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.