A good start

First Rehearsal Day.

Every year, I am anxious about this, more than any other event of the season. Stage fright? I know what that feels like, and this is not quite the same, for it is not a concern about how I will do. It is how others will do.

The youth choir is the one that scares me the most. Today, we had four new singers, all girls: two second-graders, one slightly older girl whose family has moved to town, one fifth-grader who came at her friend's invitation. Will they have a good experience in this first rehearsal? Will they come back next week?

The RSCM training scheme is called "Voice for Life," and it starts here, this first day of rehearsal. If it goes well, these girls may be Singers all the days of their life. If it goes badly, they may never sing in another choir, and they would miss out on something of great importance.

So, I worry. I lose sleep. I fidgit all day, unable to do anything productive. And the hour finally arrives.

It is a good rehearsal. The new girls are paired up with experienced singers (some of them just a year older, in their second year of choir), each pair sharing one set of music scores so the new singers can begin to learn about following notes, finding their place. It is as good for the "experienced" half of the pairs as it is for the new singers, for now they have to teach someone else how to do these things.

I am grateful to our experienced singers for making this such a good choir, a place that is comfortable and safe and fun, and where we all grow in grace.

The adult choir worried me because we are slim in numbers. Two singers retired in the spring, another finished his degree and moved to the West Coast. But a new soprano appeared, at the invitation of J., with whom she works. She seemed to have a good time, and I think that she will return.

We opened with a setting of "When I survey the wondrous cross" by Gilbert Martin, and the choir's sound was terrific: strong, rich, confident. We began a new setting of the Preces and Responses (Heathcote Statham), and it is going to go very well.

It was a good beginning.

There is much to do, a whole year's work ahead. But now we have begun, and it will be easier.

Steinway update

The Steinway L is back; the rebuilder delivered it to the church about an hour ago.
(see here and here for some background)

My first impressions are good. He shimmed the two small cracks in the soundboard, cleaned and re-gilded the plate, replaced the strings, tuning pins, pinblock, hammers, and action parts. It was a complete interior rebuild, leaving the exterior of the case as it was -- and he did some minor touch-up repairs to the case so that it looks pretty good, much better than it did. The cost was $15,900.

I carefully played up and down the keyboard, checking the action regulation and voicing; all is well. With the lid up, it is scrumptiously beautiful inside -- all those shiny new strings, the bright and clean plate, the shiny nickel-plated tuning pins... I am prepared to certify this as first-rate piano work. This instrument is in all important respects (that is, everything except the appearance of the case) just like a brand-new Steinway. With reasonable care it will, Lord willing, be suitable for church and concert use for many decades to come.

But I will need to play it for a while. The personality is a little different, and I miss my sweet old dowager of a piano. She may still be there, underneath the good looks; I hope so. The soundboard is still that fine old 1920's wood with all that music-making in its history. It is as if one of my friends were to suddenly be thirty years younger - strong and healthy, and still in essence the same person, but not as I knew and loved him in his older age. I would be happy for him, but it would not be quite the same.

What is, is. The work needed to be done, and it has been done well.

[Added later: Saturday, August 24 -- I have indeed played the piano for a while, and it is just fine. It is still my old friend, and I am very happy with the result of the project.]

Conference Notes: Taizé

As with my previous essay, this one is an attempt to organize my thoughts about another aspect of the Hymn Society conference: the workshop on the music and worship of the Taizé Community, and the evening prayer service in the spirit of Taizé. I write my notes in this form in order to provide a space for links to online resources.

I wrote last week that my encounter with Taizé last month showed me that there is more to it than I had realized. Taizé was started by Brother Roger in 1940 as an ecumenical community of reconciliation and peace. "The defeat of France awoke powerful sympathy. If a house could be found there, of the kind I had dreamed of, it would offer a possible way of assisting some of those most discouraged, those deprived of a livelihood; and it could become a place of silence and work." Their small cottage in the desolate village of Taizé, where Roger was joined by three others, the first Brothers of the movement, became a sanctuary for many displaced persons during the early years of the war, until the Gestapo occupied it in November 1942. After the war, the four Brothers returned from Switzerland to the village and resumed their life of "simplicity, celibacy, and community." At first, their worship was in the village church. In the early 1960's, the community began to attract large numbers of young pilgrims, and they built their own church, the Church of Reconciliation, with the work of volunteers and pilgrims.

Should the coming decades bring what I expect, the quiet witness of these Brothers, just Brother Roger at first and then for many years fewer than ten of them, stands as a model for those facing times of famine, death, tumult and war. No matter what the circumstances, it is always possible to live the Christian life in community, and to serve as Christ's hands in the healing of the nations.

More specifically, we church musicians must keep the Taizé songs and their manner of worship in mind. There may be more strength to these songs, these prayers, than one might think.

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The workshop and the evening prayer at the Hymn Society conference were led by David Anderson (davida@giamusic.com), who is an editor at GIA Publications. They are the U.S. agent for the Taizé publications, and all of the music is under their copyright for the U.S. and Canada. Several collections of music are available from GIA; recordings as well.

The Taizé website is this:
http://www.taize.fr

At this site, the most useful aspect for our purposes is the menu item "Prayer and Song." This takes you to a page with many subheadings; all of them are very important.

There is a page with mp3 files recorded live and quite unpolished (and thus, more real. For example, the cantors sometimes sing flat, the instrumentalists fluff notes, the congregation coughs and drops things on the floor and is sometimes not "with it." But there are times when it is all incredibly splendid. As with real worship, these moments are unpredictable.) There is a link to a weekly broadcast of the Saturday evening prayer service at Taizé, by a Catholic radio station in Cologne. There are many older services on the page as well as the one for the current week; each of the recordings runs about one hour and fades out in mid-song when the hour is expired.



The basic resources that Mr. Anderson recommended as a starting place are these:
- Songs and Prayers from Taizé (G-3719 for the basic edition) - 50 chants, guidelines, prayer texts and litanies.
- Taizé: Songs for Prayer (G-4956S for the vocal edition)
- Christe Lux Mundi (G-7101S for the vocal edition)
- Prayer for Each Day (G-4918) - this is text only; prayers for various seasons, a general introduction to worship in this manner.

Also two DVDs:
- Praying with the songs of Taizé (DVD-391). This is helpful because it is hard to enter the spirit of Taizé worship without seeing it. And it is done badly in many places, so badly as to turn people away from it. A similar result can be achieved from the broadcast recordings noted above.
- Life at Taizé (DVD-481) - a sixteen-minute video introducing the Community and its life.

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What should I make of all this?

There is already a weekly Taizé service in our community, so it would be wrong to try and start another one at our parish. Besides, we have the form of daily prayer that is proper to our tradition: Rite One Matins and Evensong, and especially Choral Evensong. We should nurture this rather than looking to Taizé for a model.

Still, it is worth noting that the Taizé form of evening prayer is based on the same model of monastic prayer that lies behind Roman Catholic Vespers, Lutheran Vespers, and Anglican Evensong: a beginning, psalm, Bible reading(s), prayers including the Our Father, song [in the basic tradition, the anthem or office hymn. In the Taizé form, this element is considerably expanded]. Perhaps there are lessons that we could carry over into Choral Evensong -- much longer silences after the readings, use of candles and icons, more opportunity for meditative prayer toward the end of the service (where our rubric says "Authorized intercessions and thanksgivings may follow" [BCP p. 71]), including ten or fifteen minutes of silent prayer, and then an open-ended conclusion to the service?

The result would feel very different from a traditional Choral Evensong, and probably very different from anything that is being done anywhere. I surely am not aware of any place where one might hear the Smith Responses, Anglican Chant psalmody, a Stanford Mag and Nunc, and end up with a couple of hours of Taizé songs, prayers, and meditation by candlelight. I would attend such a service; one of my problems with our Choral Evensong services is that when they are finished, what I want to do is to spend another hour or so in the church, in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament, contemplating what we have sung and continuing the prayer.

Of more interest is the question of incorporating elements of this into the Sunday morning Eucharist, specifically our 8:45 "contemporary" service. The practice at this service is to sing a Taizé song or other repetitive song during the administration of the Blessed Sacrament. (We use songs from other sources, such as the Iona Community, and more of these than the genuine Taizé songs. But the ones we use are in a similar style, and aim for similar effect.)

There are many problems with this. The most notable is that it requires a mental shift from the discursive to the meditative. And this is supposed to happen in a service where the clock is ever-present. We have to be done by 9:45 so that people can go to their church school classes. A secondary problem is that silence is just as important to the Taizé spirit as the music, and there is often not so much as thirty seconds of silence at any point in the 8:45 service -- again, the clock is the ruling factor. We must press on from one thing to the next in a headlong rush. One cannot easily flip the switch from this mindset to one of stillness. Even if we were not in such a hurry, the people would have to learn to tolerate silence.

A third problem is that the effect of the songs is cumulative. In a proper Taizé service, there are many songs in a row after the concluding prayer -- in the service broadcast that I am hearing as I write this, almost a half-hour of songs. We have time for only one song, perhaps five minutes, eight or nine minutes at the most.

Nonetheless, with all these obstacles, it sometimes works. Or (I am guessing) it works for some people some of the time, while simultaneously for others it falls flat. And on another Sunday, it might work for other people. It depends on what the people are bringing to that day's worship from their lives -- and, very much so, it depends on the work of the Holy Ghost who prays with and among us and can never be predicted or pinned down or planned, and does always what is best, and what we need.

There was a man who is a notable author who used to attend our 8:45 service. He would sit in the back row with his young daughters. In those days, someone else (Thomas W., who reads this blog) was leading the music, and I sat in the back row with them. In one of his books, he wrote of a particular day when we sang a Taizé song -- and how it changed everything for him. I remember that song and that day, and even sitting beside him, I had no idea what was going on in his heart. It is well to remember such things as these. We (especially we who plan worship and music) may think we know what is going on, but we do not.

What I am getting at is this: the Taizé song during the distribution of communion is the most unpredictable part of our 8:45 service. And it must remain so. All I can do is to pick a good song, lead it with some degree of sensitivity to the feel of the congregation, and stay out of the way. When it "works," the song takes on what Brother Robert called "a flow of inner life animat[ing] the singing," and it becomes like a little bird, or a butterfly.

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A practical note: One easily gets the impression that the instruments are more important than they are in fact. There are books of instrumental parts for all sorts of things -- flutes, trumpets, cellos, guitar (classical-style, not the "thrash and bash" type guitarist that so often appears in church settings). Mr. Anderson reminded us that they don't actually make that much use of the instruments at Taizé. In the off-season when there are not so many pilgrims, there may be only the guitar which seems to be their basic instrument, or a keyboard, and this is perfectly legitimate. Even in the peak season, there will likely be only one or two additional instruments at a given service. In the one I am listening to -- in August, a peak time with lots of pilgrims -- there is a trumpet, not very well played, and he or she only plays in perhaps one-quarter of the songs, maybe less.

What there are at Taizé, and what we lack: cantors. We have some people who sing at the 8:45 service, but none of them have vocal ranges that correspond to the written Taizé parts. Many of the songs benefit greatly from the solo descants.

Still, the song can and should be simple. If leading from the piano as I do, a good bit of improvisation is helpful, and it would be quite deadly if the pianist simply were to repeat the written accompaniment, over and over. I begin with the written accompaniment, and after a few times start to play descants, or change registers (e.g., revoice the chords into the tenor register), or reduce the texture to just the bass line, or just a descant line, or stop playing altogether, just giving a hint at the end of each repetition that we should continue. Or arpeggiate, or play what the old composers called "doubles" -- variations in eighth note motion. Brother Robert again: "Variations in intensity are desirable, to match the variations in the prayer itself. At times it will be calmer, and at other times more urgent." The piano and other instruments can give cues as to the changes in intensity -- but the pianist must not force this on the people; he must sense what is appropriate from moment to moment. If Brother Robert is correct (and I think he is), the pianist is sensing "the variations in the prayer itself" and through his playing helping the congregation likewise to sense the variation, the ebb-and-flow of the prayer.

I have tried accompanying the songs at the organ, and it has been a miserable failure. The piano is much better for this - though the organ could work with the strongest and most outgoing of the songs, such as "Laudate Dominum," if there is a large and vigorous congregation.

And the large congregation helps all of the songs. There is a special magic when hundreds of people are singing this music in a good acoustic, as we had at the Hymn Society service. We sang the Magnificat canon, which is one of the older songs, and got the four-part canon going plus the four-part secondary canon, and kept singing for about ten minutes. It was spine-tingling (not at all like the recording, which is a studio recording with a small group of singers -- much cleaner, but not like a real congregation). It is something that is not possible for our congregation of fifty or sixty people, most of them not especially interested in singing.

Here is a song that was new to me. I think it will be effective at our 8:45 service. The YouTube link is more of a real congregation, and shows the use of the guitar to accompany:
Let all who are thirsty, come

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I am left with many more questions than answers.
But that is true of almost every aspect of my work as a church musician, and my life as a Christian.

Conference Notes: Praise and Worship Music

This entry is more for myself than for others; it is a way to try and make sense of one of the aspects of last month's Hymn Society conference. Namely, it summarizes my notes from the workshop led by Greg Scheer entitled "Praise and Worship: from Jesus People to Gen X." By putting my notes in this form, I can include links to fill out the picture somewhat, and return here for reference.

First, my disclaimer: I know very little about this genre. Mostly, I want to list the elements that Mr. Scheer thinks are important in the current era, that of "Emerging Worship," and some of the musicians that are prominent. And mostly, the information here presented is from the notes that I took at Mr. Scheer's workshop. Anything useful is his; the mistakes and misjudgments are all mine. [My comments are in italics]

A much better presentation of these ideas can be found in the essay that Mr. Scheer contributed to the book "New Songs of Celebration Render: Congregational Song for the Twenty-First Century," edited by C. Michael Hawn, published by GIA Publications, Chicago, 2013. I purchased a copy of this book on the last day of the conference and it looks to be very interesting (I have not had time yet to read it). The book traces seven "streams" of congregational song as we move into this century, with Praise and Worship being one of the seven. Mr. Scheer's essay is found at pp. 173-206.

Three Fundamental Traits:

- P&W music is a product of American Evangelicalism, but has affected others, including Roman Catholics and the mainstream Protestant denominations
- The aesthetic is drawn from pop culture. It tends to track pop culture with a time lag of five to twenty years. The desire is to please and attract nonbelievers by speaking their musical language. Music is always a vehicle for evangelism. It is youth oriented because pop culture is youth oriented, aimed at age 18-24.
- There is a strong personal and ecstatic spiritual orientation, with roots in Wesleyan Holiness and the Pentecostal/Charismatic movements.

Precursors and Scripture Song (1971-77)

Mr. Scheer outlined several precursors to the movement, especially William Booth and the Salvation Army bands; the frontier revivals, camp meetings, [and urban revivalism - C. Finney, D.L. Moody, and the musicians associated with them such as Ira Sankey] ; African American music [spirituals, but especially gospel music. Also "white" Gospel music belongs here - e.g. Fanny Crosby, William Doane, many others]; the mid-twentieth century evangelical movements such as the Billy Graham crusades, Youth for Christ; youth musicals; the "Jesus People" of the 1960's and early 70's.

The early "Scripture Song" movement is well illustrated by Karen Lafferty's song "Seek ye first the kingdom of God." [We sang this one today at the contemporary service]. These are guitar songs, quoting Scripture for their texts [almost always King James version], using three to six guitar chords.

Important in the early stages was Calvary Chapel and its pastor, Chuck Smith. As Wikipedia recounts it, "Smith's daughter introduced him to her boyfriend John Higgins, Jr., a former hippie who had become a Christian and who went on to lead the largest Jesus Freak movement in history, the Shiloh Youth Revival Centers." With Smith's support, the musical side of the Jesus Freak movement led to "Jesus music"
and Christian Rock Concerts. The music label "Maranatha! Music" was formed to publish and distribute these songs [and make a lot of money on them. The resulting "Christian music industry" pretty much absorbed all of this music and its musicians. This is a theme that recurs several times in the history of this genre; every new creative impulse is soon commercialized.]

Praise Chorus (1978-92)

The Jesus People grew up and became Boomers, and wanted a "contemporary" style of worship with "their" music. From this period come what Scheer called the "classic praise choruses." A typical song is "Sanctuary" by Randy Scruggs and John Thompson, copyright 1982, with the first line "Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary."
[Although it is over thirty years old, it is still sung at gatherings such as our diocesan youth "Happenings," and was one of the songs chosen by our high school musicians for Youth Sunday in our parish this spring.]

The CCM, or "Christian Contemporary Music" movement fits here. Just as "Maranatha! Music" was the key publisher for the Scripture Song period, "Integrity (Hosanna!)" is the main publisher in this period. [Partly from dealing with these publishers and their music, I have gotten to where I am very suspicious of any corporate name that includes an exclamation point. Just saying.]

The music gets professionalized, often with big triumphalistic orchestrations. The style is no longer simply one or two singers with guitars. It is smooth light-rock pop. Most importantly, it is now a fixed style. As Mr. Scheer said, it is immediately identifiable -- "Oh yeah. That's my mom's church." In other words, it is the church music of the Boomer generation.

Praise and Worship (1993-1998)
CCM reached a point of crisis with Amy Grant, "the queen of Christian pop." Her album "Heart in Motion" (1991) was a crossover into secular pop, and offended many of her fans, as did certain aspects of Ms. Grant's personal life during this period. For example, as Mr. Scheer cited, she was portrayed on a music video as dancing with a man who was not her husband. And later, she divorced her Christian songwriter husband Gary Chapman and married mainstream country musician Vince Gill. None of this set well with CCM fans. [One of my choir parents at that time had a genuine spiritual crisis over this; she felt deeply betrayed by Ms. Grant's move out of the CCM subculture into the secular world and especially by her divorce. This choir mother was not alone; it was an important moment for a lot of evangelicals who had immersed themselves in this genre of music.]
More broadly, it was becoming clear that CCM had become reflective of its big corporate ownership and the values that went with it -- primarily making lots of money and delivering product to consumers.

As Mr. Scheer said, "Praise and Worship ('P&W') stepped in to fill the gap."

Some names here are Hillsong and their musician Darlene Zschech;
Delirious? [yes, the question mark is part of the band's name. It is almost as bad as the 1970's and 80's exclamation points]

Also the Vineyard movement should be mentioned, with their founding pastor John Wimber. Their music is characterized by its very intimate nature, what Mr. Scheer called "Jesus is my boyfriend" songs. It tends to be in a Celine Dion style.

Emerging Worship (1999 to the present)

Once again, the previous era's music has now become The Establishment. By now, we have the children of the Boomers. If they have grown up in evangelical megachurches, they have never sung hymns. Boomers mostly want to be entertained; their children want to participate. Boomers threw away everything that was before 1960; their children are sometimes looking for something that has some history and substance, and especially for something that is not so commercialized. They are more attracted to elements of traditional liturgy, though often in new guises. Where the Boomers liked to build "worship centers" that looked like shopping malls, entirely devoid of trappings such as crosses and icons, their children are much less comfortable worshipping in such spaces. The new generation complained that their parents' music was "too slick, too happy, and too tame." [I think that Mr. Scheer was painting with a broad brush in these aspects, and I get a little nervous when one characterizes people by their generation. But there is probably a good bit of truth in these generalizations, and they correspond to what I have seen, so long as one remembers that there are many exceptions to these generalized statements in every generation. I am one of them, I hope. But I think that the characterization of the older P&W music is very accurate: "too slick, too happy, and too tame."]

A couple of names:
SonicFlood
Passion Conferences
and the "re-tuned movement" that I mentioned last week; we had a song festival of some of their music at the Hymn Society conference. Mr. Scheer was one of the leaders of that festival. They are looking to old hymn texts (mostly 18th and 19th century) and setting them in a current musical language.

Also this (their concert at the Ryman Auditorum)

Besides the songs, I think the clips of some of the songwriters starting at 54 minutes into the video are good: they talk about why these hymn texts are important.

"Hymns don't water down reality... We do ourselves, our communities, our families, our friends, and the world a disservice when we don't sit in reality."
"These hymns seem to have a lasting impact, where they go deeper and deeper into my heart. They become richer and fuller with each life experience, whether it's a hard and sorrowful time or a joyful time."
"I have literally sat in church services singing these songs, singing these hymns, and feeling my sanity restored."

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I will leave it here. This is not "my music." But I want to know about it. Perhaps it is best to end by quoting the final paragraph of Mr. Scheer's essay (p. 201):

Praise & worship is a little less than the worship utopia proponents predicted, but a little better than the erosion of foundations that detractors expected. Time will winnow the wheat from the chaff.

Some of my readers know a lot more about this music than I do; please comment and suggest further directions to explore.

RSCM Report: Part Four and Epilogue

July 28: When shall I come before the presence of God?

The RSCM course finished the week with Mass at the Cathedral Basilica of Saint Louis. We sang the Mozart Missa Brevis, K. 65. It is a little jewel, a treasure from the godlike genius of this thirteen-year-old boy. As a musician he sprang fully formed into the world, yet he retained the heart of a child all his days. In this piece, there are places in which it is as if one can hear him say "Hmmm... what happens if I try this?" He is at play with his musical building blocks, and it is a delight to listen to him. My favorite part of it: the little Benedictus, a one-page duet for soprano and alto, sung by Caitlin and Kristin. The manner in which the soprano comes out of the forte at the end of the Sanctus, and is then joined by the alto, is magical. No small part of its effect on me was my affectionate regard for these two singers, and for Br. Vincent at the organ. This emotional connection is not to be discounted; music, and most of all church music, is never discrete from those who make it. Live music is a human connection, a mode of communication from heart to heart. A recording can preserve this like a flower pressed in a book, but the life is gone from it.

I was on the risers at the Basilica among the six tenors and eleven basses. Of these seventeen choirmen, all but two are under the age of thirty. Six of them (counting me) are from our parish. I am proud of this, perhaps inordinately. Mark and Mike have been especially impressive in their singing this week; they have become fine young musicians, and on this day, they were right behind me, singing in my ears, their strong confident bass making it easy for me to sing my tenor part. But I am equally proud of the others -- Edgar, Ken, Max.

We support one another, we choral singers. When we get our part right, it makes it easier for the rest of the choir; when we get it wrong, the others may be able to hold the performance together, but their work is made more difficult by our weakness. On this day, almost everything went well. The choir has become very good this week, perhaps the best of any year that I have sung in this Course. Mr. Kleinschmidt, our director for the week, deserves much credit for this; he is at the Course for the third time, and is one of the finest directors we have had. He is gracious, organized, humorous at times, always focused and demanding the same from us.

The Mozart was good, but my soul was most bound up with our anthem at the Offertory: Howells' "Like as the hart."

When shall I come to appear before the presence of God?

The choir sings this phrase early in the piece, and it is a fine moment. But at the end when this phrase returns, it transcends any language. It is no longer an impassioned cry as it was before, but something other, something that can be described only through music. Aside from the softer dynamic and the indication of "dulce ed ardente" (sweetly and ardently), the only difference at first is the addition of a solo soprano line at the top of the texture, sung this week by Kyle with heartstopping beauty. [I think that, for this phrase, we sang it better than the choir of St. Paul's, London on the linked recording. They are too loud, in my opinion. And Kyle's voice is better.] Earlier in the week after we sang the piece at Vespers, I commented on this to Debra N., my friend, the director who has brought Kyle and Bryn, Eddie, Elizabeth, Spencer, and so many other fine musicians to the course. I told her how I came undone when I heard Kyle's voice, looked across and saw her singing. "You think it gets you," she said, agreeing with me. "Think what I felt like: that was my kid singing it."

Kyle and her sisters have been like family for Debra; they have sung in her choir from childhood. In the same manner, people like Jennifer and Mark, Mike and Tom, Meredith and Edgar, Ken and Ted, Max, Lucy, and so many others have become like family for me. Because of this Course, these choristers from Debra's choir, and Mr. B's choristers, such as Weezer and Michael, Meara, and others from past years such as Laura and Lindsey, and many others from many places who have come to this Course, have become like family to me as well, and my choristers to them. Each of these choristers sings in other choirs, too, and will be singing, Lord willing, long after my time is done. Some of them may be directing choirs, bringing young choristers of their own to RSCM Courses.

Such ties interweave like a tapestry across the generations and across the world into a seamless whole, which is the Body of Christ. Our unity is not yet fully visible, but we glimpse it when we sing.

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I thought I might get through today's service without too many tears. I made it through the Mozart, through the Howells. I began to get teary-eyed in the final hymn when I saw the girls on the back row of the treble side hugging each other as they sang. But at the end, Mr. B. came up and hugged Mr. Kleinschmidt his friend, tears in his eyes, and I totally lost it. Some of us adults knew what the choristers did not: this was Mr. B.'s final year as Course Director, at least for a time. He is the one who started the St. Louis Course from scratch sixteen years ago, and I am convinced that this is the Great Work of his life. Now he is laying it aside, and it is obvious how much it means to him, and what an emotional day this was for him. In the downstairs choir room, he told the choir of the news after the service; it was an emotional moment for us all, most of all for his own choristers who love this man so deeply.

I have not yet dealt with it; I cannot imagine this Course without him. For now, I can only thank him for what he has done: the tedious administrative groundwork that has gone into the Course, year after year; his gracious hospitality in the "big house" after midweek Evensongs which made the Course such a special place for many of the adult participants, and so much more. May God's blessings be with him, and with us as we seek to go onward next year.


August 6: Epilogue and Loose Ends

I spent about four hours last Monday cleaning and detailing the Toyota. Even though my wife had insisted I take it on the road trips, she was a little resentful by the time I returned. She told me that one of her co-workers had asked how she liked her new car; "I've hardly driven it yet," she said. "My husband has it somewhere out in Virginia."

So, I did my utmost to restore it to like-new condition. The afternoon of careful cleaning and detailing, of window-washing and upholstery cleaning, of vacuuming and picking the remaining bits of grass and dirt out of the carpet, of Armor-All on the tires and interior vinyl, became a sort of farewell to the car that, as expected, I have grown to love over this month. I left the parking brake off as she prefers, carefully folded the towel that she likes to put in the seat for lower back support, locked the doors, and put my copy of the key away where I won't be tempted to use it.

Fortunately, last week was quiet at the church. I did little more at work than practice and tie up loose ends from my travels. More broadly, I have tried to return to my normal routine, with some stumbles. I have had trouble getting back into the regular Daily Office; it was not until the following Sunday that I managed to pray both Morning and Evening Prayer in the same day. I have exercised and cut back on eating, but I gained about eight pounds and need to turn that around.

And I have been posting these writings from my travels. On the road, I wrote with pen and paper, leaving the final stages for my return. It has been a good way to round off this month, a good way to remember it.

Eddie and Debra posted a YouTube clip of our RSCM St. Louis choristers singing the Stanford. In the visual part at the beginning, you can see the semichorus of which I have written this week, many of the other choristers behind us, and the Concordia Seminary Chapel. More importantly, you can hear us sing and discern for yourselves what sort of work we have done.

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I have now read "The Hunger Games" and, in one three-hour session, its sequel "Catching Fire." I continue to think that these are important books. My favorite character is Rue, the quiet and shy little twelve-year old who allies with the heroine Katniss in the arena. She should have no chance in the Games, being so small. But "I'm really hard to catch," she says. "If they can't catch me, they can't kill me." It turns out in the book that Rue's "favorite thing in the world" is Music, something that was hardly hinted at in the movie. And we learn in the book that Katniss' father, who died some years before in a mine accident, was also a musician. "When he sang, the birds would stop and listen," one of the characters says.

Between the two of them, Katniss and Rue represent a land and a way of life that is dear to me: Rue's District 11 is obviously the rural South (and Midwest?), here given over to agriculture in a manner very familiar from export agriculture in the Third World, the fields surrounded by tall fences with armed guards to keep the farmworkers from eating any of the crops they grow. And the District 12 of Katniss, Peeta, and Gale is obviously the Appalachian coal fields. I have known young men like Gale -- my father was one of them -- who only really lived when they were outdoors in the mountains and trees and blue sky, but had to earn their living in the darkness of the mines. My father's escape was the Army; he figured that he'd rather have Germans shooting at him than stay another day down there, and after the war he found ways to never go back. The "feel" of District 12 was right at home, with characters like Greasy Sal and places like The Hob, the indifference and scorn in which the District is held by the Important People, the thriving unofficial economy described in the first book and crushed by the "peacekeepers" in the second, and the people like Katniss and Gale who head off into the woods every chance they get.

Rue is killed in the Hunger Games; she is caught in a snare and speared through the abdomen, which was for me the darkest moment in either the first book or movie. There are plenty of other dark moments later on, as well. I have read that Suzanne Collins who wrote these books got the idea one night as she was channel surfing and juxtaposing reality TV with coverage of the war in Iraq. "The Hunger Games" books are fiction, but one does not have to go far to find young people being senselessly killed, their beauty and promise for this life obliterated by war, or by the death that roams the streets and neighborhoods of many of our cities, or by the slow death of the spirit, crushed by the burdens of this world.

To me, the great flaw of these books is the lack of the eschatological hope that shines through the Magnificat. These are not books devoid of morality; the thirst for justice burns like a torch throughout, and that connects them to the Psalmist. But religion in any form is entirely absent from this fictional society, and from the minds of the characters. The closest we come is when Katniss sings an old mountain lullaby to Rue as she dies, a song about a quiet and safe place of flowers and sunshine. Perhaps this is in the song a surviving hint of "hope beyond the circles of the world," as Aragorn said in another novel. But here it seems like no more than pretty words, something to comfort a dying child but without any real substance. I have yet to read the third and final book, "Mockingjay" (and probably won't until after seeing the second movie this fall), but I have cheated and read the plot summary on Wikipedia. Many readers have found the ending unsatisfactory, and I suspect the empty space in this fictional world where there ought to be a God is part of the underlying problem, for without God there can ultimately be no satisfactory resolution of these matters. I will probably write more on this when I have read the final book.

I do not greatly blame Ms. Collins for this; there are few modern works of fiction that are any different in this respect, and at least in hers, there is that aching desire for justice, for an end to iniquity. This is no post-modern world where it is all a matter of opinion.

"Whenever I see something beautiful, I think of her," says Katniss later about Rue. I will too, for a time. Perhaps a long time.

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And now, back to work. Sunday finally felt like a beginning of my normal life: matins with Fr. H., the 8:45 service, the 11:00 service, an afternoon of office work and practice, evensong in the courtyard with the birds and insects and flowers. Today is the Feast of the Transfiguration and a good work day, including some time in an e-mail conversation about next year's RSCM Course. I am increasingly confident that it will be a good Course. Lord willing, we will be there.

It is back to work for all of us who were at the Course, and the work that most of us do as church musicians -- organists, directors, choristers -- is of high importance, all the more as increasingly "the wicked prowl on every side, and that which is worthless is highly prized by everyone" (Psalm 12:8).

Deposuit potentes de sede,
Et exaltavit humiles.

Our Lord continually said, "The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand: repent ye, and believe the gospel." (St. Mark 1:15). Not "will be at hand" -- IS at hand, and we can hear it when we sing. It is, through his death and resurrection, a completed action. Almost every hymn or anthem we sing makes this proclamation in one way or another, and in the coming weeks and months, so long as this life lasts, it is my task to play and sing and conduct in a manner that bears witness to these things:

Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, to the only wise God our Savior, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever. Amen. (Jude v.24-25)

RSCM Report: Part Three

July 26: The Lutherans and the Roman Catholics

Three days suffice to establish a routine: Morning Prayer, breakfast, rehearsals, lunch, rest time, rehearsal, activities (recreation for choristers, discussions for adults), dinner, rehearsal, Vespers.

On Friday, it ends.

This is the day that we rehearse at the churches. First, we go to the Chapel of Concordia Theological Seminary. It is the larger of the two seminaries of the Lutheran Church, Missouri Synod, and its library has the Bible that once belonged to J. S. Bach. We do not have opportunity to see it, but it is good to simply be near this sacred relic, and to sing one of his motets in this place. We are to sing Saturday Vespers here: Pachelbel, Stanford, Bach. The Chapel is a large place with a clean acoustic, bright tall clear windows, a fine Protestant simplicity and clarity about it. The choir is in a spacious rear gallery, with a good Casavant organ that makes plenty of sound.

After that, it is on to the Cathedral Basilica of Saint Louis, where we are to sing at the Mass on the Lord's Day. I wrote of this place last summer when the holiness of the place profoundly affected me. This year, the afternoon is cloudy so it is not quite so visually glorious. But the acoustic is always astonishing.

If Bach is the proper music to sing at a Lutheran Seminary, then Mozart is ideal for this place. We sing the Mozart Missa Brevis, K. 65, plus motets by Gabriel Fauré and Joseph Jongen, plus one Anglican who slips into the mix: Herbert Howells and his anthem "Like as the hart."

Working as I do in a liberal denomination, I have the utmost admiration for the Missouri Synod Lutherans and the Roman Catholics. From my distance, it appears that they are doing much better at holding to the apostolic faith than we Episcopalians. This is not necessarily true: with a sinking heart, I see some of the progress made under Pope Benedict XVI slipping away. And my new friend Stephen, who is Kantor at the seminary, tells me that, like Episcopalians, many LCMS Lutherans have discarded their magnificent heritage of music -- the great Lutheran chorales, the music of Schütz, Buxtehude, Bach -- for the evangelical praise-and-worship model.

Well, the old and better music and liturgy from all our traditions, as well as the theology of the Church Fathers, and the great Protestants (Calvin and Hooker and John Wesley, as well as Luther) have left many seeds scattered across the earth. They will eventually spring back to life, though they lie forgotten for generations.

July 27: O quanta qualia

O what their joy and their glory must be,
Those endless sabbaths the blessed ones see.
(opening hymn for our Vespers: Peter Abelard, trans. by John Mason Neale)

Today is Saturday, the Sabbath. We sleep a half hour later, have a brief rehearsal after breakfast, and the gift of almost two free hours before lunch, on an unusually beautiful day for summer in St. Louis -- bright, sunny, breezy, in the seventies instead of the more usual nineties. I catch up on this journal, and walk the labyrinth down the hill from the Todd Hall Chapel of St. Cecilia. It is a real labyrinth of paved pathways and boxwood walls, and this is the first time in all these Courses that I have walked it. I did not entirely believe in labyrinths until I saw their effect upon our choristers at the diocesan ministries retreat and choir camp a month ago; that was enough to convince me to try it myself.

In the late afternoon, we sing the Saturday Vespers at Concordia. There is one final opportunity to stand together with the semichorus for Psalm 84 in plainsong; it is exquisite. Mr. Kleinschmidt says after our short warmup rehearsal that he would be glad to cut a chant CD with this group, and I agree. The biggest wrinkle has been me, and the two choristers whom I have trained; we are used to a different pace for psalmody, different length of the ending notes, and it has taken us (me, especially) all week to adjust. Two days ago, Mr. Kleinschmidt found it necessary to take me aside specifically between rehearsals for correction on these matters, and I have tried to get it right. By this day, we have, and we sing as one.

[A technical note for psalmody geeks: the manner in which we sing at home is used in many monastic settings, especially among Benedictines. Mr. K. said that it is the way in which the Cowley Fathers in Boston sing, and it is the way that I learned from Fr. Farrell, of blessed memory, who in turn followed the practice of St. John's Abbey, Collegeville. We keep a steady syllabic pace, not consciously lengthening syllables nor shortening them overmuch (I call it "hiccups" when this unfortunate shortening of syllables takes place. "Enemies" is an especially difficult word in the Midwestern dialect, where the first two syllables tend to be rushed.) Most importantly, we do not lengthen the final syllable of each half-line. Instead, we allow silence at the asterisk.

But there are other very good ways to sing the psalm tones, and Mr. K. is following a different tradition. In this style, the important syllables are stretched slightly for emphasis, as is the final syllable of the half-verse. "Sing it into the room," he said, instead of "clipping it short."

Most importantly, his method works better for a large space such as the Concordia Chapel, and would have been essential had we sung psalmody at the Basilica. My method, however, is perhaps better for the intimate chamber-music acoustic of our church at home.

I ought to be a good enough musician to adjust, and it was good experience for Mike and Mark, thoroughly trained in my methods, to sing it a different way.]

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I have been notably unemotional this week in rehearsals and liturgies, when I have at past Courses been a notorious wellspring of tears, as bad as some of the teenage girls. Today, it finally gets me. I am overcome by the second hymn at Vespers, the chorale "Herzlich Lieb."

Lord, thee I love with all my heart;
I pray thee, ne'er from me depart;
With tender mercy cheer me.

Earth has no pleasure I would share
Yea, heav'n itself were void and bare
If thou, Lord, were not near me.

And should my heart for sorrow break,
My trust in thee can nothing shake.
Thou art the portion I have sought;
Thy precious blood my soul has bought.

Lord Jesus Christ,
My God and Lord, my God and Lord,
Forsake me not! I trust thy Word.

In part, this is because we sang it at home with our combined choirs a couple of years ago. In large part, it is the fine seriousness of this text and music. They take matters of life and death with seriousness, and do not sugarcoat them. They say with honesty what needs to be said.

Lord, let at last thine angels come,
To Abr'ham's bosom bear me home,
That I may die unfearing.

And in its narrow chamber keep
My body safe in peaceful sleep
Until thy reappearing.

And then from death awaken me,
That these mine eyes with joy may see,
O Son of God, thy glorious face,
My Savior and my fount of grace.

Lord Jesus Christ,
My prayer attend, my prayer attend;
And I will praise thee without end.
(Martin Schalling, 1532-1608, tr. Catherine Winkworth)

In part, it is the spirit of Bach in this place, his use of this chorale in the St. John Passion, and his motet that we shall soon sing. And in part, it is simply the singing of it with these choristers my friends.

Mario, standing beside me, is concerned when he realizes that I cannot sing. "Are you all right," he asks, concern in his whisper. I nod, the tears running down my face and blotching the music. I believe that he understands; if not, he will someday.

We sing the Stanford "Beati quorum via," so unbearably beautiful, and the Bach motet. After struggling all week on my part, it suddenly gels today, attaining the needed balance between strong German consonants and long legato lines. There is, again, a seriousness about this graveside motet, especially the earnestness of the counterpoint in the final phrase, that is fitting for me, for this place, for this time. The motet seems to gel for everyone, and it is the best we have sung it all week.

I am again overcome, this time by the sermon, given by Stephen Rosebrock, the Kantor of this place, and based on the Chorister's prayer. He speaks of the role of choral music in our lives and our formation as Christians, of the transcendence that happens when we sing. I see others wiping their tears, including our director Mr. Kleinschmidt, for Stephen has spoken to our hearts.

Then comes the Pachelbel Magnificat (I make a foolish mistake right at the beginning, coming in a beat ahead of the rest of the choir, but sing the semichorus sections cleanly), the trebles' anthem on the Choristers' Prayer, and we are done.

Done, that is, save for one last dinner at Todd Hall -- Mexican food, sufficiently fine to please even our Hispanic choristers. This is infinitely better than last week's food in Richmond: aluminum pans of rice, chicken, beans, cheese, toppings, bags of tortillas and taco shells, all spread on eight foot tables in Wilson Lodge. I am in heaven here among my friends, and eat far too much. It is a fine and relaxed evening: all too short, for tomorrow has an early start.

[Look for the concluding part of this Report on Tuesday]

RSCM Report: Part Two

July 24: Auf Erden bin ich nur ein Gast

We are singing the Bach motet (or one-movement cantata) "O Jesu Christ, meins Lebens Licht," BWV 118. This is the first time that we have sung Bach at any of the Courses I have attended, whether here at St. Louis or elsewhere in the 1980's and 90's.

It was written for the burial office, to be sung at the grave. The absolute reliance upon God in the face of death is central to this motet, and it is in the background of all of the music of Bach, even the most joyful.

O Jesu Christ, meins Lebens Licht,
mein Hort, mein Trost, mein Zuversicht!
Auf Erden bin ich nur ein Gast,
und drückt mich sehr der Sünden Last.

Judith determined that she and I are the two oldest people at the Course, and today, the second full day of the course, I feel it. My eyes are dim and I cannot read the vocal texts in some of the scores -- the Pachelbel and Bach pieces among them -- so I stumble over the words. I no longer have the breath to carry the phrases in any of the music, especially the Howells and Stanford. I am hoarse from too much singing at the passagio, the vocal area around middle C and D, and on this day not very happy with Mr. Kleinschmidt for choosing two big pieces in the key of D (Mozart and Pachelbel), both of them with lots of notes in this area for the tenors. Partly because of this, I feel inadequate for the Pachelbel semichorus, and sing much of it badly again in tonight's vespers."Und drückt mich sehr der Sünden Last," -- "the burden of sin weighs heavily upon me."

"You should quit," says the Adversary (Hebrew: Ha-Satan). "You are a worthless has-been. You have no place here with all these fine singers."

I believe that he is wrong: all of us are important.

I can perhaps still help the two fourteen-year-old tenors at my side, Mario and Saul. They are terrific, and both of them have better voices than mine. But I shared my music with Mario when he could not find his in last night's Vespers. I watch the director, I sing the entrances on time (mostly) and in tune, and this gives them confidence to do the same. Mario was beside me in the tenor section at last year's Course, and he seems to think well of me, treating me with the deference he might have for a grandfather. Saul was at last year's Course as well, and is becoming a fine young tenor. Both of them have become dear to me, and it was an honor to sing with them.

After Vespers was the Course event formerly known as the Gentlemen's Game. I used to have a ceremonial role in it, though that is now over, and I miss being part of it. But one of the competitors came over to me between shots and said "I need a pep talk." She had taken the early lead in this final round but then had gone cold. Others had caught up, and she was nervous. I believe that this night meant much to her, and I wanted to help, but I had no idea what to say. I reminded her to take deep breaths and I told her she could do it; she needed only one more good shot.

It was not my place to favor her over the others, especially when Ken, one of my choristers, was in the finals as well. I wished all of them the best, and do most fervently wish them the best in matters far beyond one night's game at a summer camp. Still, I would have been happy for this young lady if she could find that one more good shot and win the event.

I was not of much help to her; she lost. But she helped me; on this day when the Adversary's voice was strong, she reminded me that yes, I still have a place in this Course, even in non-musical ways.

"Auf Erden bin ich nur ein Gast" - "On earth I am but a guest." My place here is not for much longer. Tolkien called our mortality the "Gift of Eru," and a gift it is in truth. We should, like Bach and the other old Lutheran masters, contemplate our death in all that we do -- its foretaste in the gradual fading of our powers just as much as the final sleep at the end. Because of death, our choices are real, with lasting implications for ourselves and others. And the joys of this life are all the more precious. They are like music -- the art that is most preeminently in the moment, gone from the world as soon as it is sounded, but beautiful in part because it is so fleeting.

July 25: Bless, O Lord, us thy servants

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 show forth in our lives: through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

This is the Chorister's Prayer, with which I have begun all of my church choral rehearsals since I learned it from James Litton's choir at Trinity Church, Princeton, many years ago. Most RSCM choirs around the world use it. This week, the trebles are singing a setting of the text by Bruce Neswick for Vespers. I am glad, not least for the opportunity to revel in "That Sound," the beautiful sound made by the trebles of this Course and other well-trained choirs, boys or girls or both together. The soaring purity of it melts my heart.

It is not easy for the young choristers at their first Course, or learning to sing in changed voice. The Adversary attacks them just as he attacks older singers like me; he whispers to them: "You can't do this. You can't get anything right. You are stupid. You can't pay attention. Choral singing is dumb anyway. You should quit." In one way or another, he says such things to us all. (Why is it that he always belittles us, and our dear Lord, the Friend of Sinners and the Good Shepherd who gives his life for the sheep, always builds us up, always believes that we can one day become like him, when we shall finally see him as he is?)

The first full day is the hardest: six hours of rehearsal plus Choral Vespers, a folder full of difficult music, much of it in Latin or German, surrounded by all of these older singers for whom it seems so easy.

One of the young choirmen, new to his changed voice, was struggling by the first afternoon's rehearsal. His attention wandered, and I could see that he was dangerously close to giving up.

What he and the other new singers do not yet understand is that the entire community of faith and song in this place is pulling for him. The older chorister sitting beside him tells him to hold up his music, helps him find the right page, urges him (sometimes with exasperation) to sit tall and pay attention. And it is for love that he does this, the love of one who was just as lost a few years ago at his first Course and wants this new singer to stay, to be a Choral Singer this week and this fall and all the days of his life.

Today is now the third full day, and it is becoming easier. That young choirman is gradually finding his way; the first-year trebles (one of them from our parish) are doing well, participating and answering questions. I am singing a little better, and might do all right with the Pachelbel by Saturday. All of us are gaining confidence in the music.

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There are many parishes with fine choral music, all of it sung by well-trained adults, where not the slightest attention is paid to children's voices. It is much easier that way, but it is a trap. I felt its seduction this week in our semichorus work: "Wouldn't it be great to sing with these people all the time? No little ones rattling their room key or dropping their folder or going to the bathroom every ten minutes. No wobbly-voiced old sopranos singing a quarter step flat, no half-blind tenors (like me). We could get so much done!"

All it takes is money for the paid singers and a sufficiently large pool of talent, preferably vigorous and intelligent young adults who sing perfectly in tune with good blend, sight-read like crazy, and are available for the two or three (or more; you always need more) rehearsals a week.

There are such places, and there are such choirs. But they have chosen the broad road that leads to destruction. In a few years, the singers will no longer be young; their voices will begin to wobble, their hearing go bad, and the director will find it impossible to get rid of them without ill feelings. And who will replace them if no parish has taken the strait and narrow path of teaching children to sing?

The St. Louis RSCM Course is the finest model of a choral community that I have encountered. There is a full range of choristers, from the youngest treble to the oldest adults. Most of all, there is a steady progression from children to middle-school teens to high-school singers, and young adults, many of them accomplished musicians. All learn from one another, every step of the way.

It is not just the rehearsals: it is the meals, the afternoon and evening activities, the times of just sitting around with friends. It is of such things as these that the Kingdom of God is made.

RSCM Report: The Gathering

July 22: Monday

This was the travel day to the RSCM Course in St. Louis. I love solo road trips; it always takes me a while to adjust to others in the car. But I soon relaxed, enjoyed conversation with Judith, and delighted in the young choristers in the back seat, Lucy and Ted, with their conversation and songs and games. I thought of other years, other choristers, now grown up.

These days are precious, and ever so fleeting.

Many friends from past courses were there at Todd Hall when we arrived, including some who had been long absent. I was delighted to see them. But again, these days are precious, and ever so fleeting: I learned this evening that Mr. B. is retiring after sixteen years as course manager. My first thought was that this might be the last St. Louis Course. By the end of the week, I came to believe that it will continue in some form, but I did not feel that way on Monday when I heard the news, and it hung over me like a cloud through much of the week. With almost everything that happened, I had the sense that it might be the last time.

I delighted in Ted, at his first course and his first rehearsal, volunteering to read a stanza of text. I sat in the tenor section beside Max at the first rehearsal -- Max, who was still a treble this spring. Mike was now sitting behind the table at registration as assistant to Mr. B., a leadership position where I am sure he will excel. It is they -- all these young folk and others like them across the world -- who will take the Song through the days to come.

July 23: Deposuit potentes

Fecit potentiam in brachio suo;
Dispersit superbos mente cordis sui,
Deposuit potentes de sede,
Et exaltavit humiles.

He hath showed strength with his arm;
He hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
He hath put down the mighty from their seat,
And hath exalted the humble and meek.

For the first time at this Course, we are singing Lutheran Vespers instead of Anglican Evensong. That means that we have a Latin Magnificat, a fine setting by Pachelbel. It is my first time singing the Latin text, and I am glad to learn it.

The Magnificat is the sovereign answer of Our Lady and Holy Mother Church to the mystery of iniquity, and all of its powers in this world. The infancy narrative of St. Luke is in Greek, not Hebrew. But there may well be an older Hebrew or Aramaic narrative behind it. Certainly it reflects a Semitic manner of thought more than the rest of St. Luke's Gospel.

It is far from obvious that "he hath put down the mighty from their seat." To all visible evidence, they remain firmly in control. But part of the genius of Hebrew and Aramaic verbs is that they do not concern themselves very much with past, present, or future in the same way as the verbs of European languages. As I understand it, the primary concern is more with whether an action is completed -- past or future is of little account.

From the introduction to my Hebrew Psalter:

... future events are often described in past tense, because the prophet has already seen these events occur in his prophetic vision.

Every Evensong, every Vespers, whether spoken or sung, is our testimony that these things are true: "He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble and meek." This is a completed action, and the answer to all my doubts and fears.

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The musical balance is different for Vespers as compared with Anglican Evensong. The Anglicans have sophisticated choral settings of the Preces and Responses; the equivalents at Vespers (whether Lutheran or Roman Catholic; they are almost identical in form) are much simpler. This is a loss for an RSCM Course, because rehearsal on Preces and Responses builds concentration like few other forms of music. One must be at the height of alertness to sing them well.

I miss the Nunc Dimittis, which in the Anglican service is usually a quiet counterpoint to the Magnificat. But having only the one Canticle, the Magnificat can be (and usually is) a more extensive and challenging setting, like the one we sang.

It is worth noting that although Luther put much of the liturgy into the vernacular, he left some parts in Latin, at least for some occasions and places: the Magnificat is one example. The finest Lutheran setting of this canticle is of course the one by J. S. Bach, BWV 243, a major work for choir, soloists, and orchestra running about thirty minutes.

This is far beyond what we could do in one week at an RSCM Course. The Pachelbel setting, however, was perfectly suited for us. Here is an energetic performance of it by a young European choir (I don't recognize the language spoken at the beginning; it is perhaps from one of the Baltic countries such as Latvia?)


July 23 (continued): Beati quorum via

Beata quorum via integra est:
Qui ambulant in lege Domini (Psalm 119:1)

We learned this motet today, this fine setting by Stanford. In one day we took it from a first reading to performance at Vespers. A copy of this has resided in my personal library for decades, beautiful and unapproachable. I longed to sing it someday, but knew that I would never have the opportunity with any choir that I direct. And here we are today, singing it.

I was selected for the semichorus in the Pachelbel Magnificat, which is also the schola for the plainsong Psalmody. The group consists of four sopranos -- Elizabeth, Jenna, Kyle, Meara; Kristin and Erika on alto; Mike and Mark on bass; Eddie and me on tenor. It is an immense honor to sing with these people, most of whom I have known for many years through this Course (and two of them through our choir at home). I wish I could do more singing with them, to revel in the musicianship of this group. As it was, we had only one short rehearsal together plus the warmup on Saturday evening.

Along with the Stanford, we sang the Pachelbel at Vespers, a service that began with one of the high school singers, Kyle, at the organ for the opening voluntary. I have known for years that she is a fine choral singer. How splendid it was to learn that she is now an organist! May God's blessings be with her.

The day included good conversations with an old friend whom I did not expect to see again at the Course; a new friend, Stephen; and Michael, who is perhaps on his way toward ordination. This week he is the assistant chaplain, leading Morning Prayer and weekday Vespers. In his sermon, based on the Beatitudes lesson (for the Feast of St. Thomas á Kempis), he spoke of how blessed we are in singing here, in being gathered as a community this week. "Blessed are those whose way has integrity; who walk in the law of the Lord."

I bless the Lord for these people young and old: their music, the presence of Christ among us, gathered in his name; and for this day so perfect that I would cling to it, save for the knowledge that it endures in the mind of God forever.

Tree of life and love

July 15-17: The Church in the World

For the mystery of iniquity doth already work... (II Thessalonians 2:7)

It is at work in the gap between rich and poor, in Wall Street's control of the U. S. government, in the wars we have started, in the rape of the earth for the short-term benefit of a few.

But it shall not prevail for ever.



This year's conference of the Hymn Society considered the flowering of congregational song in the fifty years since the Second Vatican Council, under the title "Tree of life and love." I believe that the songs have been given to us as seed that may grow. They may lie dormant for a time, perhaps a long time. But the songs cannot be entirely silenced, and they will in due season fulfill their role in the healing of the nations.

I know that some of the changes wrought in these fifty years are necessary. But that does not make it easy. My discomfort with some of the songs and the theology of worship behind them arose almost at the outset: Monday's Morning Prayer, a service whose readings were mostly from Rumi (a 13th century Sufi mystic) and several modern poets, but no Scripture other than Psalm 29, no canticles, no creed, no Lord's Prayer, no collects. I wondered whether I would be better off skipping the services for the rest of the week.

But halfway through Monday's service, I realized that it was working its intended effect; I was joining in worship, and seeing for a moment in a new way. Musically, it was close to the manner in which our 8:45 service at home has developed, and through the week I was to sing many songs at Morning Prayer that would work in that context.

Still, I wish that it were more grounded in Scripture. We heard very little from that Book all week, and that is a grave danger.

The principal issue, we were told by the Jesuit scholar John Baldovin in the plenary address that followed, is the dichotomy between "moderate" and "conservative." The first is informed by the Enlightenment and historical method; the second rejects some or all of these influences. The documents of Vatican II can be read in both directions, and what he called an "epic struggle" for the soul of the church continues, fifty years later.

It is good for me to hear these things, though I remain firmly in the conservative camp, and hold to the liturgical and theological positions articulated by Benedict XVI among others.

I must respect the other side of the debate, musically, liturgically, and theologically. I must listen to the truth of its songs, its prayers. And I must be wholehearted in my work as a Musician in that context.

Among other virtues, the conference traced the development of three streams of congregational song since 1963: Roman Catholic, mainstream Protestant, Evangelical-Pentecostal. In all three areas, there is hope, and much better work is being done that there was ten or fifteen years ago.

The surprise for me came from the evangelicals, with a workshop and hymn festival on the "re-tuned movement." By the 1980's and 90's, the praise and worship songs of the evangelicals had become slick, formulaic, commercial, and virtually devoid of content. This was the music of the Boomers, grown middle-aged and comfortable. They hated the traditions of church and society, they discarded all that had happened or had been thought before 1960, they lived in a shallow world of pop culture, and that was what they made of the church.

But their children, who (in the evangelical churches) have grown up entirely without hymns, were looking for something more. Some of them are finding the old hymn texts and "re-tuning" them in their musical style, and, we were told, this is part of the music of the "emerging church." This gives me hope. We will all need songs with meaningful context in the coming years, and we will need new songs from a new generation.

I remain uncomfortable with the performance practice, for the congregation has no responsibility for the song. If they choose to sing, great. If not, it is the amplified sound of the band that matters, not the natural un-amplified voice of the people. But these "re-tuned" songs are a large improvement.

Here is an example of this music, a YouTube about a concert of "re-tuned" music at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville. The organizer of this concert was our leader at the hymn festival, along with a couple of the songwriters, and we sang many of these songs.


As the week continued, the morning prayer services became increasingly important to me, thanks in part to the leadership of the Mennonite musician and pastor Ken Nafzinger, and others whom he incorporated, most of them young, in their twenties.

There was much to remember about the week: daily hymn festivals, one of them led in part by an old friend from graduate school, now a pastor in the Reformed Church; another festival involving Carol Doran (of whom more in a moment); another evening which was a Taizé service, and a final hymn festival (again, more in a moment).

Carol Doran collaborated as a musician with the author Thomas Troeger on several volumes of hymns in the 1980's and 90's; she was the organist for the first night's hymn festival. I learned in conversing with her over lunch that her path moved on from seminary teaching to now, in her old age, teaching music in a ghetto middle school. It is a task of little account to the powerful, this teaching of children whom they have already written off as losers, part of Mitt Romney's 47 percent. It is a thing no larger than a mustard seed.

Taizé and its music well belonged in this context of developments since Vatican II. I attended the workshop on Taizé as well as the festival, and in my mental context (still lodged in the Hunger Games) was reminded of the patient witness of that community in the darkness of war-torn Europe. Should we return to such days, there is more to Taizé than I had thought -- more seeds cast abroad upon the earth.

We have a weekly Taizé service in our community, and the few times I attended it, I did not like it at all. This was different; there was less singing and much more silence (including one stretch of about fifteen minutes, which is a long time). This was the only service that had significant chunks of Scripture. The acoustic and visual setting were terrific; a large Roman Catholic parish church in semidarkness, lots of candles and icons.

I normally do not get anything other than boredom from singing "Ubi caritas" forty-six times in a row, and I think that has turned me against this repertoire. But in our parish, where we regularly sing Taizé songs at communion during the 8:45 service, there have been some moments where a Taizé song has become something remarkable.


The final hymn festival, the closing event of the conference, was titled "New shoots and buds: new directions in congregational song," led (mostly) by Tony Alonso and Hilary Seraph Donaldson with lots of other musicians -- almost all of them under the age of thirty (Hilary's father Andrew, a long-time Hymn Society leader, was one of the exceptions; it was great to see father and daughter together among the musicians.)

I learned that the organizers had not met in person before the conference. The planning, extending over a year, was done entirely through meetings on Skype and through other forms of electronic communication.

And they see what I see in the world. The penultimate hymn was a call to eschatological hope, which is central to the witness of the Church -- a hymn that they said was hard for them to find. It was sung to the strong shape-note tune "Morning Trumpet," with lines like this:

Let the banker and the president beware the trumpet's call,
And beat swords of greed and commerce into equal shares for all.
Let the teachers speak in wisdom, let the music-makers play,
Let the weavers weave the tent where we shall gather on that day.

Lowly eyes shall be lifted, while the tyrants taste their fear,
For that sound is both a gospel and a warning...
("The trumpet in the morning," by Rory Cooney)

I sang, we all sang, with tears in our eyes, longing for that day when all shall be made right.

Later that day as I drove west through the Alleghenies into one last mist-shrouded mountain sunset, I thought of these brave words and those who sang them. Will they -- will we -- have the strength to stand when the drone attacks and "peacekeepers" kill our friends, spies and informers are everywhere, and all is darkness -- as it already is in parts of the world?