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)

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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.

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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