Ye choirs of new Jerusalem

We are singing this standard of the Anglican repertoire for the Great Vigil of Easter.
We will not sound like this recording by the choir of New College, Oxford.

From the February issue of The American Organist, the "UK Report," a regular (and very fine) column by Sarah MacDonald, writing about English choirs and Vibrato (pp. 66-67):

Since both age and technique are known to play a crucial role in the distinction between a natural vibrato and an undesirable warble, it is necessary to consider the normal make-up of an English choir's soprano section to ascertain why the latter is not perceived in the sound. In the majority of England's best-known choirs, the soprano sections consist of young, individually trained singers: boys or girls in cathedral choirs; those in their late teens/early 20s in mixed Oxbridge choirs; and young professionals in the best-known specialist choirs.

In our adult parish choir, we currently have one female singer who is (I think) in her early twenties, and another who is perhaps a bit over thirty. The others are well beyond that, as are nearly all of the men. So far as I know, none of them have had professional training as choral singers.

James Jordan in his book "The Musician's Soul" (G.I.A. Publications, Chicago, 1999) has a chapter on "Mimetics and Envy... The Major Obstacle for the Creative Artist" (chapter eight, pp. 96-122). Jordan lists the forms that Envy takes for musicians, and at the top of the list: "The perfect sound" (p. 109). The conductor perhaps has a sound like that of the New College choir in his head from listening to recordings, and when the parish choir does not sound that way in rehearsal, it can get ugly, as Jordan describes. The director might take it out on the choir in anger, belittlement of the choristers, scapegoating (picking out one person on whom to blame the deficiency of the sound or lack of musicianship). Or he might take it out on himself through self-mutilation of various sorts. I have done all of these things, and still do.

Rather than envying the sound of another choir, one must be entirely present with the singers that are before you in the rehearsal room, just as they are. Through everything that happens in the rehearsal and in the services, one must help them sing a little better, know a little more about music, the liturgy, themselves, and the Lord whom we serve. One must love them.

This is not easy.

Love, care, humbleness, and selflessness must be a constant during rehearsal... First and foremost, you will love yourself and your gifts, recognizing and accepting your musical limitations with love. You also, at all times will be humble and selfless, and place your own ego in a place that does not infect or interact with the music-making process... You will constantly self-empty, love, and care for others. This self-emptying process is known as kenosis. (Jordan, p. 116)

Kenosis is, of course, the path to which our Lord called us when he said "Take up your cross, and follow me." It is the path of Conversion of Life, a path which, if followed to the end, leads to sanctity. And above all, it is the path that He walked (Philippians 2:5-8).

So, what do I discover when I set foot on that path in connection with "Ye choirs of new Jerusalem?" I discover that despite what I might think at first, we shall sing it well, very differently from the New College choir, and in some ways better. The reason is precisely that we are not vigorous well-trained young elite choral singers like the New College group. They do a very fine job of the piece, but these young people have not seen as much of life as the singers of our parish choir. When our choir is at its best, when they connect with what they are singing, one hears their decades of life experience in the sound. One hears their love of the Lord, a love that for most of them is strong and mature. One hears their struggles, their limitations, and one hears the grace of God present in their -- our, for I must include myself -- our weakness.

I must help them reach that point when they sing, a place for them as well as their conductor of kenosis, of union with Christ.

I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me. (Galatians 2:20)

It applies to organists, too. One might detect a hint of Envy in my essay from Sunday, wherein I wished that I could play like Daniel Roth (or, in the background of that, play an instrument like the Cavaille-Coll at Saint-Sulpice). Yes, I can and should (and do) admire him, and I can be spurred to work harder, and learn from him. But I must in the end play like myself, not like an imitation of him, or of any other musician, and I must do it at the considerably more modest pipe organ to which God has called me. The same kenosis is required at the organ bench as in the choral rehearsal, making myself small so that the Music may be large, and that which it serves.