Of Trees, Guerrilla Gardening, and Bach

Not long ago, I compared the organ or piano prelude to the opera overture. It can introduce music that will be heard later, but most of all it is the first voice speaking into the silence, establishing the spiritual framework. In the liturgy, the prelude has a major role in telling the people where they are in the church year.

Today, the Seventh Sunday of Easter and the Sunday after Ascension Day, is a gentle day that is filled with joy, and the Bach prelude that I offered captures the spirit of the day. It is a trio, and I find such music extremely difficult. But working on it makes me a better organist (I hope!).

Bach: Chorale Prelude on Herr Jesu Christ, dich zu uns wend (BWV 655)

I will also post our Anthem, which was a setting of verses from Psalm 1 by the composer Amy Scurria: And he shall be like a tree

Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful. But his delight is in the law of the Lord; and in his law doth he meditate date and night. And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper. (Psalm 1:1-3)

There appears to be only one other YouTube performance of this anthem, and ours is quite different from the other: sufficient reason to post it.


Several times during the day, I passed a lonely seedling in its plastic starter container. It was on a table in the undercroft, where someone must have forgotten it.”Lavender,” the little plastic stick said, and the leaves had its distinctive aroma. The little thing was perhaps two inches tall. No one (except me, and some of the jazz students) will likely come that way until next weekend. Without water, without light... I could not leave it to die.

So, after Compline and organ practice, I took it into the church courtyard as night fell, found a trowel, and planted it, watering it from an empty lemonade bottle. I chose a place where I hope it can get established before The Powers That Be discover it. They might rip it out and destroy it; I would not be at all surprised. But I have given it a chance.

There was a time when I gardened. Today was the first time I have set a seedling into the ground for better than fifteen years. That is something I have sacrificed to be here. For a while I hoped that we could someday retire to The Farm, back in the mountains. I daydreamed of planting chestnuts on the hills where they were once the dominant tree, taking a part in the restoration of Castanea dentata to its proper place in the forest. The years have passed, and with it any realistic possibility of doing such things.

But “we are not bound for ever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory.” (Aragorn son of Arathorn).

St. Francis, and the End of the World

Piano improvisation on the tune Llanfair (Hail the day that sees him rise)

Lord, beyond our mortal sight,
raise our hearts to reach thy height,
there thy face unclouded see,
find our heaven of heavens in thee.