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)