Now the day is over

Now the day is over,
night is drawing nigh,
Shadows of the evening
steal across the sky
(Sabine Baring-Gould)

Once a year, we combine the Youth Choir and Adult Choir for Choral Evensong. Today was the day, the Last Sunday after the Epiphany.

The music list:
Smith Preces and Responses
“Hail, gladdening light” (C. Lang)
Psalms for the Second Evening (12, 13, 14, to Anglican chant)
Stanford in A
“O nata lux” (Tallis)
Hymn: “Now the day is over”

Some of our choristers know some of this music from RSCM courses, especially the Smith. That helped. And the youth choir has been working hard on this music since the first of January, especially the Stanford – the Magnificat is a handful.

Not least for the Organist. Jean L., who is a member of our parish, choir mother, and top-notch organist, played the Stanford and directed the Lang. With her at the organ, I was able to conduct, and that helped the younger choristers sing with more confidence.

The Lessons:
Ecclesiasticus 48:1-11
II Corinthians 3:7-18

… and all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit (v. 17-18)

We set up with the adults in the Choir (padded red chairs on the Cantoris side, by the organ) and the youth across from them on the Decani side in black plastic Wenger chairs from the choir room, forming a divided choir. As we rehearsed before the evensong, the afternoon sun shone through the stained glass onto the trebles. Looking at them, it seemed as if they were blazing with glory. As I directed them, my eyes blurry with tears, I felt as though this was as much of the “glory of the Lord” as can be borne in this mortal life. John of the Cross would warn “Do not be attached to this. Shut your eyes and ears to it, for it is nothing,” and he is, in a sense, right, for the Lord is not in the music, nor in these children, nor in the sunlight, nor even in the Scripture and liturgy. But I would submit that all these things are nonetheless windows into the “bright cloud” of glory and I am going to pay attention to them.

Old friends, old scenes will lovelier be
As more of Thee in each we see...
(John Keble, “New every morning is the love”)

There was no conductor for the Psalms. I told them to watch each other and listen, and that sufficed. I directed the Smith, the Stanford, and the Tallis; Jean directed the Lang. As is usual for Evensong rehearsals, there was barely enough time to touch on everything. We did not go all the way through the Psalmody, and did little more than a single run-through on the other music, except the Tallis (which got a second sing-through and could have used more. Some of the cross-relations in the inner parts are tricky). And even so, we ran overtime, which meant starting the service late. I had a twelve-minute prelude (“Fugue, Chorale, and Epilogue” by Howells), and did not begin it until almost 5:00, the stated hour for the service.

Jesus, give the weary
calm and sweet repose;
With thy tenderest blessing
may our eyelids close.

Music is important. Liturgy is important. But there is a sense in which the most important role of the evening was played by Charles C., who was appointed to “Meet the Pizza.” He had to leave the service early to wait for the Pizza Guy, who delivered seven large ones. After the service, the Youth Choir and their parents devoured every one; not so much as a crumb remained. Meanwhile, the Adult Choir and the small congregation had their usual after-Evensong wine-and-cheese reception upstairs. I shuttled between both locations. Both upstairs and down (with the pizza), people were saying “I wish we could do this more often. Can't the children sing every month for evensong?”

Claire L. (a first-year chorister) had the most perceptive comment to this: “We could, if we had two rehearsals a week. Otherwise, no. It is too much music to learn.” Well, yes. And if we rehearsed every day, we could sing evensong several times a week. And if we were selective and had auditions and a probationer's choir and a choir school, we could sing evensong six nights a week and the Eucharist on Sunday.

But that is not where we are. I most fervently wish we could have two rehearsals a week, and perhaps I sell these choristers short by not demanding it of them. Their school choirs and their athletic teams demand much more than this. Why not the church choir?

My hunch is that we are better to cast the net more widely, even if by so doing we cannot give the choristers as deep and full of an experience as I would wish. There are many children who have gone through the choral program here, and (at least in recent years) they have had a little taste of Evensong, and of other quality choral music. Some will forget all about it. But for some, it will be an abiding memory, perhaps even a hunger. There have been many long years when I hungered for Evensong and could come no closer than listening to the BBC Choral Evensong broadcasts and singing for a week at an RSCM course. It would not have happened in our parish without the confluence of Fr. S., interim priest and firm believer in the Daily Offices and Evensong, and me, a director willing to cooperate with him. His successor was lukewarm at best to the Choral Offices, and mused out loud on many occasions that Choral Evensong was “poor stewardship of our resources.”

Grant to little children
visions bright of thee;
Guard the sailors tossing
on the deep blue sea.

“I hope you know how special this is,” I told the choristers as we finished our rehearsal. When they leave this community (as most of them will), they are not likely to find another choir that sings regular evensongs, especially with combined children, youth, and adults. I think of Meg W., who was Officiant and Preacher tonight. She is on her way toward priesthood, and when she gets there, she will see how difficult it is to make something like tonight come to pass. “Remember this day,” I told her as we sat at pizza, watching the children play across the room. I am sure that she will.

Choral Evensong is disappearing, or so one might think. But in this place, and in a few other places (notably, the RSCM courses), we continue to cast the seed. For a long time, there will be a few people who remember how glorious it was. And some of them may find opportunity to give it a fresh start.

Comfort every sufferer
watching late in pain;
Those who plan some evil
from their sin restrain.

After the reception, after the pizza dinner, I puttered around, carrying chairs back to the choir room, setting the church up for the Tuesday morning Eucharist. And tackling yet another bulletin. “Remember this day.” I will long remember those children blazing in glory as they sang the Stanford. And the energy of the Smith preces – “O Lord, open thou our lips: And our mouth shall shew forth thy praise.” And the careful intensity of the Psalmody. They came together, these two groups who do not normally rehearse together, and sang the psalms as if they do it every evening. And, maybe most of all, the closing hymn. I scheduled it because I am sure that none of our children have ever encountered it. And they should have the chance to sing it, at least this once. After a couple of stanzas, when it was properly established, I let them sing unaccompanied.

Through the long night watches
may thine angels spread
Their white wings above me,
watching round my bed.

Maybe it is too old-fashioned for modern children. Maybe it deserves to disappear.
But not just yet. This night and in this place, at least, it continued to live.

When the morning wakens,
then may I arise
Pure and fresh and sinless
in thy holy eyes.