Lessons and Carols: The Heritage

A Service of Lessons and Carols: King's College, Cambridge, Christmas 1954

In honor of the sixtieth year of televised broadcasts of the Service, BBC replayed the first broadcast, from the Year of Our Lord 1954.

The United Kingdom had a beloved young Queen, nearing the end of her second year on the throne; it had an eighty-year-old Prime Minister, perhaps the greatest in the history of the Kingdom but now nearing the end of his days: Winston Churchill.

The Choir of King's was directed by the legendary Boris Ord, like Churchill nearing the end of his long tenure (1929-57, excepting the War years). It is fascinating to watch him at work in the video; he stands at the end of the treble line and the choir is led by almost imperceptible nods of the head. All is done with the utmost dignity.

And the Choir sings better in this video than they do now. That is not all Ord's doing (though much of it is); times have changed, and it is more difficult to maintain a choir of men and boys, even in a place such as King's. Listen to the shape of the phrases, the precise attacks and releases, the diction, the blend. Listen also to the quality of the soloists, both trebles and choirmen.

At the organ is Hugh McLean. Notice the manner in which the hymns are played: the organ enters with a chord one beat before the voices. This was the old-time way of playing, and very effective in a large acoustic. All of the playing is solid, reserved, supportive.

I notice that the Lectors conclude with “Thanks be to God,” just as they do now, so that is not a modern innovation as I had thought.

At the end, the “Amens” from the Smith Responses are a nice touch.


All in all, I enjoyed this much more than the 2014 service, fine as it was. The selection of music is superior, the standard of performance is higher. And it is shorter by some forty-five minutes.

It seems to me by comparison that the Service has become somewhat bloated in recent years. One senses more of a desire to showcase the virtuosity of the Choir rather than to simply sing straightforward music – most of it homophonic, often strophic, and none of it terribly difficult – that supports the Lessons, and to sing it with utmost perfection. I do not fault Mr. Cleobury for his work with the current Choir; he is doing what he must, and they remain one of the finest choirs in the world. I fault the times in which we live, and the manner in which Great Britain has changed over these sixty years.

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo. “So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” [J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Fellowship of the Ring”]

Lessons and Carols: large and small

This morning we had something of a hybrid service: part Christmas Lessons and Carols, part Holy Eucharist. I do not think that the two belong together, but the Second Rule of Liturgics tells me this:

If the Rector says “Do it this way,” then you do it this way.

Nonetheless, it was a good service. Six of the Lessons, a total of fourteen Carols, all congregational, for the Choir is on holiday until January. Those who attended seemed to enjoy it. I received the usual handful of complaints about various aspects – the tempo is too fast, why didn't you sing this, why did you sing that?

I have noted to others that I hear more complaints about the music at Christmas than at any other time of the year. One person who usually supports my efforts told me after the Midnight Mass that unless I can arrange for “something special,” I should not bother with preservice music. After working quite a bit to prepare the Canonic Variations of which I wrote the other day, I did not take that well.


This evening as I worked on yet another set of Bulletins (groan!!!), I have listened to the Real Lessons and Carols, the one that they do at King's College, Cambridge. The music is of course spectacular. Most of it is choral, with a handful of congregational hymns. I have no doubt that their Director, Stephen Cleobury, receives a lot of complaints. But there is probably no one on the planet who would not consider their work “something special.”

I have four liturgical comments:

-- The First Lesson is not Genesis 3:1-15, as it is printed in the green “Carols for Choirs” book and which I have always assumed was the way it is supposed to be done. Instead, it is the later part of the chapter, verses 8-19, about the Curse, and “Dust thou art.” This is a much more logical selection for the account of our Fall and Redemption that is the purpose of the service. I will see if the Rector might let me use this next year both in our Advent service and the inevitable repeat of today's Christmas service.

-- The Scriptures are all from the Authorized Version. I suspect that this is part of the attraction of this Service, which draws its audience from all of the English-speaking world. Who would want to hear the intentionally ugly prose of the New Revised Standard Version?

-- At the end of each lesson, the Lector says “Thanks be to God.” Not “The Word of the Lord” with the congregation responding. I am puzzled at this. Are they, like the trendy liturgists in America with their “Hear what the Spirit is saying to the people,” no longer willing to assert that these passages of Scripture are in any sense the Word of the Lord? That is my suspicion.

-- Somehow, I do not find the whole thing conducive to worship. Not in the slightest. Nor did I find our service this morning worshipful. It too easily becomes all about the music. Perhaps that is all right; for those who want something more liturgical, BBC also broadcast the Roman Catholic Midnight Mass from Westminster Cathedral. And if what one desires is a good sermon, one could do worse than the one that Pope Francis gave on that Night – my thanks to the blogger Jesse, who posted it – and for the music, linked the YouTube of Ting and myself playing “O Holy Night.” I do think that it turned out well, and I am pleased that her fine playing is thus given a larger hearing, well over 100 views when I checked on it yesterday.


This year, the King's service featured several arrangements from their former director Sir David Willcocks, in honor of his 95th birthday. I must say that when the choir – especially THAT choir in that room – sails into his descant on “Sing, choirs of angels” in the penultimate hymn (“O come, all ye faithful,”) it never fails to send chills of delight up my spine. And when the organ cranks up into the harmonization of the final stanza, it is the same. The final hymn, “Hark, the herald angels sing,” again in the Willcocks arrangement (with a slightly different descant than what I know), is the same for me. I played these arrangements the other night at the Midnight Mass, but our little Pilcher – and our little parish choir – cannot work up to such an effect.

The organ scholar concluded with the large and majestic (and youthful: he was under the age of twenty) Bach organ setting of “In dulci jubilo,” BWV 729. By chance, I also finished this morning's service with a Bach setting of “In dulci jubilo” – but not that one. Instead, I played the little setting from the Orgelbuchlein (BWV 608) which dances along like little cherubs at play, the four voices forming a double canon. It is fitting, perhaps: what they do is large, what we do is small. But both have their place.

Concluding Remarks:
I am unable to keep up the pace; tonight's essay is the last of my daily entries. I hope to return to a more-or-less weekly schedule.

One of my accomplishments the other day when I should have been pressing on toward Sunday was a milestone: I cut my first CD of organ music, in limited edition (three copies). It begins with the Toccata and Fugue in F and finishes with the Canonic Variations, and I am proud of it. For all of my complaining and last-minute scrambling this fall, I consider it a respectable body of work.

My principal reason for the CD was the hope of sending it as a gift to my organ teacher, Dr. McDonald. I walked it to the post office on Friday and mailed it. His health has not been good, and I fear that he may no longer be in his apartment where he has lived alone for decades. I hope the CD gets to him.

Last year, my wife and I made the mistake of neglecting one another at this holiday. This year was better; we found small gifts for one another and she had the forethought to have me purchase a frozen lasagna from the grocery so that we could have a bit of a special meal in the late afternoon on Christmas Day. It was good to be with her.

My work is challenging at this time of the year. Hers is worse – “big box” department store work. We must care for one another, especially at this time of the year.

And finally, a bit of a puzzle about that recording of "O Holy Night." I received notice from YouTube that the clip contained Third Party Content, and that one of the performing rights organizations was claiming it. I could acknowledge and All Would Be Well, or I could fight it and probably get a "copyright strike," which could result in my banning from YouTube. Now this is thoroughly puzzling: Adolph Adam wrote the music in 1847 and it is in the public domain. I was one performer, Ting Davidson the other (and she has given me permission to post it). Who is claiming it? YouTube does not say. But I was unwilling to fight it, so I clicked my acknowlegement -- and now I see that there are advertisements running with the video. Someone is making a little money on this at our expense.

Sigh.

Skeleton Crew

I am the only one left. The office is closed until January 5; several staff members are out of town, others are on holiday.

I said that I would post daily during the Twelve Days; that proves to be harder than one might expect, and increases my respect for those bloggers who do manage to post daily, come what may. Today, I have tied up an unexpected loose end concerning tomorrow's service, and I have little time (I am eating a quick Dinner as I write this), for I need to get back upstairs and practice some more.

I merrily puttered around on Friday, clearing the Youth Choir folders, running the dishwasher up in the kitchen (which was full of dirty punch glasses, probably from Monday's reception), writing the essay on Bach that I posted yesterday. I should have been checking on the details related to the service tomorrow.

It will be all right; I will simply be working about one hour later today than I had intended. Several of us on the church staff have been running at an unsustainable pace this last fortnight or more; I certainly cannot keep going as I have been. But I should have kept pushing for two more days.

Vom Himmel hoch, da komm ich her

O Lord, you have created all!
How did you come to be so small,
To sweetly sleep in manger-bed
Where lowing cattle lately fed?
(Dr. Martin Luther)

Bach first wrote and published “Some Canonic Variations on the Christmas Hymn 'Vom Himmel hoch, da komm ich her'” (BWV 769a) in 1746 or 1747 as his submission to the Mizlar Society for Musical Sciences in 1747, having it engraved on copper and published. But the piece remained in his mind. He wrote out a new copy for himself over the last two years of his life, making many small revisions and, most of all, rearranging the cycle. The most virtuosic variation (the one with all four phrases of the chorale at once) had been the finale; Bach now moved it to the middle as Variation Three. It reminds me of the high-spirited Quodlibet of the Goldberg Variations, with its assortment of folk songs stitched together into a raucous finale – followed by the Da Capo of the Theme, whose return is one of the most sublime moments in music. It seems to me that Bach may have had something like this in mind by now concluding the Canonic Variations with two leisurely and quiet meditations. What is now the Fourth Variation reminds me of the "Vater unser" in the Clavierübung (BWV 682). The Fifth Variation is a slow, meditative canon in augmentation reminding me as much of the “Black Pearl” variation from the Goldberg as the raucous one reminds me of the Quodlibet.

Hermann Keller, in “The Organ Works of Bach,” writes:

The Canonic Variations are, in fact, entirely worthy of being placed beside two other works of Bach's old age: the Musical Offering (1747) and the Art of Fugue (1749-50). Common to all three works is the almost abstract quality of their style.

Quoting Spitta (Bach's early biographer), Keller continues:

… the very complicated forms, to which, by preference, Bach devoted himself in the last years of his life, did not fascinate him because of their difficulties alone; his musical perception had grown more and more profound, and it drew him to these forms. [Spitta wrote] “These partitas are full of a passionate vitality and poetical feeling. The heavenly hosts soar up and down, their lovely song sounding out over the cradle of the Infant Christ, while the multitude of the redeemed 'join the sweet song with joyful hearts.'” [this last is a phrase from the hymn text].

In the works of his last years, Bach ascends into the realm of philosophical music, which can no longer be explained by the traditional concepts of style.... All great art has its own laws and is based on them: even Bach we can understand ultimately not from his period, nor from his humanity... but solely from his music. (p. 288-294)

Argument continues as to the best form for presentation of this work. Keller does not think that the later arrangement of variations succeeds in performance. A cursory sampling of the many YouTube recordings of the work indicate that most performers agree – all but one of the ones I sampled conclude with the original Finale, which Bach moved to the middle (Ton Koopman's performance, split into five shorter clips, is the sole exception).

My opinion is that Bach did not care one whit about public reactions to this piece, no more than he did in relation to the Musical Offering and the Art of Fugue. Viewed purely as theoretical and mystical explorations into the Heart of God, he concluded that they should be in the version that he took a great deal of trouble to write out when he had many other things that he wanted to do. A good performance of the former Finale (now Third Variation) – I suggest the one by Helmut Walcha, whose rendition of the whole set on a Silbermann organ is spectacular – will rightfully elicit applause for the performer and for Bach. An ideal performance of what is now the Fifth Variation (the Canon in Augmentation) would elicit spiritual transformation.

I think that one very good way to play these Variations is to place them among the fourteen stanzas of Luther's great Chorale, sung by the congregation. This is how I played them at the Midnight Mass two days ago. Congregational singing does not record well – one hears too much the handful of too-loud voices, the lagging behind, the out-of-tune singers. (Note well that I consider these aspects to be essential to healthy congregational song; that is a matter for another day.) Thus, I have edited the sung stanzas out of the YouTube clip.

But for those organists who might consider such an adventure, here is the manner in which we sang (and I played), with some brief notes to help the listener with the canons. Among other virtues, this arrangement covers the deficiency caused by the smallness of our beloved Pilcher organ; several of the variations have essentially the same registration because it is the only registration that works for this music. Heard back-to-back, it lacks variety; interspersed with congregational singing, not so much. Especially, it is good to go from full-throated singing for Stanza 14 (“Glory to God in highest heaven”) to the final Canon in Augmentation on soft 8' stops.

A final note: I have used for the Artwork in the YouTube clip “The Mystical Nativity” by Sandro Botticelli. To my way of thinking, Botticelli's angels and their ring-dance in the sky are the visual equivalent of Bach's music in these Variations.

Some Canonic Variations on the Christmas Hymn “Vom Himmel Hoch”

Stanzas 1 through 5:

(5) These are the signs which you will see
To let you know that it is he:
In manger-bed, in swaddling clothes
The child who all the earth upholds.

Variation 1: Canon at the Octave
The Canon is between the two voices in the manuals, with the Chorale in the pedals. The same arrangement applies to the Second Variation.

Stanzas 6, 7, and 8:

(8) Welcome to earth, O noble Guest,
Through whom this sinful world is blest!
You turned not from our needs away!
How can our thanks such love repay?

Variation 2: Canon at the Fifth

Stanzas 9 and 10:

(10) Were earth a thousand times as fair
And set with gold and jewels rare,
Still such a cradle would not do
To rock a prince so great as you.

Variation 3: Cantus Firmus in canon
inverted, and at the intervals of the Sixth, Third, Second, Ninth, then all four phrases of the Cantus Firmus in stretto.

Stanzas 11 and 12:

(12) O dearest Jesus, holy child,
Prepare a bed, soft, undefiled,
A holy shrine, within my heart,
That you and I need never part.

Variation 4: Canon at the Seventh
The Canon is between the two lower voices, with an ornamented Alto voice and the Chorale in the Soprano.

Stanzas 13 and 14:

(14) “Glory to God in highest heav’n,
Who unto us his Son has giv’n.”
With angels sing in pious mirth:
A glad new year to all the earth!

Variation 5: Canon in Augmentation
The Canon is at the interval of a Fourth between the Soprano and Baritone voices, with the Chorale in the pedals. The motif “B-A-C-H” appears in the Tenor and Baritone just before the final cadence.

Ting Davidson, violinist

Last year, Ting played for our Christmas Day Eucharist, which her family has attended for years. They live in the next county and often attend our midweek Eucharist, but I don't, so I rarely see them except for Christmas Day. I can remember Ting at the service as a young girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen, asking astute questions about the pipe organ. I knew that she was interested in music and that she is now studying at a major music school Out East, but until last year I had no idea that she has become such a fine Musician, not until she opened her violin case last Christmas Day and began playing whole-note scales to warm up. Her sound was like velvet, with brilliantly clear intonation and control. And that was just scales!

We played “O Holy Night” and probably another piece or two. It was by far the best part of my Christmas last year, better than any music I played at the organ.

Ting was back again today for the Christmas Day Eucharist, with her parents and this time her grandmother, visiting from Asia. She arrived an hour before the service, with plans to play three pieces: her arrangement “Emmanuel, among us” (based on Veni Emmanuel), “He shall feed his flock” from Messiah, and by my request, a reprise of “O Holy Night.”

We did not need more than a few minutes to rehearse, for everything fit together very well. But I did not want it to end; I commented between pieces that “I am really enjoying this;” she agreed. Having time to experiment, we moved two of the three pieces to the pipe organ; she said that she had never played with the organ before.

We finished the service with “O Holy Night,” the congregation staying to listen. When we were done, there was a silence that told us that the congregation knew that this moment was indeed holy. I am especially glad that her grandmother was present to hear it.

Last night's music went well. I hope to write of it soon and post a YouTube clip of the Bach Variations. But for today's most high Feast, the Nativity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, I would rather post this.

O Holy Night: Ting Davidson, violin

a day of preparation

2:00 am – I awaken in my bed; what is my postlude for tonight? I have been so focused on bulletins, then Sunday, then the funeral, and the Canonic Variations, and more bulletins yesterday afternoon, that I have not worked on my postlude for Midnight Mass. I cannot so much as recall what I have planned.

7:45 am – Fifteen minutes late for Matins: I overslept. I sit in the back row of the dark church: Psalm 45, of the beauty of our great King, “the fairest of men... all [his] garments fragrant with myrrh, aloes, and cassia.” Isaiah 35, where I read that “then shall the lame man leap as an hart, and the tongue of the dumb sing.” And best of all, the final verses of the Bible:

And the Spirit and the bride say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come. And let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely.... (Revelation 22:17)

For the last time, I pray the beautiful collect for the Fourth Sunday of Advent, and the other Collects of Matins.

I look at the Midnight Mass bulletin; no wonder I could not recall my postlude. None is listed. I wish I could get away with that.

9:00 am – Needing to work, I am sidetracked by e-mail. There are important things: an e-card from a beloved college friend in England, to which I respond all too briefly; I have not heard from her for several years. And an e-mail with an Appalachian song from Fr. Tim, up north in Alberta; I listen to the fine old Doc Watson song with delight. And a notice of the sixteenth birthday of Emmanuel, who sang beside me at RSCM this summer. That takes me to Facebook, where I send him my good wishes, and respond to several other people whom I should not have so long neglected. One is, most surprisingly, newlywed; I convey my good wishes. There are work e-mails also; questions about tonight which need prompt responses. I am welcoming two former choristers to the Youth Choir tonight; I hope that the others, who have worked so hard this fall, will not mind these interlopers. I hope rather that they will enjoy singing with them again. Then, one more bulletin.

10:30 am – Finally, up to the organ. Less than six hours remain to the preservice youth choir rehearsal. I have not yet gone over the hymns for either service (to say nothing of tomorrow morning!), and there is that postlude, plus a difficult anthem accompaniment for the Midnight Mass. But I must start with the Canonic Variations; they still need a lot of work.

2:00 pm – Three hours on the Variations, and they are sufficiently prepared to lay aside. I have a simple solution for the postlude: I will repeat the Third Variation, the one which takes the chorale tune in various sorts of canon, turning it upside down against itself, and finishing with four measures in which he does all four phrases of the chorale at once in stretto. There are reasons peculiar to the history of this work that make it less of a shameless cop-out; were I attending rather than playing, I would be happy to hear the Third Variation again.

3:30 pm – Having eaten Dinner, it is showtime. Pageant participants are due by 4:00, choristers at 4:15, liturgy at 5:00.

(To be continued...)

Of Angles and Head Lice

One of our songs for tomorrow, sung most wonderfully in rehearsal today by the Senior Girls, is listed in the bulletin as “Hark, the Herald Angles Sing.” After one of the girls noticed it, we speculated whether that meant early Germanic immigrants to the British Isles, or something from geometry class.

In the spirit of Scholastic Philosophy:
Q. Do Angels get head lice?
(For what it is worth as Evidence, I suspect that the Angles of the Germanic kind most certainly had them.)

Today was Pageant Rehearsal.

It was spiced up by the news that several of the choir and church families have Head Lice in their households. Two of the girls arrived with their hair wet, having worn shower caps full of olive oil overnight; they are (I think) the third family in recent weeks. Add Pageant costumes, including choir vestments and halos, and it gets interesting.

Mo, one of our choir mothers (whose children are among the Recently Afflicted), on Sunday took all of our youth choir vestments in garbage bags and washed them, along with paraphernalia such as the RSCM ribbons, hangers, etc. Blessings be on her!

At the end of rehearsal today, Jen H., another of the church mothers, checked all of the choir children individually for lice. She found four more children with the little passengers. She even checked me, noting that she had never done it on grey hair.


The youth choir sounded fine, even without several of our choristers. As they sang the Wexford Carol, tears came to my eyes, for they clearly understood the elegance and beauty of this melody; those with ears to hear in the congregation will get it, too. And this was just the rehearsal; I may entirely fall apart tomorrow night if they sing it so well.

As we rehearsed, with donkeys and sheep and Wise Men and (yes) Angels (the Choristers, dressed in their vestments with halos on their heads – tomorrow, not today, so there is no Halo-Swapping) and Mary and Joseph and all the rest, it struck me most forcefully: This is part of the Kerygma.

It seems clear that there is a Judeo-Christian underlay to the Birth Narrative in the Gospel according to St. Luke. It is full of Semitic turns of phrase that are found nowhere else in Luke/Acts. Following Benedict XVI (his book “Jesus of Nazareth: the Birth Narratives”), I find it believable that this began as a family tradition within the Holy Family. Much of it would have been known to only one person, who treasured these things in her heart. Benedict (I think following other scholars) suggests that none of this travelled very far while Saint Mary still lived on this earth because of her reticence. Everything we know of her implies that she never wanted much to be made of her; she wanted us to listen to her Son and follow Him, not her. But within her family and close circle of fellow-disciples, these traditions and stories survived, by the gift and grace of the Holy Ghost. After her Assumption into heaven, the story spread more widely, for such an account, such a Gospel, could not be kept silent.

And it may be that the form in which it spread was in something not that distant from our Christmas Pageants, involving children acting out the parts of shepherds and sheep and oxen and angels and all the rest.

It delights me to think that there have probably been annual Pageant Rehearsals from the earliest days, before the Gospels were written down. And they were probably as chaotic then as now.


Part of my Duty is to cue the Angels at the appointed time in the Story to stand and say their line (“Glory to God in the highest...”). As they sat there, more or less watching for the cue and as I itched to give it, I thought of their great Originals in the sky that night. There must have been one of them with the Duty of getting it started: “Now. It is Now, the Fullness of Time.” And the sky was filled with light, and nothing has ever been the same.


My organ prelude for the Midnight Mass is the Canonic Variations on Vom Himmel hoch by J. S. Bach. It is, in many respects, the Music of Angels; I will perhaps say more of this another day. After Sunday night's five-hour First Workout on the variations, my left leg hurt, mostly in the hip but also shooting pains down the leg. Monday morning it was just as bad, and as soon as I took the position to begin the First Variation, the pain returned with more intensity.

With the funeral, I had only one hour to work on the Bach, so I put up with it.

This morning on the bus, I thought of Tobias and his dog, and his friend Raphael the Angel, who gave him helpful advice in his Journey.

I got on the bench, praying for help; I did not see how I could get through these variations for today's essential practice, much less tomorrow's practice and the Holy Liturgy. And I knew immediately what to do. It was as if a Voice said “Uh... you don't HAVE to play the pedals here.” And sure enough, that did it: the problem is that for three of the variations, the chorale tune is in the pedals in long notes requiring an awkward shift to the high end of the pedalboard, and especially holding that position during the rests between chorale phrases without nudging the pedal notes and making them sound. With that Advice, I was able to do the rhythmic work in the manuals and add the pedals for the final playthrough of each phrase. It all fit together perfectly, and with a minimum of pain.

Whether it was an Angel helping me with the making of music, as I believe that they do, or the Spirit of God giving me a nudge partly because I had the humility to ask for help, I do not know. But I am convinced it was one or the other.

There is still no St. Anne Fugue. I have the recording of it in an mp4 file, but have not had the time to post it to YouTube. Nor do I have the time today. The journey continues...

Vor deinen Thron

Pan b’wy’n myned try’r Iorddonen,
Angeu creulon yn ei rym,
Ti est trywddi gynt dy Hunan,
Pam yr ofnaf bellach ddim?
Buddugoliaeth,
Buddugoliaeth,
Buddugoliaeth,
Gwna I mi waeddi yn y llif.

When I tread the verge of Jordan,
Bid my anxious fears subside.
Death of death, and hell's destruction,
Land me safe on Canaan's side.
Songs of praises,
Songs of praises,
I will ever give to thee.
[William Williams (1717-91)]

Mary is part of this journey as well:

Sancta Maria, Mater Dei:
Ora pro nobis peccatoribus,
nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.

This day, the Feast of St. Thomas, was a memorial service for Jix L., a Son of Wales, retired professor of English, long-time parishioner, and the finest lector I have encountered. And now he is gone.

Having rehearsed the choir, I went to the organ bench for what I had planned as a five minute prelude, the amount of time I usually have on a Sunday morning when there is a choir. The church was comfortably filled, and I had a few minutes extra, so I prefaced the piece that I had prepared with two of the Brahms chorales. One of them I had played at the recent Lessons and Carols, so it was fresh, and I made it through the other well enough. That brought me to five minutes before the appointed service time, so I played the “Vor deinen Thron tret' ich” of Bach, the chorale that he revised on the final day of his life. I often play this for funerals; there is nothing more suitable.

Before Thy throne, my God, I stand,
Myself, my all, are in Thy hand.
O show me Thine approving face,
Nor from Thy son withhold Thy grace.

During the playing, one of the altos came up and whispered “Keep playing; it is going to be another five or ten minutes. A lot of people still need to be seated.” I played some more of my funeral repertoire, some of which had not been practiced for a long time. It went better than it had any right to do: Thanks be to God.

Lesson 1: Always have more music at hand for weddings and funerals. You might need it.

After the liturgy, I spoke briefly with my organist friend Jean. I told her that my communion improvisation was pretty bad. That was an understatement, in terms of how it felt at the time; it felt like the worst playing I had perpetrated in years.

The choir had sung the Communion from the Victoria Requiem, and it was clear that a lot more music was needed to cover the liturgical action. I had not prepared to improvise, not having expected such a large congregation, and I had already played my back-up music before the service. So, on the fly, I decided to continue in the style of the Victoria: high Renaissance counterpoint. For a beginning, I revisited what we had just sung, playing it through again with ornamentation. That was not too bad, and thoroughly legitimate. From there, it went down hill quickly: parallel fifths, octaves, non-stylistic chord progressions, lack of contrapuntal activity, poor voice leading. As a written exercise in counterpoint, it would have been an “F,” with red ink all over the page.

Lesson 2: Don't try to do something you can't. Especially without practice.

But there is more:

Lesson 3: It probably is not as bad as you think.

Upon listening to the recording, it was acceptable, as Jean had told me. Not great, not by any means; it remained characterless and the voice leading could have been a lot better. I was unable to maintain the Renaissance style, but the effect was as if I had intended to transition to a different style, not the reality that I was failing miserably at my intent. For its purpose, it was sufficient. Thanks be to God.

Here is the “Vor deinen Thron” from today's service. For this Welshman, we finished the service with the hymn quoted at the top, and the St. Anne Fugue as a postlude; I will try and post it tomorrow.

Mary journeys...

My friend Catherine Q-E, Priest and Chaplain, commissioned some tee-shirts for her campus ministry. They were supposed to say “Many journeys,” but they came back with a misprint: “Mary journeys.” She made these available free of charge for interested persons, one of them being me.

My friend Nora, Fellow-Laborer in Christ, prepared Advent baskets for the parish. On this Fourth Sunday of Advent, I took one. The concept is that the little icons of Mary and Joseph journey with us for the week, and we journal about it in the little notebook (blue, of course). In this spirit, I hope to likewise write here in the Music Box about my journeys this week and on through the Twelve Days.

We beseech thee, Almighty God, to purify our consciences by thy daily visitation, that when thy Son our Lord cometh he may find in us a mansion prepared for himself; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. [Collect for the Fourth Sunday of Advent]

Advent IV is the neglected child, last and overlooked in the rush toward Christmas. We have its Collect for only a few days – on Monday, it is displaced by the Feast of St. Thomas, so we have it only today, Tuesday, and for Wednesday Matins.

This Sunday was neglected in my work, as well. A busy and frustrating week was altogether focused on Monday's impending funeral with its bulletin, the Christmas Eve bulletins, and (on Friday) the bulletin for the First Sunday after Christmas Day, with due attention in the meantime to Wednesday's choral rehearsals. Until Saturday, I gave not the slightest thought to preparations for Advent IV. Or rather, I thought of it, and worried about it, but did not make it to the Bench. And even on Saturday, most of my work was on organ music for the funeral and Christmas Eve. My total preparation for today's Holy Eucharists: perhaps one hour, most of it on the prelude improvisations.

This is shameful.

But the Fourth Sunday of Advent is a crucial part of the journey which we dare not neglect. We are not there yet. Oh how truly are we not there yet. The wolf does not dwell with the lamb. They torture, hurt, and destroy on God's holy mountain. The earth is not filled with the glory of God. We have read and seen of the killing of more Holy Innocents. The duplicity of our Congressmen and Senators and President would make King Herod blush with shame.

The Collect reminds us that for now, the Journey is interior. It is hidden from the world.

But Mary and Joseph, and the One who is as yet known by faith and not by sight, they journey with us.

And blessed is she that believed: for there shall be a performance of those things which were told her from the Lord. (St. Luke 1:45)

******
Some may be interested in comparing my prelude improvisations on Veni Emmanuel at the two services. Their preparation was shared; I had the same plan for them – variations, in A minor. Here is the one played on the organ. The artwork is from a fine Spanish-language blog that I found in searching for images. “Misericordiam Tuam” is a Priest in Argentina, and appears to be a young man deeply devoted to Our Lord and the Mother of God. My Spanish is not very good, but I linked to the blog as one of his ten followers, and I will try to read some of his material. Upon first encounter, it is terrific. The art for the second recording (below) is from a Flickr site by a German photographer, Harald Henkel. Again, it is very fine, with over 6,000 photographs.

The Internet is filled with garbage. I gather that the largest single category of material is pornography. Increasingly, the Net is being subverted for commercial purposes and data-harvesting, which I consider almost as bad. But among all the rubbish, there is much good – so much that one could hardly do more than sample it over a long lifetime, with more added every day. Where else could I encounter these two people and their ideas, both of them thousands of miles away from me?

I think that I played better at the piano earlier, at the middle service. Here is that version. At about the four-minute mark, a young mother and her small child, carried in her arms, lit the four Candles. It was a moment filled with grace, and I sought to react to that in my playing.

******
To my delight, I found when I opened the little blue notebook to write today's entry that this Advent Basket was previously visited by Claire, a Chorister and the Daughter of my friend Jean. In her little-girl handwriting, Claire recounted her week with Mary and Joseph, a week that involved much Baking of Cookies. It is for the sharing of such experiences that Nora intended these baskets. I am the last for this year, but perhaps my words may please someone next Advent.

From the sermon of my friend Raisin, Priest and Campus Minister: a quote from Meister Eckhart

We are all meant to be mothers of God. What good is it to me if this eternal birth of the divine Son takes place unceasingly but does not take place within myself? And, what good is it to me if Mary is full of grace if I am not also full of grace? What good is it to me for the Creator to give birth to his Son if I do not also give birth to him in my time and my culture? Then, then, is the fullness of time: When the Son of God is begotten in us.

Kreutzer Sonata, Bach, and the Armor of Light

This was the weekend for musical events. We had two concerts on Friday night, and another tonight, following our Advent Lessons and Carols service.

One of them was a doctoral violin recital by Tim Cuffman. Long-time readers may recall my reaction to his first doctoral recital last spring.

This time, I am not going to write a review. It is not fair to the many other fine musicians to single Tim out for special notice. The doctoral viola recital on Friday by Tim's friend Manuel Tábora and his wife and accompanist Joanna was also very fine – what I heard of it. I was drawn away from much of it by logistical problems and heard only parts of it, and that mostly from outside the closed door to the church.

But I will say this: Tim showed again that when he has a Big Piece to play, he takes hold of it and sweeps this listener away. Last year it was the Bach Chaconne; this time it was the Beethoven “Kreutzer” sonata, Op. 47, No. 9. He and his accompanist Asami Hagiwara played with the enormous energy and commitment to the sound that Beethoven requires. And, like last year with the Chaconne, it is only later, as the movements conclude and finally the piece as a whole, that one grasps the unity of purpose that binds the entire performance into a whole. It is this quality that is special about Tim Cuffman's playing.

Here is my organ prelude from this morning: a setting of Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland by Bach (BWV 659, from the Leipzig Chorales).

And here is a bit of this evening's Lessons and Carols service: a setting of the Collect for Advent that concludes the service, written for a commission from our parish a few years ago by Craig Phillips. It is followed by the blessing and the final Hymn, “Joy to the World.” The organist for the Phillips is Del Disselhorst, the flute is played by Beth Cody Hayes; I am playing for the hymn.

Tim is a better musician than I am, and his recital was better than our music-making. But as Tolkien wrote, “in God’s kingdom the presence of the greatest does not depress the small.” Our choir consists of amateur singers, and we make the best music we can. It is my task to help them improve, and to get better myself. The day will come when we shall finally have cast away all that hinders us, when we see Him as He is.

Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put upon us the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which thy Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the quick and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Ghost, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

It has been a long week, and a long weekend; I can say no more. Blessings be with you all.

In sorrow that the ancient curse...

In sorrow that the ancient curse
should doom to death a universe,
you came, O Savior, to set free
your own in glorious liberty.
(Conditor alme siderum, number 60 in the Hymnal 1982)

“What does this stanza mean,” a young chorister asked in rehearsal. “What is this curse?” They knew about Adam and Eve and the serpent, but they had not heard about the Curse. I did not explain it very well; I spoke of the sweat of our brow, the thorns and thistles, the pains of child-bearing. And Death. We all die, and not just us, but all the other animals and plants. We all die.

That is the point of the hymn: He came to set us free. I said this. “No he didn't,” one of them replied. “We still die.” “But we will live forever with Him after that,” I said. “That is what He did. Without Him, we would die and that would be it. He broke the Curse and gave us life.”

They seemed puzzled by this. Perhaps they will think about it, perhaps for a long time.


This was another difficult week. I had a big voluntary for the Evensong prelude, but I did not make it onto the bench Tuesday, or Wednesday. That meant that I had Friday and Saturday to work it up – and this hardly a fortnight after I had sworn I would not play another big piece without more preparation.

I have played the piece (the Partita on “Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme” by Hugo Distler) about a half-dozen times over the years, the first time on my graduate recital under Dr. McDonald, so it had a solid fingering and I have a good idea of how I think it should go. Starting from scratch, such a piece would be impossible in two days, or a week.

But the mighty ones of old could have done it. Back in the day, the students of Alexander McCurdy (my teacher's teacher) had to prepare and memorize a new piece every week. No matter how difficult it was, right up to the most challenging works in the organ repertoire, they had one week.

I want to be that kind of organist.


This was “Cocoa and Carols” day, in some respects the most important parish event of the year. I was worried about it; many of us were, for a variety of reasons. As the morning progressed, it grew more frantic behind the scenes. My friend Anne who has done most of the hospitality events in the parish for the last several years was not to be found, and the clock was ticking. Thirty minutes before the event, there was no one working on food but me. I got John C. to start the coffee pot and I started boiling water for the cocoa in the kitchen.

Another friend, Judith, appeared in the kitchen and said “I am Anne,” telling me what had happened; Anne was in the emergency room. I was helping get the food in place when Nora pulled me away and sent me to the piano – for it was time; I had to kick off the event. The church was almost full, lots of children and families, loud chattering and excitement.

I stepped to the microphone: “WEELLLCOMME to the 2014 edition of COCOOA and CAAAROLLSSS!!!!” I gave it my best Caesar Flickerman imitation (a character in The Hunger Games, for those unfamiliar with the name), and got the people applauding. They probably thought I had lost my marbles.

We sang a couple of Advent songs, and then “St. Nicholas” knocked loudly on the church door – so loudly that he put some dents in it. Two young people opened the doors for him and the Rector gave him the full liturgical greeting appropriate for a visiting Bishop. He processed slowly down the aisle blessing everyone, looking for all the world like Pope Francis.

My part done for the moment, I slipped downstairs to check on the food. There was still a good deal of frantic putting-things-in-order. But it was showtime again; the young folk were pounding down the steps, running across the room to the cookies.

I played a few carols and started the Songs By Request. People (mostly the children, by this time sitting on the floor) shout numbers from the Christmas section of the hymnal and we sing them. It is very loud, chaotic, and wonderful.

The time came to wrap it up with Silent Night and Go Tell It On the Mountain, and I trotted upstairs: 10:55, and I had another service to play at 11:00. I climbed on the bench, took a deep breath, and started the prelude.

By 1:00 when all was done, I was exhausted. And there was still a lot to do. I ate dinner, spent almost an hour crafting a careful e-mail and making a related phone call, and warmed up for Choral Evensong. There was, inevitably, not enough time to do it properly.

But the choir sang splendidly: the Ayleward Responses, Psalm 37, and Sumsion in G, along with a Chinese-language anthem, “Pengyou, ting.” The lessons were dark; the excellent sermon by Judith was dark – as was the morning's sermon by my friend Meg W., newly ordained as a Deacon. There was much talk of the events in Ferguson, in New York City, and elsewhere. “I looked for grapes, and it brought forth wild grapes” (Isaiah 5:4). “He looked for judgment, but behold oppression, for righteousness, but behold a cry” (5:7).

And we sang Hymn 60, Conditor alme:

When this old world drew on toward night,
you came, but not in splendor bright,
not as a monarch, but the child
of Mary, blameless mother mild.

From Evensong, I joined a small group of families to walk over to a community residence for the elderly. A handful of them were awaiting us in the common room, and we sang Christmas carols for them, using the sheet which I prepared yesterday. One of our own adult choristers, Louise, was there, like me having just come from Evensong; she lives in this facility.

The final song was “Silent Night.” I invited any of them that knew it in German to sing it that way, and Louise did. That finished me off; hearing her sing “Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht” just as she had done as a child many years ago brought tears to my eyes and I could no longer sing.

It is a dark world, and the Curse is still with us.
But it has been broken.

Stille Nacht! Heilige Nacht!
Alles schläft; einsam wacht
Nur das traute heilige Paar.
Holder Knab im lockigten Haar,
Schlafe in himmlischer Ruh!
Schlafe in himmlischer Ruh!

Here is the Distler. There are mistakes, to be sure – this is one way that the Curse manifests itself for a musician – but it turned out well enough. In the YouTube clip, I include three photographs of this young composer who is very dear to me. It was his misfortune to come of age in a time and place much darker than ours: Nazi Germany in the 1930's. The third photo shows him with some of his students at the Hochschule, these young men whom he loved, so many of them fated to die in the Wehrmacht.

May he rest in peace. May they all rest in peace.

Almighty God, give us grace that we may cast away the works of darkness, and put upon us the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which thy Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the quick and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Ghost, one God, now and for ever. Amen (Collect for the First Sunday of Advent, BCP p. 159)

Christmas Carols: the Short List

Some of our families are going Christmas Caroling after Evensong tomorrow evening. There used to be songsheets somewhere, but with M.W.'s retirement, they seem to have disappeared.

Thus, I cheerfully volunteered to “print something up.”

How long can it take? Ten minutes, maximum. I will look through the Christmas section of the Hymnal 1982, go to the Episcopal software “RiteSong,” and export the text files for a selection of carols.

The Christmas section runs from 77 to 115, thirty-eight selections. And that is omitting such hangers-on as “O come, O come Emmanuel” (Advent) and “We three kings” (Epiphany). No space for such things: we are going Christmas Caroling, not Advent Caroling. Even though it is in the middle of Advent. Many of these songs are unknown to our congregation; some of the others can be omitted with no shedding of tears.

I have sixteen songs, which in full text runs nine pages. I put them into two columns: it is still five pages. I start trimming stanzas – we don't really need six stanzas of “O come, all ye faithful” for our purposes; two or three stanzas at most will suffice. That is hard with the ones that tell a story, such as “The First Nowell.”

Four pages. And I do not want it to exceed one sheet, front and back. I remove the title, “Christmas Carols.” They can figure out what the sheet is without a title. Neither do I title the songs; I put the first line in 16-point and boldface; that will suffice. But it is still three and a half pages.

Now it becomes hard.

“Angels we have heard on high” is loads of fun. But it is a little light on substance. Delete.

“While shepherds watched their flocks by night” is in my opinion essential for Episcopalians. It was included with Tate and Brady; it was bound into the old Prayerbooks. With difficulty, I hit Delete.

I would happily delete “Go tell it on the mountain,” but for reasons peculiar to our parish, I cannot. They would lynch me. Nonetheless, I trim it to one stanza and the refrain.

I love “God rest ye merry, gentlemen.” But it has to go. It is either that or “Good Christian men friends rejoice.” I keep the latter.

So close... all I need to do is find room for two stanzas of “Silent Night” that are bleeding over to page three. They really would lynch me if I left that one out.

I chop one more stanza from “The First Nowell.” Three more lines of text and we've got it.

Time to finagle the layout. I try reducing the font size to 12 point. But it is going to be unreadable under Caroling Conditions; back to 14 point. I reduce the side margins: Bingo!!!! That does it! “Silent Night” now falls nicely into the last page, all three stanzas of it. The page turn even works: the front side finishes with “Go tell it on the mountain” (groan!), the back side begins with “Joy to the world” (hooray!)

Total editing time: 36 minutes.

Here is my list of Ten Essential Christmas Carols:

O little town of Bethlehem
O come, all ye faithful
Hark! The herald angels sing
Angels we have heard on high
Go tell it on the mountain
Joy to the world
Away in a manger
Good Christian friends rejoice
The first Nowell
Silent night

Some thoughts from C. S. Lewis

At the suggestion of Fr. Tim, I have been reading a battered little paperback from the public library, “The Weight of Glory” by C. S. Lewis, which is a collection of nine addresses that he made during the years of World War II.

Two quotations and an observation: The first is from “The Inner Ring”

The quest of the Inner Ring will break your hearts unless you break it. But if you break it, a surprising result will follow. If in your working hours you make the work your end, you will presently find yourself all unawares inside the only circle in your profession that really matters. You will be one of the sound craftsmen, and other sound craftsmen will know it. This group of craftsmen will by no means coincide with the Inner Ring or the Important People or the People in the Know. It will not shape that professional policy or work up that professional influence which fights for the profession as a whole against the public... But it will do those things which the profession exists to do and will in the long run be responsible for all the respect which that profession in fact enjoys and which the speeches and advertisements cannot maintain. (p. 156)

The pursuit of the Inner Ring is a precise description of much of the activity I have observed among the Important People in the American Guild of Organists over the years, and (from a greater distance) the activities of clergy in our diocese and the larger Episcopal Church. I am confident that it is equally true in other areas of endeavor, especially those which by their nature are relatively small groups of people.

I have known some of the “sound craftsmen,” people such as my teacher Dr. McDonald, my friend Del Disselhorst, and too many others to name. I would love to be such a craftsman myself. But that desire is dangerous. So soon as any of us wish for such a thing, we are at risk of making that wish our motivation. The only answer is to “keep yo' han' on-a the plow” as the old Spiritual says – to attend faithfully to the work at hand with total disregard as to what others think of it.

That is hard to do. Pride readily creeps into even the best work, and so soon as it does, the work is flawed, as is the workman. In the following, from the address “Learning in War-Time,” one can readily subistute “the musical life” for “the intellectual life,” for the point is the same. The additions in brackets are mine.

The intellectual life is not the only road to God, nor the safest, but we find it to be a road, and it may be the appointed road for us. Of course, it will be so only so long as we keep the impulse pure and disinterested. That is the great difficulty. As the author of the Theologia Germanica says, we may come to love knowledge [or Music] – our knowing – more than the thing known: to delight not in the exercise of our talents but in the fact that they are ours, or even in the reputation they bring us. Every success in the scholar's [or musician's] life increases this danger. If it becomes irresistible, he must give up his scholarly [or musical] work. The time for plucking out the right eye has arrived. (page 57)

The observation: For a brief period of my life, I was in weekly attendance at the Chapel of Westminster Choir College, with Erik Routley as Chaplain and Preacher. Dr. Routley knew Professor Lewis, and when I read Lewis, it always reminds me of Routley's sermons. So far as I know, they were never published, and that is a loss. I owe Lewis a lot, and I owe Routley even more. May both of these men rest in peace.

Be thou our guide while life shall last

Our God, our help in ages past,
our hope for years to come,
be thou our guide while life shall last,
and our eternal home.

Today is the spiritual birthday of Dr. Isaac Watts, who passed from this life on November 25, 1748. We owe him much, but I am not going to write about that today.

He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches. (Revelation 2:29)

Advent is crazy. All who work for a church find it so; too much to do, too many demands. Observing signs of stress in a colleague after this morning's staff meeting, we prayed a few moments ago, seeking that God would prompt us to do what He considers important.

And that set me to thinking of the first three chapters of the Revelation of St. John the Divine. I consider these Letters to the Seven Churches to be essential in the understanding of the church in the world. He sees what is going on. “I know thy works” he says repeatedly: some good, some faulty, some that he would prefer to spue out of his mouth (3:16). He “walketh in the midst of the seven golden candlesticks” (2:1), which we were told in the previous verse are the Seven Churches, and by extension all of the congregations committed to His care. It might be one of the great cathedrals. It might be a little mission church on a reservation with three old ladies all that is left of the congregation. It might be a “street church” community with no building at all. And it might be us, respectable downtown Episcopal congregation in a college town. He walks among us, He knows our works.

That frightens me when I consider all that we have left undone. But it is a comfort as well, indeed our only comfort. As C. S. Lewis wrote in his lecture “The Weight of Glory”:

A cleft has opened in the pitiless walls of the world, and we are invited to follow our great Captain inside.

These chapters of Revelation conclude with a promise sufficient to sustain us through anything, a promise addressed to any person in any of the congregations throughout the world, whether bishop or vicar or sexton or choirmaster or altar guild lady or baker-of-cookies or church school teacher or child or old person or secretary or senior warden or barely-hanging-on occasional visitor:

Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.

We could be in the most dysfunctional of parishes, or places far worse (and there are many of them, I remind myself: prisons, hospital wards, parts of northern Iraq and Syria) and if He is with us, all is well. “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of those who trouble me.”

May you hear the soft but persistent knock at your door, open to Him, and sup with Him this Advent.

A bit more of Dr. Watts, from number 100 in the Hymnal 1982:

No more let sins and sorrows grow,
nor thorns infest the ground;
he comes to make his blessings flow
far as the curse is found.

God has work for us to do

The Lord's Day: Solemnity of Christ the King

Almighty and everlasting God, we yield unto thee most high praise and hearty thanks for the wonderful grace and virtue declared in all thy saints, who have been the choice vessels of thy grace, and lights of the world in their several generations; most humbly beseeching thee to give us grace so to follow the example of their steadfastness in thy faith, and obedience to thy holy commandments, that at the day of the general resurrection, we, with all those who are of the mystical body of thy Son, may be set on his right hand, and hear that his most joyful voice: “Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.” Grant this, O Father, for the sake of the same thy Son Jesus Christ, our only Mediator and Advocate. Amen. (BCP p. 487)

I once thought of this Sunday in terms of the Second Coming of Christ when all shall be made right, and I thought of that Day in a manner akin to the arrival of Aragorn and his friends at the Field of Pelennor, the King's banner flying from the ships, the sword Anduril in his hand, the orcs and goblins and all the forces of evil scattered and destroyed, and all that is wrong with the world made right.

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
(J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring)

There is Scriptural support for such a view: Revelation 19:11-21, for example, as well as the Old Testament Lesson from today's Office: Zechariah 9:9-16, especially verses fourteen through sixteen.

As it says in one of the Psalms for the Twenty-Third morning, which we read at Matins:

He will heap high the corpses;
he will smash heads over the wide earth.
(Psalm 110:6)

Scripture suggests that there may be an element of that somewhere in what is to come, but today's Gospel (St. Matthew 25:31-46) is the only one of the three for this day in the RCL Eucharistic cycle that even remotely leans in this direction. The other two emphasize that His crown is of thorns, His throne a tree:

Fulfilled is all that David told
in true prophetic song of old;
how God the nations' King should be,
for God is reigning from a tree.
(Vexilla Regis – number 162 in Hymnal 1982)

The working-out of these things remains a Mystery, which we must leave in the hands of God. But when we see it with our own eyes, “as the lightning cometh out of the east and shineth even unto the west” (St. Matthew 24:27), we shall know that His judgments are righteous (cf Psalm 119:137-8).

Here is my recording of the Toccata and Fugue. You will hear a lot of clatter in the pedal solos; that is the nature of an old tracker instrument, and the microphone is close to the console.

On the whole, I am pleased with it; I hope my Teacher is. He knows that this week has been instructive, and not just in terms of playing the organ. I take from this two lessons and a question:

1. The places I missed were all well-prepared. I knew they were hard, gave them extra practice, felt prepared – and still missed them, all in ways that I had not done before. These were not “old” mistakes creeping back in; they were brand new, though in passages of sufficient difficulty that mistakes of all sorts are possible. The place where I fell apart yesterday and expected a Train Wreck went perfectly well today.

2. All of these places felt at the time like horrible glaring failures. Yet, when I listen to the piece, the mistakes are there, but they do not destroy the effect to the degree that it seemed at the time. Any of my young musical friends who are still reading these pages, take note; your playing is often much better than it seems to you at the time. At least it is if you can keep going.

The question: How can I improve my accuracy? I have done everything I know to do at this point, and I have improved my playing a lot over the past two or three years. It could be that my proposed New Habit of adding technical exercises to my daily practice might help. But I am not sure my errors today were technical in nature; they were probably more like St. Peter looking about at the wind and waves (St. Matthew 14:29-30). I ask my Teacher “What must I do?”

A musician whose opinion I trust said that it was terrific. I take comfort in that.


I took a chance with today's hymnody, for all of the songs were unfamiliar. Here are the three that were brand-new to both of our singing congregations.

“What kind of shepherd seeks the sheep” by the young Mennonite pastor Adam Tice, written in 2013

“Stranger, standing at my door” by the distinguished New Zealand author Shirley Erena Murray, text 1997 with tune by Jane Marshall written in 2008

“Till all the jails are empty” by the equally distinguished American author and Episcopal priest Carl P. Daw, Jr. with tune by John Bell and the Iona Community, text and tune both from 1995. That is almost twenty years ago, but it still seems like a “new” hymn. I heard it for the first time at the Hymn Society convention in Richmond a couple of years ago.

One parishioner took me to task for these songs: “Love your neighbor. I get it. You don't need to beat us over the head.” Perhaps I overdid it, though I would offer the defense that these songs are faithful to the Gospel, and echo today's excellent sermon by Rev'd R. And behind that, they express a message that is of sufficient importance to repeat until everyone hears it...

Till all the jails are empty,
and all the bellies filled;
till no one hurts or steals or lies,
and no more blood is spilled....
God has work for us to do.
(Carl P. Daw, Jr., copyright Hope Publishing Co.)

I leave you with the piano improvisation for the middle service prelude. In this, I mostly sought to introduce the tune for “Stranger, standing at my door,” and finished (somewhat to my surprise) with a bit of Forest Green in C major, the tune for the opening hymn “What kind of shepherd.” I had worked with Forest Green in my preparations, intending to cast it in minor – but in the event, it insisted on being in major, and I think rightly. Form is of utmost importance for an improvisation, and preparation is essential, but sometimes the piece goes in a different direction than expected. I think that the subconscious is at work here, or perhaps the Spirit, and one must not be deaf to these whispers.

Of all the music today, and much of it was very good, it was the song by Adam Tice that got to me. The text mostly covers ground well-worn by Psalm 23, and Ira Sankey with his old song “The ninety-and-nine,” which is a story told elsewhere in the Gospels, but it relates very well to the day's Old Testament Lesson (Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24), which is why I selected it. Near the end, Rev'd Tice writes:

Then with the wand'rers and the strays
that you have sought and found...

In the context of today's Gospel, it reminded me that should we be chosen to be at His right hand, it is by grace alone. We are, all of us, a company of “wand'rers and strays.”

From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony...

But oh! what art can teach
What human voice can reach
The sacred organ's praise?
Notes inspiring holy love,
Notes that wing their Heav'nly ways
To mend the choirs above.

Orpheus could lead the savage race;
And trees unrooted left their place;
Sequacious of the lyre:
But bright Cecilia rais'd the wonder high'r;
When to her organ, vocal breath was giv'n,
An angel heard, and straight appear'd
Mistaking earth for Heav'n.

(John Dryden, “A Song for St. Cecilia's Day”)
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173449

Thursday, November 20: St. Edmund

As a church musician, I find that I cannot keep the Real Sabbath, not if I am to play on the following day. And the Lord's Day is most decidedly not a day of rest. So, I do what I can by observing Thursday as a day of rest, set apart from the others.

I have recently read a fine little book: “The Sabbath,” by Abraham Joshua Heschel. He introduced me to the concept of welcoming the Holy Day as a visiting Queen, or a Bride, and expanded on what I already knew of the sanctification of Time, which we Christians carry forward by means of the Daily Office. A quote:

Holiness in space, in nature, was known in other religions. New in the teaching of Judaism was that the idea of holiness was gradually shifted from space to time, from the realm of nature to the realm of history, from things to events.

And that brings us to St. Edmund. King of East Anglia in a time of darkness, he strove to keep his people and the holy Faith alive in the face of overwhelming odds. And, so the story goes, he did: not by sword or victory, but by martyrdom, setting an example that no infidels could erase from the hearts of the people.

For we sanctify Time not only by prayer, but by action.

Friday, November 21: Tallis, Byrd, Merbecke

Here are men that I should certainly emulate. I am not so certain of their sanctity as the framers of the Episcopal Calendar in “Holy Men, Holy Women” seem, but they, and the other great composers, remind us that this work is not easy:

The Song does not come without cost; to do it well, it requires all that you are, every part of your being.... It is, in short, a little “martyrdom.” We give ourselves over to the Song, without regard for where it will lead us.

Friday is normally a good working day: the Rector has the day off, the office is usually quiet – and by this time in the week, I am most often desperately scrambling to prepare for Sunday. Top of the list: a full workout of the Bach, beginning to end.

But first... After Matins, I go to the kitchen. We had a dinner on Wednesday evening, and the youth group is selling Thanksgiving pies, delivering them this Sunday. They need refrigerator storage space, and the church refrigerator is packed. I begin pulling things out – almost-empty juice bottles, an uncovered pitcher of iced tea that has been in the back corner long enough to grow a layer of mold, bags of grapes many months old, salad dressings and milk and coffee cream (“half and half”) well beyond their “best by” date, much more. I end up with two trash bags full. I empty the dishwasher and dish drainer, I wash the cups and glasses left in the sink. I appropriate some of the Wednesday leftovers for my dinner. I try to think holy thoughts. This is important work: it is the Lord's House, and this is His kitchen. These cups and plates, this refrigerator, are as holy as the vessels of the Altar (as I think St. Benedict says, more or less). As children of the household, if we neglect to do our chores now, what will happen when we are There?

It is now 10:45, and I have not done any of my Good Habits (except Matins, and on this day the Great Litany). They are not going to happen today; Bach awaits.

I get my Full Workout, beginning to end, starting with the Fugue. It is solid, but the Toccata, untouched since Sunday evening, is not. I must “brush off the cobwebs” as I often tell the choir. It is enough; there is now the possibility of being ready to play the piece on Sunday.

The Toccata begins with a long tonic pedal point, fifty-four measures. Then (after a pedal solo) there is a dominant pedal point, another fifty-four measures. At the end of the Toccata, there is a majestic descent down the scale in the pedals to the low C, the dominant, and another pedal point, this one thirty measures (counting the octave leaps on C with which it ends), and Bach takes us toward the final cadence. With all this preparation, we need a thoroughgoing resolution, perhaps another pedal point on the tonic. We do not get it; all we have is one chord. At least it has a fermata.

The balance is not restored until the end of the Fugue, which (in the context of Sunday's liturgy) will be over an hour later, as the postlude. The final entry of the main fugal subject in the pedal is sufficient. When that pedal comes in on the low F with full organ, we have Arrived. It is a place where the organist always wishes there were one more stop, perhaps a 32' Montre like they have at the Tabernacle in Salt Lake City: they are the large pipes you can see in this photo.

For we have not in truth Arrived: that will happen only on the Last Day, when the sanctification of Time is complete: “I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last.” (Revelation 22:13)

Saturday, November 22: St. Cecilia

Sing for the morning's joy, Cecilia, sing,
In words of youth and phrases of the Spring;
Walk the bright colonnades by fountains' spray,
And sing as sunlight fills the waking day;
Till angels, voyaging in upper air
Pause on a wing and gather the clear sound
Into celestial joy, wound and unwound,
A silver chain, or golden as your hair.
(from "A Hymn to St. Cecilia" by Herbert Howells: text by Ursula Vaughan Williams)

I keep a Holy Card of this great Lady on the organ console to remind me of her every day when I climb onto the bench. This day especially, I seek her intercessions; there is Work to Do. But I open the day with what proves a grievous error: not only do I skip my Good Habits for yet another day, but I skip Matins in my haste to get on the bench.

The Toccata does not go well. I work on it for three hours. In the final slow playthrough, which is supposed to settle me down, I cannot play one passage at all (measures 223-4). Not even at half tempo. I am forced to stop and work on it with the rhythms and try to patch things up. The place may well be a Train Wreck tomorrow, a place where the piece comes apart and I am forced to stop. Shortly after, still in the playthrough, D. comes in the church. When I realize that he is there, I stop, though I do not want to, not in the middle.

In my evaluation on Tuesday, my lowest score was for displaying Poor Judgment, mostly in regard to these men from the street that I have helped. The Rector correctly observed that many of them are not genuine in their requests for help, and that they have caused me considerable emotional distress. And my friend N., who has helped me much in going Cold Turkey on helping these people financially, pointed out to me that the Diocesan Policy on sexual boundaries that we studied this Tuesday says that we are not to give money to anyone with whom we are in a ministry relationship. That includes D.

Lately, he has mostly come for prayer, not money: his mother died of cancer about a week ago, and he has other problems, such as an uncertain roof over his head and his constant struggle with drug addiction (he is doing fairly well these days, but “Every day is hard,” he says. I believe him. I think that his bereavement has been a strong push back toward the drugs, for they would ease the pain. So far, I think he has resisted.) Today he wanted money: I said no, telling him of the reasons above.

But I thought of tomorrow's Gospel, and St. Elizabeth, and St. James, whose Epistle we read this past week in the Office (chapter 2, verse 17: Faith without works is dead.)

I finish the Toccata's playthrough, exhausted in mind, body, and spirit.

Elizabeth, pray for us, that we may be Generous.
Edmond, pray for us, that we may be Brave.
Cecilia, pray for us, that we may Sing.

After some food and a cup of tea, I am back on the bench for the Fugue. It goes well; about an hour's work and it is done.

I see that this is my three hundredth post in the Music Box. Thank you all for reading it.

(to be continued)

We feebly struggle: they in glory shine

Monday, November 17: St. Hugh of Lincoln

This is Grocery Day, and a cold one; twenty-plus degrees below normal, blustery, snow flurries. No practice, no church work. I would love to be more like St. Hugh: cheerful, disciplined, fearless, a champion of the poor.

Tuesday, November 18: St. Hilda of Whitby

I would love to be more like St. Hilda, too. Few people have been as sensible and wise as this woman, “endowed with gifts of justice, prudence and strength” as her Collect says.

This is a work day, dominated by five hours of meetings: staff meeting, then mandatory child protection training. I was glad to do the latter in the company of my friends and colleagues instead of alone in front of a computer, as the training modules are intended to be used.

But no practicing. Not so much as a note.

Wednesday, November 19: St. Elizabeth of Hungary

I could see, barely, the possibility of becoming more like Hugh or Hilda. Elizabeth is so far beyond any possibility of emulation that I can only look on with what amounts to a schoolboy crush. I wrote of this on her Feast Day in 2008:

I must confess to having a bit of a crush on Elizabeth of Hungary, whose feast is today, and on certain other female saints. The feeling is very much akin to what I recall as a teenager, gazing with starry eyes at some of the older girls who seemed impossibly far above me, dwelling on some higher plane. As the years passed, I eventually realized that these girls of my youth were not on some higher plane – some of them just liked to act as if they were. But Elizabeth of Hungary? Dame Julian? Dorothy Day? Cecilia? Agnes? Joan of Arc? Mary Magdalene? Martha of Bethany? And, most of all, Mary the Mother of God?

“We feebly struggle: they in glory shine....”

At last, a day for practice. But not so fast... first, there is Matins. This being Wednesday, I then reset the chairs in the choir room for Youth Choir.

On the bus this morning, I completed “The Technique and Art of Playing the Organ” by Clarence Dickinson, which I recommend as the finest organ instruction book that I have encountered. And it is free.

It was published in 1922, so some of his recommendations must be taken with a grain of salt, especially on the playing of hymns. Even here, it is good to recall how it was done in those days. I can remember some of the most distinguished Old Timers in the 1970's who still played in the manner he describes, considerably more straight-laced than what one would hear from the best modern players, such as John Ferguson or David Cherwien.

There is one chapter that is a Must Read for those working toward the AGO exams: the chapter on Choral Accompaniments. Dickinson clearly and logically describes the procedures of adapting a piano accompaniment (which was probably a reduction from orchestral score) to the organ.

Another strength lies in his musical examples, which form the bulk of the volume. He prints short passages from the standard repertoire – some of it things that are no longer played, but much of it from Bach and Mendelssohn – passages isolated for their technical challenges and in this context, the finest of etudes for skill development.

I determined to spend some time with this book at the organ, for I have neglected my technical equipment. It has been years since I have systematically played pedal scales, or pedal arpeggios (such as one finds in the Bach Toccata).

And that gave me impetus to return to the neglected Good Habit of daily work on sight-singing and vocal technique, and the box of anthems. Almost as soon as I wrote about it here, the habit fell aside. I was too busy, I thought, with the preparations for the Howells canticles and the Victoria Requiem and the Phillips “Sine Nomine.” And, always, the Bulletins.

No time like the present: after resetting the choir room, I spent a few minutes on these things, with the intent of heading for the organ bench as soon as I checked e-mail and the Net.

That went smoothly enough until I felt moved to write an extended comment on Father Tim's blog. I am glad that I did, not least because it helped in my mental preparations for today's Annual Performance Review, my first with the current Rector, but the writing took about a half-hour.

Finally, Bach in hand, I made it to the bench, with about ninety minutes before the aforementioned Review. But first, the Dickenson: “If I don't do it now, when will I do it? Next week will be just as busy, and after that we are in Advent.” Five minutes on a page of finger-substitution exercises... and then, at last, the Bach Fugue. As with the Toccata, I started with the hard part, the final pages where the pedal returns and the two subjects are combined. It came together with remarkable ease. Rev'd R. came through, and I sought her intercessions for my Review; I was very nervous about it. Thanks be to God, it went well: the Rector treated me like a professional and a colleague rather than a recalcitrant child.

In the afternoon, I made it back to the bench and made it most of the way through a First Workout on the Fugue, plus review of anthem accompaniments for tonight's adult rehearsal. It was a Good Day's work as Organist.

Then, it was time to put on my other hat: Choirmaster. We had good rehearsals today. Time is short so I will say no more – but I must mention Evening Prayer. I went upstairs for the service, normally led by others, and found a group of four college students putting on their coats and leaving. It was the same group that had come for the morning Eucharist the day that we did not have it, and here they were for Evening Prayer, a regularly scheduled service on our website and our calendar – and no one was there. “A man came through and turned out the lights, and told us there was no service.” I led them back in the church, turned on the lights, and we had the Office. I told them that this was an essential aspect of the Anglican Way; I am not sure they believed me, not seeing anyone there for this service that I claimed was important.

(to be continued)

Toccata in F: a beginning

Friday, November 14

Last weekend after the problem with the pedal couplers on All Saints' Day, I told Jean that I would have to cancel the F Major Toccata (BWV 540) that was on my schedule for the Sunday of Christ the King, November 23. I had wanted to play it for the reasons I described three years ago:

The Bach Toccata in F, with its Fugue, is the best response to [the Lessons for the Day] that I can make with the music available to me. The Toccata is boundless joy, the serious and all-consuming joy that is characteristic of the praise of God, the working out of one of the grandest ideas in all of Bach's music. The Fugue is more solemn. In the context of this service, I hope that it can be an expression (insofar as humanly possible) of the majesty of our Lord Jesus Christ at the right hand of God, sitting as righteous Judge of all the earth. When the two subjects combine in the final pages of the fugue, it is inexpressibly majestic, and causes me to consider the completion of the purposes of God, determined before the foundation of the earth.

These words are but a stammering and inadequate attempt to say what cannot be said. Yet, dust and ashes that we are, we must say something. No: we must sing something, and in this case, instrumental music has the advantage that it sings without words. And we cannot, for this occasion, play it safe; we must “sing... with all [our] skill.” This piece is right on the edge of my capabilities; that makes it just about right.

But without that top F in the pedal, the piece is impossible. Or so I thought.

This afternoon after working on this Sunday's voluntaries and hymns, I took another look. I had been thinking of the place in the second pedal solo where the top F is critical: two notes in measure 155, in the second pedal solo. But I had thought there were more places. No: that measure is the only time in the piece that the note appears. And my hands are free, more or less (I am hanging on to the cheekblocks as one does with pedal solos, to help pivot across the pedalboard). I tried it: Yes, I can free my left hand for those two notes and play them on the manual at the same time they are played in the pedal. Further, the two broken Great-to-Pedal stickers in the middle of the range do not irredeemably disfigure the fugue; I was worried about that, too.

So, to work!

One thing I have learned is that it is well to start with the hardest part of the piece. For me, that is measure 270 to 287 and 331 to 349, both passages in the Toccata. Having only about two hours left in the day, I did a First Workout on this section: measures 270 through 349. (The Toccata runs to 438 measures, about ten minutes of duration). It was hard, slow work, even with the rhythmic practice that I love. But it was a start.

Saturday, November 15

Even with Sunday in the wings, I start the day's practicing with the Toccata. Another lesson I have learned is that I should do the Second Workout on the previous day's work before moving on to other parts of the piece, so I did: just one hour this time, instead of yesterday's two.

Then I built around the bit that was now starting to be secure: I added new phrases at the end (starting with measure 350), and after each new section, I played the whole bit (measures 270 to where I had gotten). Then I added some more, finishing that section's work with another full playthrough.

Once I reached the end, I started adding sections in front of the part I had learned, still finishing each new section with a playthrough, now from the new section to the end of the toccata.

About five hours later, I made it to the beginning: the First Workout is done (with a second workout on the hardest part).

With this type of extended work, I must get off the bench every hour. I have a stretching routine that I use which takes three or four minutes, and that gets me ready for another hour. So long as I do this, I can play all day. If I don't, I collapse after three hours or so and earn a sore back, sore wrists and forearms, and have to be extra careful the next day.

I still had Sunday's preparations to complete, so that was enough of Bach. This was a night when I was staying at the church because of weather, so I was free to work on into the evening – indeed, I was glad to be at the bench, because a jazz drummer was practicing in the choir room, loudly.

Sunday, November 16

I made it back to the bench about 3:00: time for the Second Workout on the bulk of the Toccata. Because Saturday's work had mostly been backwards (adding on from the end, back to the front of the piece), today I started at the beginning. I worked in my usual manner: one phrase slowly, then in the rhythms, then in tempo: the next phrase in the same way: the two phrases together in tempo, and so on.

On the second and subsequent workout of a piece this long, it does not work to keep starting clear back at the beginning after adding each new phrase. The Toccata can be thought of as two smaller pieces: the initial two-voice counterpoint over pedal points with the two long pedal solos, up through measure 175 (where I make a manual change, going from Swell to Great), and the rest of the piece. So once I had worked the first “piece,” I considered measure 176 a fresh start and no longer returned to measure one.

Shortly after I began, a woman entered the church and sat in the back row, in the shadows, her head down, obviously praying or thinking. I kept playing. She stayed, sometimes sobbing loudly. Should I stop? Here she was, pouring her heart out to God, and she couldn't even have a quiet church to pray. And she wasn't even having good music – I was by the time she arrived deep into the first pedal solo, working it slowly, then with the rhythms, then longer chunks of it. But I had to do this work; the way the week is looking, I doubt that I will be on the bench at all until Wednesday, if then, and the Toccata had to have its second workout done so it wouldn't slip away from me.

As I played, I sought guidance from the Spirit, and the best I could tell, the word was “Play on.”

I prayed that the beautiful sane purity of the Bach, even as it lay before this woman in the workshop with the hood up and parts all over the place, might be a channel for grace. At the least I could join my music-as-prayer with hers: “Thy kingdom come,” the day when our Friend and Father wipes away every tear.

She stayed for more than two hours, and slipped out somewhere around measure 380. I made it to the end by about 6:30, but one step remained: the final play-through at half tempo. “Do I have to?” I whined. “That will take twenty minutes!” And it did. But as soon as I started the opening measures, I knew that this was right: I needed this play-through to settle the day's work, the weekend's work, into place.

The slow play-through is a lesson from Virgil Fox, who insisted on it with any piece that was technically challenging or fast. He was right, as usual. After hours of work on a piece like this, the nerves are jangly, the adrenaline is flowing. The slow playing settles the mind and body, a cooling-off time like walking around after running. As I play, I seek to focus on each note, seeking to fix it in my memory.

The Toccata feels solid. If I can get even one more solid workout on it next Saturday, I think it will be fine. Two workouts this week would be better. But there is still the Fugue.

-------
This was a day when the Youth Choir and Adult Choir combined, singing a setting of Psalm 124 written for our parish by the noted composer Samuel Adler – and Dr. Adler was here. He listened to our rehearsal and spoke briefly to the choir, especially the young choristers. We did not work much on the piece (today, that is: we started it in August for the Youth Choir!), because we spent most of our half-hour on the plainsong gradual, Psalm 90. It needed the work, and did not go well in the service – a few of the choristers did not watch me for the break at the asterisk, not even after they had missed the first one, coming in for the second half ahead of the choir. But overall, it was a good morning.

I leave you with another piano improvisation, the prelude for the middle service. Our opening hymn was the first one in the “green book,” the “Wonder, Love and Praise” supplement. I consider the text to be weak, but it fit the day and season. And the tune is anything but weak: it is the magnificent Welsh tune Ton-y-botel. In this context, it needed a quiet and dark setting, so I tried to provide it. The form is a set of variations, one or two of them straying rather far from the tune, and a bridge taking it into the dominant key for a couple of the variations.

Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme

“Sleepers, wake!” A voice astounds us,
the shout of rampart guards surrounds us:
“Awake, Jerusalem, arise!”

With this hymn (number 61 in the Hymnal 1982), we began today's Eucharist, and what the Rector is calling “Extended Advent.” We labelled this day the “Third Sunday before Advent.” The liturgical color was red; the Celebrant used the marvelous Proper Preface for Advent:

Because thou didst send thy beloved Son to redeem us from sin and death, and to make us heirs in him of everlasting life; that when he shall come again in power and great triumph to judge the world, we may without shame or fear rejoice to behold his appearing.

The Collect and Lessons for the Day already follow this train of thought, and look toward “that blessed hope, and the glorious appearing of the great God and our Saviour Jesus Christ” (Titus 2:13). The Gospel, St. Matthew 25:1-13, most powerfully encourages us to “Watch... for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh” (v. 13).

It is unpopular in liberal circles to mention the Second Coming of Christ. But these three weeks declare it plainly in Scripture and thus in hymnody. I will say no more: the Second Coming is one of the Secrets of God, like the Virgin Birth and the Resurrection – secrets hidden from the seminary professors and scholars but clear to the simplest believer.

Instead, I will give you another improvisation.

This was the prelude to this morning's middle service. It is, perhaps, a demonstration that the Sonata First-Movement form is not so hard to use as one might think. Nor is it limited to fast tempi; the form is strong for slow movements as well as fast. “Wachet auf” lends itself to this form because of its length.

The plan:

Key of A flat major

Exposition:
First Theme: the A section of the tune, repeated, in the tonic key (A flat)
Second Theme: the B section, in the dominant (E flat)

Development – various keys

Recapitulation: the A section in the tonic (just once, not repeated), the B section also in the tonic.
Coda – continuing in the tonic.

It is possible for the Recapitulation to be an exact return of the Exposition. That is hard for the improvisor, at least this one – my memory is insufficient. But the musical result is often superior when the Recapitulation is varied somewhat from the version in the Exposition. That is fortunate.

What about the Development?
It turns out that this is the easiest part of all. One simply disassembles the tune and plays around with the motives with the freedom to combine them, move them around through various keys, and “develop” them in whatsoever way seems best. The danger: It is easy to get going on this and lose track of time, and of the form. The Development must remain in scale with the Exposition and it must not degenerate into formless wandering-around. The other challenge is to bring it back to the Recapitulation in a satisfying manner.

I leave you with the Collect of the Day, one of my favorites:

O God, whose blessed Son was manifested that he might destroy the works of the devil and make us the children of God and heirs of eternal life: Grant us, we beseech thee, that, having this hope, we may purify ourselves even as he is pure; that, when he shall appear again with power and great glory, we may be made like unto him in his eternal and glorious kingdom; where with thee, O Father, and thee, O Holy Ghost, he liveth and reigneth ever, one God, world without end. Amen.

For the church musician, “extended Advent” is appropriate. By the time we have passed All Saints' Day, we are up to our eyebrows in rehearsal and preparation for Advent and Christmas. And it is, at least in part, through the discipline of practice and rehearsal and score study that “we may purify ourselves even as he is pure” during these weeks.

May it be so for all of you.

For all the saints

It has been a busy fortnight.

Last Sunday, we had Choral Matins for the first time in this parish for many years. For the occasion, we sang the Howells “Collegium Regale” morning canticles – the justly famous Te Deum, and the less-often performed Jubilate.

We had known of this service for less than a month, and prepared the music in three rehearsals, at the same time as we were working on the Victoria Requiem for a service tonight, November 2, and a challenging anthem for this morning's Eucharist. It was almost more than we could handle. The three rehearsals were tense, often discouraging. I was much aware that these choristers are all volunteers, free to walk away at any time, and I feared that some of them might. As it transpired, we were further hindered by illness and other circumstances; on the day of the Howells, our choir of fifteen singers numbered only ten. When we learned that morning that one of our strong sopranos had laryngitis, and another was out of town, one of the altos, Kay, graciously moved to soprano at the warmup rehearsal and sight-read the part. Without her, we could not have done it. Without the hard work of all ten of these choristers, we could not have done it.

It was not without flaws, but the choir sang from the heart and there were some fine moments.

And then, on to this Sunday's Requiem, the four-voice setting by Tomás Luis de Victoria. We sang it in place of our normal First Sunday Choral Evensong, with our rector, L.L., providing good leadership in the High Church manner. The Altar was moved to its proper position so that she could face liturgical East for the Eucharistic Prayer as is meet and right, assisted by Deacon and Subdeacon, with plenty of incense.

We do not normally have services like this in our parish.

The Victoria was, like the Howells, not without flaws. But it was pretty good; the liturgy as a whole was very good.

From the Organist's point of view, the Howells was challenging to play, and its preparation kept me from advance work on today's voluntaries: the Leo Sowerby setting of “Sine Nomine,” a setting of the same tune by Craig Phillips (of which more later), and tonight's postlude, the Messiaen “Apparition de l'eglise éternelle.” As of Friday morning, I had done first workouts of only the final six-page fugue of the Phillips, the last two pages of the Sowerby, and I had not touched the Messiaen. I have played all three pieces before, and they had good fingerings and registrations in place; otherwise, they would have been impossible. Even so, it was a lot of work for two days.

It came to a climax on Saturday. I spent the day on the bench, much of it on the first eleven pages of the Phillips (both a first and second workout that day, sandwiched around the Sowerby, and about fifteen minutes on a few measures of the Messiaen, and some work on the hymns and anthem accompaniment). Late in the day, the Swell to Pedal coupler malfunctioned; when engaged, it has been causing the middle F to “blip” momentarily. Now, the F was not blipping; it was sticking on, firm and immobile until the coupler was removed. I could not play any of this music without the pedal coupler.

So, the clock ticking away, I climbed into the organ. It was clear what was happening – the wooden sticker that engages the coupler for that note had come loose and was blocking the tail of the key up. I removed the offending sticker – easily done, but it meant that the note no longer had its coupler. The loose backfall looked like it might want to rub its neighbor, but it cannot be removed without much trouble, far more than I can handle, and the “repair,” such as it was, had to suffice. When I went back around to play the instrument, it seemed all right.

Sunday morning arrived, and the service went well. The Sowerby went well, the choir sang its anthem, “At the round earth's imagin'd corners” by Lee Hoiby, very well, the hymnody was good, and it came time for the Phillips.

As you will hear in the linked recording, there is a soft section about two-thirds of the way through where the pedal has the melody on a 4' stop, very exposed, with repeated use of the F. It chose this moment to lock up, as I had feared – when I played F, that loose backfall hung on its neighboring E and both pitches played. It took me most of the exposed passage to figure out that when I tapped the note a second time, it would clear.

I have nonetheless posted the recording on YouTube for several reasons. Partly, I think that I played it fairly well, despite the ugly “car horn” effect of those F/E double-notes. More to the point, I consider it a fine piece of music, and would recommend it to other organists. I do not know if it is published, but if it isn't, the composer would gladly sell you a copy, and would be pleased to hear of your interest.

Most of all, in playing it (and in posting it here) I sought to honor my friend D.D., for whom it was written upon his retirement a few years ago. I well remember the night when it was first performed, in a splendid reading by Brett Wolgast – a far better performance than what you hear in my video.

In my years at this parish, D.D. has been a constant support and encouragement. Without him and a few other friends, I would have thrown in the towel a few years ago.
---
The Pilcher is starting to have a number of action problems, of which the adventure with the F is the latest. I do not know what to do; in sum, they are more than I can deal with myself. I have asked – twice – a young local technician to come and work on the instrument; he does not appear to be interested. There is a fine and experienced organ man in the community who used to work on the instrument, but is nowadays physically unable to contort himself into it. I could bring the fellows from Bedient back over, and pay milage from Nebraska for a service call. They would probably want to do thousands of dollars of work on the action.

For now, I will see if I can keep it patched up.