORD is gracious. It is not only his truth that endureth, it is his mercy, his “Chesed,” the loving-kindness which fills the Sacred Heart of God and pours forth from his pierced side into the world (cf. St. John 19:34).
Specifically, his truth endureth from generation to generation when little ten-and-eleven-year-olds like Lucy and Max (and many others) come to RSCM. They see the older choristers and how they enter into this week; seeing this, they buckle down and work hard in rehearsals.
This was a week of passing the truth – and the loving-kindness – from one generation to another. Two of our older boys were trebles at our last Youth Choir rehearsals in May; Tom is now an Alto, Sam is a Tenor. Now they must be adults in the choir. They learn to do this from those who have gone before: the older teens such as Mike and Mark, adults such as Meredith and Jennifer, Judith, Eric, and me. In due time they will teach others.
Weezer, Michael, H.J., and Jordan were not here. It fell to Eddie, Elizabeth, Caitlin, Jennifer, and Meredith with help from the excellent assistant proctors and “Miz Deb” to fill their shoes. Four of these persons (two proctors, two assistant proctors) are from our parish, and I can remember them all when they were little nine-and-ten-year-olds at their first Course. They have become strong singers, capable of carrying a section – there was a moment when Dr. Adelmann asked some of the decani trebles to double an alto line, then jump an octave to their own part. I saw Meredith and Elizabeth exchange glances that clearly said “We've got it,” and they did it perfectly. The leadership of all of these proctors, musically and otherwise, was outstanding. Lucy and Max and the other first-year choristers saw it, and this week was a step toward doing this sort of thing themselves, whether in music or otherwise in their lives.
At one of the dinner table conversations, Dr. Adelmann commented that when he was at St. John's Cambridge, it would have been possible to leave out the bottom four boys from the treble line without changing the sound. This is true of any choir of this sort, and I have heard similar statements from other directors, such as James Litton. The older ones lead; the younger ones are learning how it is done, how to sing.
And it is not just the younger ones who learn: I have learned to train choirs mostly from observing the directors at RSCM courses, and this year's experience with Dr. Adelmann was one of the best. He in turn learned mostly from Dr. George Guest at St. John's College, Cambridge, singing six choral services a week at a standard which I suspect may no longer exist, not even at Cambridge. I am glad that our choristers had a taste this week of the Anglican choral tradition at its finest.
I am always a bit fearful as to how our choristers will react to a director: one bad experience, and many of them will not come back. I am especially nervous about directors such as Dr. Adelmann, who demand much. In the rehearsals Dr. A. is all business: diction must be precise, phrase shapes are essential, every chorister must pay attention, even at the end of a day with six hours of rehearsal. There are no amusing stories, no jokes, nothing of what our culture would call “fun.” He does not appear to care in the least whether we like him or not. But he cares deeply whether we did our best, personally and as a choir.
I can hear some educators I have known denounce such an approach as neither child-friendly nor age-appropriate. Too much is being asked of the children. They are expected to work at a level that few of our adult choristers at home would tolerate. Should we not “dumb it down” to their level? Entertain them? Give them pseudo-pop songs that use one-syllable words and that they can sing without going into head voice or reading music? We give whole congregations such music and call it “welcoming” and “inclusive.”
To do so would be to cheat them of the work and the delight that is properly theirs. It would make them consumers, not genuine participants in the healing of the world. In a good choir, young people are challenged with the finest of music and they live up to it, as choristers have done for generations. As the Presence of Christ is multiplied in the Holy Eucharist, so is the Song multiplied in this manner through time and space, and through it the loving-kindness of God pours forth into the world.
For the LORD is gracious; his mercy is everlasting; and his truth endureth from generation to generation. (Psalm 100:4)Why these words: “from generation to generation?” Why not “from age to age,” or “for ever and ever?”
His truth endureth not only in the cosmic order, but in his people. And for his truth to endure in the sons of Adam and daughters of Eve, it must do so “from generation to generation.” This is because of his own free will and being, the LORD is gracious. It is not only his truth that endureth, it is his mercy, his “Chesed,” the loving-kindness which fills the Sacred Heart of God and pours forth from his pierced side into the world (cf. St. John 19:34).
Specifically, his truth endureth from generation to generation when little ten-and-eleven-year-olds like Lucy and Max (and many others) come to RSCM. They see the older choristers and how they enter into this week; seeing this, they buckle down and work hard in rehearsals.
This was a week of passing the truth – and the loving-kindness – from one generation to another. Two of our older boys were trebles at our last Youth Choir rehearsals in May; Tom is now an Alto, Sam is a Tenor. Now they must be adults in the choir. They learn to do this from those who have gone before: the older teens such as Mike and Mark, adults such as Meredith and Jennifer, Judith, Eric, and me. In due time they will teach others.
Weezer, Michael, H.J., and Jordan were not here. It fell to Eddie, Elizabeth, Caitlin, Jennifer, and Meredith with help from the excellent assistant proctors and “Miz Deb” to fill their shoes. Four of these persons (two proctors, two assistant proctors) are from our parish, and I can remember them all when they were little nine-and-ten-year-olds at their first Course. They have become strong singers, capable of carrying a section – there was a moment when Dr. Adelmann asked some of the decani trebles to double an alto line, then jump an octave to their own part. I saw Meredith and Elizabeth exchange glances that clearly said “We've got it,” and they did it perfectly. The leadership of all of these proctors, musically and otherwise, was outstanding. Lucy and Max and the other first-year choristers saw it, and this week was a step toward doing this sort of thing themselves, whether in music or otherwise in their lives.
At one of the dinner table conversations, Dr. Adelmann commented that when he was at St. John's Cambridge, it would have been possible to leave out the bottom four boys from the treble line without changing the sound. This is true of any choir of this sort, and I have heard similar statements from other directors, such as James Litton. The older ones lead; the younger ones are learning how it is done, how to sing.
And it is not just the younger ones who learn: I have learned to train choirs mostly from observing the directors at RSCM courses, and this year's experience with Dr. Adelmann was one of the best. He in turn learned mostly from Dr. George Guest at St. John's College, Cambridge, singing six choral services a week at a standard which I suspect may no longer exist, not even at Cambridge. I am glad that our choristers had a taste this week of the Anglican choral tradition at its finest.
I am always a bit fearful as to how our choristers will react to a director: one bad experience, and many of them will not come back. I am especially nervous about directors such as Dr. Adelmann, who demand much. In the rehearsals Dr. A. is all business: diction must be precise, phrase shapes are essential, every chorister must pay attention, even at the end of a day with six hours of rehearsal. There are no amusing stories, no jokes, nothing of what our culture would call “fun.” He does not appear to care in the least whether we like him or not. But he cares deeply whether we did our best, personally and as a choir.
I can hear some educators I have known denounce such an approach as neither child-friendly nor age-appropriate. Too much is being asked of the children. They are expected to work at a level that few of our adult choristers at home would tolerate. Should we not “dumb it down” to their level? Entertain them? Give them pseudo-pop songs that use one-syllable words and that they can sing without going into head voice or reading music? We give whole congregations such music and call it “welcoming” and “inclusive.”
To do so would be to cheat them of the work and the delight that is properly theirs. It would make them consumers, not genuine participants in the healing of the world. In a good choir, young people are challenged with the finest of music and they live up to it, as choristers have done for generations. As the Presence of Christ is multiplied in the Holy Eucharist, so is the Song multiplied in this manner through time and space, and through it the loving-kindness of God pours forth into the world.
Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing.
My God and King.
The heav'ns are not too high,
His praise may thither fly:
The earth is not too low,
His praises there may grow.
Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing.
My God and King.
The church with psalms must shout,
No door can keep them out:
But above all, the heart
Must bear the longest part.
Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing.
My God and King.
(George Herbert: Anthem setting by Kenneth Leighton)
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