I resolved to stay away from the Music Box on Sundays until my work was done, or at least everything that could not be postponed. I am not sure that this has been a Good Thing; in retrospect, I see that the process of writing helped me come to terms with the day's music and liturgy. I think also that these "Sunday" essays are an important part of what I hope to present in the Music Box, which is a picture of what it is to be a Church Musician.
Thus, I attempt an account of this past Sunday, several days after the fact (Tuesday evening, as I write).
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I was worried about the music, especially the Bach and the Vaughan Williams. I always am, and rarely sleep well on Saturday. On this Saturday, I got to bed at a decent hour, but the phone rang about 8:30; my wife's uncle is back in the hospital. She was on the phone for most of the next hour with her aunt and then with her parents, whom her aunt asked her to call. I used to unplug the telephone at bedtime, until my mother-in-law insisted that we be On Call -- with precisely this sort of occurrence in mind. Grudgingly, I admit that she is right.
So, I did not get up at 4:00 as I had hoped; it was more like 4:20. That precious twenty minutes was later chopped out of my practice time before Matins.
I had worked as precinct election chair for a Tuesday election, so had missed a day's practice that week, and I had been focused on the previous week's Eucharist and Choral Evensong before that. There were two student recitals this week, and I gave much of my Wednesday and Friday practice time to them for their rehearsals. Thus, I found myself Friday afternoon with the prelude from the "Great" G Major Prelude and Fugue of Bach. It was fingered, but I had not yet taken it to the organ, and I could not; the student rehearsal was up in the church. I gave it a First Workout at the piano in the choir room and hoped for the best.
On Saturday, I worked steadily at the organ, with Second Workouts on the Prelude and Fugue, the accompaniment for "O Clap Your Hands" (Vaughan Williams), and a tricky hymn accompaniment by Carol Doran ("Make your prayer and music one," a terrific hymn by Thomas Troeger that fits the lesson from Acts, wherein Paul and Silas sing and pray at midnight in the Phillippian jail). It was, to some degree, the First Workout for the Prelude, the first (and only) with the pedal part.
I needed that twenty minutes on Sunday morning. By the time I reviewed the hymns and the RVW accompaniment, fifteen minutes remained before Matins. I gave the Prelude a single slow play-through on 8' flutes, and got about halfway through the Fugue in the same manner. That was it. In the event, the Fugue went well, but the Prelude was sloppy in places. It would have been better with more practice, either a proper Two Workouts at the organ or a better Sunday warmup. At least I gave it a spirited reading (I hope).
But if something was to be below standard ("Slightly egg-shaped," as Simon Lole used to say at the RSCM Course), I will accept it in the prelude rather than the choral music or hymnody. All of that went well, some of it quite well, including a communion improvisation. We closed the 11:00 service with Llanfair, "Hail the day that sees him rise," and it was thoroughly exciting to hear the congregation sing it. The choir did a fine job with the RVW, as well.
This was the final Sunday of the season for the Youth Choir, which sang at the 8:45 service. They did a South African song, Bawo, Thixo Somandla, which some of us learned at an RSCM Course a few years ago. The choir spread across the front of the church behind the portable altar to sing, complete with some of the motions appropriate to the song. It was great. One of our high school choristers was the Preacher for the day (it was Youth Sunday, along with all else); he included in his sermon the One Rule that we use in choir (and which I borrowed from the Logos System of Christian Formation, something about which I should write someday) - "You are a child of God, and I will treat you that way." He has, it appears, been listening.
The Fugue at the end of the 11:00 service bounced along appropriately, and the morning was done! There was a doctoral violin recital that evening, but for the first time since mid-March, I had time for a relaxed dinner on Sunday. I went to my favorite eatery; the university student cafeteria. For $9.00, all you can eat! During the week, they serve many thousands of meals daily and an oldster like me had better be on his toes to avoid being run over. Sundays are a "light" day for them, and I was able to get through the free-flow cafeteria area in one piece and find a quiet table in a corner. I always fill one plate from the huge salad bar, a second plate from the hot table (which always includes vegan and vegetarian choices), pile a couple of pizza slices on top, and finish the meal with Blue Bunny ice cream. I had four scoops of vanilla.
After that, I walked (or more precisely, waddled) back to the parking ramp and rested for an hour or so in the Honda, up on the rooftop level. This is a delight when the weather is suitable, for I love being in the car, even just to sit and watch the clouds and the birds in the treetops. I did that, drifting delightfully between sleep and wakefulness.
By then, it was nearly 4:00 and time to open the church for the violinist. She played a terrific program: Bach, Mendelssohn, Brahms. I heard most of it, and helped her mother with the reception. They did a fine job of cleaning up afterwards (unlike some), including a good vacuuming and taking out the trash. I got them out the door by 9:30 with heartfelt congratulations and good wishes, and locked up.
It is always a delight and relief to lock the door after the last person is out.
But there were still Bulletins To Do. I brewed some green tea and did them (instead of what I wanted, which would have been to write this essay), and got out the door myself about 11:00.
It was a Good Day. I am terribly proud of both the Youth and Adult Choirs. On balance, I was content with my playing for the day; I can say with honesty that it was the best I could do.
Epilogue:
Upon returning to my desk on Wednesday, I found a note that had arrived by U.S. Mail from my organ teacher, Dr. Donald McDonald, in regard to a recording of my noontime recital the Wednesday of Easter Week. He wrote:
I have listened carefully twice through the symphony (and will return to it often), and I offer my sincere congratulations to you on the beauty of the playing, and on your maintaining your skills and very special musical artistry through these years. Your understanding of the Widor style is so gratifying to hear. As I understand it, and I once knew well one of his students, the music need not be hurried, and that is exactly what you do. You allow it to unfold and develop in such, to my ears, a logical way...I regularly consider my playing to be inadequate, as is clear from this journal. This is probably true of almost all musicians. Our playing is never adequate; it never (or rarely, at best) lives up to the musical ideas of the composers we try to play, or our own improvisatory ideas.
But, inadequate as we are, we must continue. In my darker moments, I am encouraged by the Fellowship certificate from the A.G.O. that hangs above my desk. At least for the one day of June 30, 1995, I played at a sufficiently high level to be recognized by my peers as a professional, and demonstrated a reasonable grasp of music theory and history. I am certain that I am a better musician and organist now than I was in those days.
Part of the responsibility of a Teacher is to speak truth to his students. Dr. McDonald always did so, and I am sure he still does, for that responsibility does not end with the lessons. To read such words from him about my playing means much. I am grateful that he took the time to write them.
Soli Deo gloria.
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