Back to the BCP

I stayed with the Roman Catholic breviary for about three weeks.
The deciding factors for my return to the Book of Common Prayer Daily Office are three:
- Continuous reading of Scripture, including the Gospels as well as Old Testament and Epistles
- Continuous reading of the Psalmody, including the untidy bits
- The "Rite One" traditional language, and the Authorized/King James Biblical texts

There was a point to Cranmer's reform of the Offices, and not just the benefit of putting them into the vernacular. In the Anglican forms, I think that one gets a better overall formation in Scripture than one would get from the Roman Catholic version, simply by the repeated reading of whole books of the Bible over the years, and reading them from an actual Bible, not broken up into little bits and disconnected from the rest of the Story. There is not enough continuity in the Roman Offices to get a sense of any of the Scriptural books as a whole. And (as I said in the previous posting) no Gospels, beyond disconnected single verses in the Hours other than the Office of Readings. That could all be corrected by additional study outside of the Hours, but I can see that I would not make the time to do that.

And I am an old dog; I do not easily learn new tricks. Better for me to stay with what has brought me thus far.

Liturgy of the Hours: another approach

I have been praying the Daily Office according to the use of the Episcopal Church for most of my adult life. Daily Matins in the Rite One traditional language is part of what made me an Episcopalian, when I was in a congregation where weekday Matins was significant, with eight or ten people gathered every morning. And I hardly need mention Choral Evensong, which is pretty much the rest of what made me an Episcopalian.

It may thus be surprising that I am trying something different. As of this past Monday, the day after Whitsunday, I have moved to the Roman Catholic Liturgy of the Hours. An experiment, one might say.

Some years ago, I was with my sister at a thrift store in suburban Maryland. There on the shelf was a complete four-volume set of the Liturgy of the Hours, eighty cents per volume. As I learned, it had been in the care (I almost wrote “belonged,” but such things do not “belong” to anyone) of Alfonso Sanchez, S.J. – a Jesuit. From the looks of these volumes, he did not mess around; they are thoroughly well used. As they should be: Roman Catholic clergy and religious are bound by solemn vow to the observance of the Hours. But not laymen; that was left for the genius of Cranmer, who envisioned a church where everyone from peasant to queen would daily gather for Matins and Evensong in their parish churches and chapels. It has not turned out that way, unfortunately.

Once before I dipped my toe into these volumes for a week while on vacation, hastening back to the familiar Comfortable Words of the BCP when I returned home. But now that I am no longer responsible for leading public Matins in the church (excepting Sundays), the door is open for me to try this at greater length. So, on Monday, off I went: Volume III, Ordinary Time weeks 1 through 17.

Some preliminary observations:
- The rhythm of the day is different, heavily front-loaded (if one does the Office of Readings back to back with Morning Prayer, which I gather is common). Not so much in the evening; there is Evening Prayer, but it is much more lightweight than Anglican Evensong. One could place the Office of Readings there, I suppose; it can happen at any point of the day or night.
- The language is thoroughly pedestrian: ICEL texts for the liturgy, New American Bible for the scriptures, the Grail Psalter. It is a far cry from the BCP Rite One, but would probably flow naturally enough for someone inured to BCP’s Rite Two. The level of non-inclusivity for language about humankind is striking for someone who has been in a different environment for years, but these volumes date from the 1970’s, before that became a significant issue in most places. The ones I have may indeed be obsolete; I do not know if these texts were revised when they renewed (and greatly improved) the Mass translation a few years ago.
- There is a lot of Psalmody. Three psalms (or parts of longer psalms) at each office, including the Little Offices during the day. Overall, there is a four-week cycle which (at least in Ordinary Time) carries on independently of the cycle of Sundays and weekdays. Excepting on feasts and saints’ days, of which more below. I have not looked, but my suspicion is that some of the psalms show up more than once in the four weeks, otherwise it would feel more equal in weight to the Cranmerian system of reading it all through beginning to end every month, which system I have followed all these years. [Edited to add: There are a good many Canticles added to the mix, some of them familiar to Episcopalians from Rite Two Matins, many others in similar vein from Old and New Testaments. There may be enough of these to add 30% or 40% to the Psalter, and account for why the amount of psalmody feels like more than the BCP. It is definitely a lot more than the psalmody appointed in the BCP's Daily Office Lectionary, a six week cycle based on similar principles as the Roman Catholic approach, aiming to place psalms where they best fit in the rhythms of the day and week]
- But they leave out some of the juicy parts. I was shocked to learn some years ago that the Benedictines (and presumably others) omit the verses about your dogs drinking the blood of your enemies and the happiness of those who bash infants against the stones. And so they do; we had Psalm 69 this week – much of it, that is; not all.
- And there is not much Scripture. For all of the Hours excepting the Office of Readings, there is one little snippet, one or two verses in the manner of what we have in BCP Compline. Fine for meditation, but not much meat to it.
- In the Office of Readings, there are two lessons of more proper length, similar in size to the BCP Daily Office lessons. But no Gospels! Best I can tell in Volume III, not once in these seventeen weeks, other than little snippets in the other Hours. The norm is a lesson from the Old Testament or Epistles followed by a reading from the Church Fathers, generally relating to the Scriptural lesson just read or (on saints’ days) to the commemoration. I hope that I am mistaken about the absence of the Gospels. I am nervous from stepping so far away from Holy Scripture, which has brought me thus far in conversion of life.

And that brings me to what may be the most significant point for my ongoing use of these books: it presumes a context that does not exist for me, of daily attendance at Mass, which is where they are assuming you will hear the Gospel. It presumes that one will more properly feed upon Holy Scripture outside of the Hours, for example in Lectio Divina at some point during the day. I could do this, and must if I continue this path. But the thorough reading of pretty much all of the Old and New Testaments in a two year cycle, with the Gospels more often than that, is one of the treasures of the Anglican/Episcopal approach, seen all the more clearly by comparison to the Roman Catholic method.

In a similar vein, there are no Creeds, and no confession in the Liturgy of the Hours. Again, it presumes that you will have the Credo at Mass (at least on Sundays and major feasts) – and the Catholics have their own way of dealing with Confession, which for a religious or clergy, is indeed Confession with capital “C.” Not a general confession said by all together in the liturgy.

After two or three days I began to find my way through the services well enough. Then came the first exception: the memorial of the Venerable Bede, Priest and Doctor, May 25. The saints’ days are in a different part of the book, with their own texts, and much flipping of pages. Part of the propers come from the Common of Doctors of the Church (page 1763 and following) or the Common of Holy Men, Religious (page 1858 and following). Or for what they call “memorials” and we call “lesser feasts” one can go ahead with parts of the normal daily texts. But not all. I sat down at home for Morning Prayer that day, a Friday – when I had overslept; it was already nearly sunrise when I did this, and I needed to get on the road to the church and my duties – and I almost threw up my hands and quit. It was complex, and took much longer to find the right things, I was in a hurry, and not very recollected spiritually.

Whatever form is followed, the Officium is like that sometimes.

But the second reading at the Office of Readings (once I got to it) was a wonderful letter on the death of Saint Bede, by Cuthbert, which made my day. Oh how I want to be someone like that!

One gains appreciation for what Cranmer meant in his preface to the First Book of Common Prayer (our BCP, page 866) where he wrote that in the medieval Office “… that to turn the book only, was so hard and intricate a matter, that many times, there was more business to find out what should be read, than to read it when it was found out.” I said an “Amen” to that on Friday. The Daily Office in the Anglican/Episcopal manner can be prayed by any layman who can read even a little: I remember a young gentleman back on the island where I first encountered these things who could indeed barely read; his schooling had ended with the third grade. But he could puzzle out the scriptures in the Authorized Version and the liturgical texts in the Rite One language well enough to read lessons at Matins and sometimes serve as Officiant, and he found it worth his while to do so. It is a person like him that Archbishop Cranmer had in mind as the foundation of the Anglican Church. In the Roman Catholic form, one must be considerably more determined, ready to pore over the rubrics and flip lots of pages, or receive good instruction, or best of all, the modelling of one’s elders in the religious house where one is discovering this manner of prayer. To be fair, the normal garden-variety Ferial Day is not that hard to follow in the Roman books – but there are a lot of saints’ days.

One last surprise: the hymnody. Large amounts of it: a hymn at each of the Hours. I am a little disappointed that the great corpus of Latin office hymnody is largely absent (excepting Night Prayer, where several of the greatest office hymns are given in Latin as well as English), but on the whole the selections were well chosen, with good representation of then-modern authors such as Fred Pratt Green and Fred Kaan. It surprises me how “Protestant” the hymnody is; there is little difference from what one would find in a Presbyterian or Methodist hymnal of the period. For example, the hymn for Morning Prayer on the memorial of Saint Bede was "For all the saints" (page 1864) by the Anglican bishop W. W. How, tune Sine Nomine by the English agnostic R. Vaughan Williams. But for the Latin office hymns, our Hymnal 1982 is a better source.

While it is convenient to have the hymn text right there with the office, I worry about having the selections fixed in place for who knows how long. Have they revised these since the 1970’s? For one thing, there has been a lot of excellent Roman Catholic work since then which should have a place here, to say nothing of hymnody from other sources – world music, for example, entirely absent from these pages. Again, that was barely on the radar in the 1970’s.

But one week does not give me the right to pass judgment; I submit my reflections with humility, knowing that much would become clear only with continued use. I hope to stay with it through the summer and perhaps through all of Ordinary Time, but not beyond that unless I have a change of heart. It is instructive, and is helping me to a better understanding of my own tradition.

[Edited 6/17/18 to add: I didn't make it even one month; back to the BCP for me, though with an increased understanding of the Daily Office in both its Roman and Anglican forms. More on this in the next posting.]

Matins: some Considerations

The Holy Eucharist, the principal act of Christian worship on the Lord’s Day and other major Feasts, and Daily Morning and Evening Prayer, as set forth in this Book, are the regular services appointed for public worship in this Church. (Book of Common Prayer p. 13, the first sentence of the Book after its contents, certificate, and preface)

Earlier this summer, I suspended the public weekday observance of Matins (Morning Prayer). There were reasons for this, and reasons why I thought the suspension would be permanent.

For our parish, the story began with Fr. Sanderson in the autumn of 2000 when he arrived as interim priest-in-charge. He was determined to pray Matins and Evensong every day in the parish church as is meet and right, and in obedience to his ordination vows in the Church of England. The Vestry opposed him on this, claiming (with some justification) that the establishment of times for worship was their prerogative. He ignored them, noting that he would open the doors and pray the Office whether they liked it or not and whether they listed the Offices on the calendar as public services or not.

Several parishioners joined Fr. Sanderson for the Daily Office, most of them from the Brotherhood of St. Andrew and Daughters of the King, with the best attendance at daily Evensong which at times ran to five or six persons. Matins settled into a regular gathering of three: Fr. Sanderson, Bill (a member of a neighboring parish who worked in our city at the university), and me.

When Fr. Sanderson departed, several of us took the responsibility of continuing the Office. Charles, Delbert, and Grace (may she rest in peace) led the daily Evensongs; I led Matins, excepting two Saturdays a month when the Brotherhood and DOK prayed the Office and had their meetings. After Bill’s retirement, he no longer came into town for Matins so it was just me, with occasional visitors. One of those was the diocesan Bishop. On Sundays, I am regularly joined by Fr. H., our distinguished retired priest and canon, with (again) occasional visitors.

Evensong has dwindled until the weekday version no longer happens. All that remains is Choral Evensong on the First Sundays of the month during the academic year. And Matins, until this summer.

I was to be out of town for several occasions in July and August, most notably the RSCM Course. Getting the Matins service on to the official printed church listing of events (and website) is complex, as is its removal, so it seemed best to remove it altogether rather than moving it on and off to fit my travels.

And I am tired.

Not of the Offices, mind you; I continued to pray them. But I was tired of doing them at a fixed hour, of being accountable for it no matter how I felt, no matter what else I had to do. I was tired of the responsibility of having the door open to all comers, most often street people who know that I am there at that hour (and no one else) and they can ask for money. Even though it was not every day that anyone showed up, or even every week, the prospect of it has worn me out.

But there are other considerations.

For one thing, those street people, just a few of them in truth. Two of them have been around enough so that they join in the prayers when they show up. Perhaps it makes a difference for them.

For another, this fall’s confirmation class is making a special emphasis on Morning and Evening Prayer. Many of these young people are in our Choir and I have known them since they were small children. How can we tell them “This is important,” but by example say “No, it’s not. We can’t be bothered to have this as a regular service of the church.” It was this consideration that carried the day for me; I cannot put into words how much I want for these young people that they establish the habit of daily prayer and attentive reading/hearing of the Psalms and Holy Scripture. If I can aid them even a little by example, that would be worthwhile.

This morning, I sent a Slack message to the secretary and sexton that we will be starting Matins next week. Three mornings a week, plus Sundays.

We shall see how long I can carry it forward. At most, I have but a few years remaining in this place. Perhaps someone else will pick it up in this parish. Or perhaps not.

But “the voice of prayer is never silent.” In one form or another, liturgical prayer has been offered to our Lord and God every morning and evening since He commanded his servant Moses that it be so, and more informally clear back to when He used to walk in the Garden “in the cool of the day” with Adam and Eve. It was the rupture of this fellowship which signaled that something had gone horribly wrong (Gen. 3:8-19), and it was only His grace that healed the breach.

It is given me to have a small part in this for a while. When I am gone, the prayer will continue. That much is certain.

[Update, Sept. 8: One of the aforementioned street people joined me for Matins this morning. He is struggling with addiction and doing well for now, trying to put his life back together. Among the things he is doing: turning himself in for a short jail sentence in lieu of a fine, which he is unable to pay. "I might as well take care of it," he told me, and came to Matins seeking strength to carry it through.

And here I am, barely willing even to open the door and offer this little service as a public liturgy. Kyrie eleison.]

The Three Practices

What is a practice anyway?

To “have a practice” in yoga, say, or tai chi, or calligraphy, is to follow a rigorous, prescribed regimen with the intention of elevating the mind and the spirit to a higher level.

A practice implies engagement in a ritual. A practice may be defined as the dedicated, daily exercise of commitment, will, and focused intention aimed, on one level at the achievement of mastery in a field but, on a loftier level, intended to produce a communion with a power greater than ourselves…
[Steven Pressfield: “Turning Pro” (Black Irish Books, 2012), p. 120]

I observe three practices. They define and structure my days. Other work is important and at times pushes one or more practice to the sidelines – but not entirely off the field of play. At my best, the practices take precedence and other work flows around them. They are: Physical, Spiritual, Musical.

Physical Practice

The physical leads to the spiritual. The humble produces the sublime. (ibid., p. 116)

Without attention to the physical, I cannot for long continue my musical work, or (for that matter) life. This means adequate sleep, exercise, healthy food and water. The details of my practice are not important, and will certainly differ from yours. What matters is to do something, pretty much every day. Walk. Lift weights. Do yoga or Pilates. Play outdoor games and sports (indoor sports, too). Swim. Cycle. Dig a garden bed. Climb a mountain. I am old, and my physical practice is rather more modest than most of these things. But it is daily.

I am indebted to my fellow-laborer in Christ (and yoga instructor) Nora, for the insight that exercise and other aspects of the physical can be a spiritual practice. Movement and breath open spiritual doors that are perhaps impossible to unlock in other ways.

Spiritual Practice

Operi Dei nihil praeponatur. Prefer nothing ahead of the Work of God.
(Rule of St. Benedict: Opus Dei, the Work of God, was the term Benedict used for the cycle of prayer that comprises the Daily Office.)

The foundation and framework of spiritual practice is the Daily Office. In the Anglican/Episcopal tradition, the cornerstones are Matins (Morning Prayer) and Evensong (Evening Prayer), with the Little Hours: Midday Prayer and Compline. All of these services are near the front of the Book of Common Prayer.

The Daily Office is too much; at times it seems to set too high of a standard to pray all of these services, every day, and many people might not find them helpful at all. At the same time, the Office is not enough. St. Benedict emphasized in his Rule that they can exist only in the context of work: Ora et labora, Prayer and Work. And community: spiritual practice may have a strong solitary element, but cannot survive without connection to the wider Church – for example, the Holy Eucharist on Sundays and participation in congregational life, mission, and service.

There are other paths to spiritual practice, more paths than one could explore in a lifetime. Whatever form a spiritual practice might take, it seems important that it include prayer and the reading of Holy Scripture, with generous helpings of both elements. It should also lead to Conversion of Life, another Benedictine concept. Continual exposure to prayer and Scripture with a willing heart and mind almost of necessity will result in some changes in one’s life, bringing one slowly, almost imperceptibly, closer to the Image of Christ, the fullness of being for which God created us. It is very much like the result of physical practice – steady attention to healthy diet and exercise over time changes who we are.

I would commend physical and spiritual practice to everyone. The third practice is a part of my specific vocation; there are obviously many other callings. I suspect that most any of them can be undertaken as a path toward spiritual wholeness, but I can speak for only the one I have walked:


Musical Practice

Practice makes perfect.

As with the others, the details of my musical practice are not important (except to me), and I have written of them elsewhere.

What matters for music is strikingly similar to the other practices: do something pretty much every day. Work in an orderly manner. Be patient, for progress will be slow, perhaps imperceptible. And for music to be a spiritual path, simply be open to the possibility as you work at it. Much of the time, you might not sense any spiritual connection – you might be too busy being a conduit for spiritual healing to those who hear you. But there will likely be times when it is so strong that you cannot miss it.

A musical practice cannot happen without the other two. Without the physical, the instrument (you, that is) falls apart in short order: physical or mental breakdown, repetitive motion injuries. Without the spiritual, the music quickly becomes about oneself, about pride and applause and getting one’s way, and it ceases to be real music that can bring healing to the universe. In the same manner, spiritual practice is strengthened by music: “he who sings prays twice,” as Augustine said. Many forms of physical practice are amenable to music, which can make a hard workout more enjoyable or a meditative workout more open to the Spirit.

Most aspects of these three practices are simple. But they are not easy. They demand a lot of time, and the Adversary (Hebrew: Ha-Satan) always has things for us that seem more important, more urgent. More fun. And easier, with the instant gratification that no genuine practice can offer. “Wide is the gate, and broad is the way that leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat.” (Matthew 7:13)


Three thoughts that might help:

Habits – build specific times into your day and week for these things. Do them every day, whether you feel like it or not. After a few months, you will have a compulsion to do the practice at the time when you normally do it. Rejoice and be glad in this.

Placeholders – if you don’t feel like doing it, or have something else you must do, try to keep a toehold in the practice. If you cannot face an hour of exercise, do just one thing, maybe five minutes. The same goes for other practices – if you can’t pray Matins, see if you can say the Lord’s Prayer at the time when you would habitually pray. If you can’t countenance two or three hours at the organ and piano, do five minutes of scales or improvisation. The placeholder keeps the practice habit where it belongs, and very often, once you can get started, you find that you can keep going after all.

When you fall down, get back up – Even with strong habitual practices, we fail. We miss a day. And another. Maybe a whole week. Or more, perhaps a lot more. The longer we are absent from a practice, the harder it is to get back into it, but so long as life lasts, it is not impossible. The secret is to start over again. Today. Now. If we have once established a practice, it will come back to us, like riding a bicycle after many years. The Church builds in two seasons especially for this purpose: Advent and Lent. Both of them are occasions to rebuild what has fallen down, to shake off the dust and get moving again. They last long enough to establish – or re-establish – a good habit. But we can do this at any time, and must do it as often as we fall.

RSCM Report: I was glad when they said unto me

Part Three: Liturgy, and Concluding Thoughts

I was glad when they said unto me
Let us go into the house of the LORD.

Some years ago, one of our music directors, it may have been Simon Lole, introduced the choristers to the acoustics of the Cathedral Basilica of Saint Louis by having the trebles sing a simple triad: Sol, Mi, Do, release. The tones blended into a chord, which hung in the air for many seconds.

Mr. Neswick chose a different approach; we launched immediately into our “big” piece for the Basilica, a setting by Leo Sowerby of Psalm 122. The organ begins with majesty, growing ever greater; the choir sings the opening words; we feel what it is like to make Music together in such a space.

It was overwhelming.

“The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom.” This experience of majesty, something Music can open, is a part of it. The Roman Catholics can do this very well in their liturgies, when they take a notion. Which they did on Sunday morning: Solemn Pontifical Mass with the Cardinal Archbishop as Celebrant and Preacher. As the procession came down the aisle, incense floating in a cloud through the huge space, Neswick played the opening hymn: “Christ is made the sure foundation,” to the tune Westminster Abbey. We sang, the trebles and tenors soaring into a descant (which I think was composed for this occasion by Mr. Neswick). The clergy ascended to the High Altar, censed it, kissed it, the incense filling the church. Gloria in excelsis Deo.

Behold, our feet are standing
Within thy gates, O Jerusalem.

My favorite service of most RSCM Courses is not the one at the Basilica, nor the Evensong the night before at the Presbyterian church. It is the Thursday night Choral Evensong at the Chapel of Saint Cecilia, on the grounds of the Todd Hall Retreat Center.

We have worked together this week. We have sung, laughed, played, perhaps wept, eaten, sung some more, prayed, worshipped in community, rested (not enough, for most of us), and (again) sung some more. It was a lot; I wish it were more. I wish we could keep having these daily rehearsals, keep improving, keep singing together.

We have come far. On Monday, it was clear that we would have to step it up. I was thinking then of my own choristers, and not sufficiently of myself, for as an alto, I had to step it up quite a bit to keep up with the group as they developed through the week. The adult and teen tenors and basses were excellent from the outset; some of these men have considerable experience as Choirmen in top-notch cathedral and parish choirs.

I could not be more proud of the two young men who sang beside me, Charles and Charlie, and the other young altos. But most of all, I admire the trebles. Without any one or two choristers taking the lead, the entire section grew from a group that sounded like young children to a strong, confident team that could, I think, do anything. By Thursday night, they sing with rich, vibrant tone, and more than that, intelligence and connection. Mr. Neswick certainly helped, by prodding us up the path and showing us how it could be done, but it was in the end the trebles themselves that did it.

[Edited to add: here is a link to a recording from the Saturday evensong, on Dropbox, with grateful thanks to Brian Hunt, who made the recording. There are other tracks from the evensong on the main page, here.]

The penultimate anthem at the Evensong is a setting of “Sing ye faithful, sing with gladness” by Richard Wayne Dirksen. It is for the most part a rollicking dancelike piece, enjoyable to sing. Even the two middle stanzas about the Crucifixion retain a sense of fun in the background.

The hymn text completed, Dirksen reduces the texture for a coda. A solo group of four, which includes Lucy and Caleigh from our Iowa choir, sings a repeated Alleluia based on the “Queen’s Change.” The rest of the trebles and altos sustain these notes as if it were a carillon playing them; the lower voices sing one last bit of the head motive and text.

It is very much as if we were in heaven.

For me, hearing Caleigh’s and Lucy’s voices in the solo, clear and strong, made it even more powerful. I have known these girls since they were quite small and they are important to me, as are all of our choristers (the ones at home as well as the ones at the Course). When we repeated the anthem in Saturday’s evensong, I was quite overcome, unable to sing my part of it for a while.

But I have already done my part. I have been one of many who have taught these girls and boys, and brought them to this day. I hope that I was useful in the alto section; I think that I was for the first part of the week. By the end of the week, especially when the altos were joined by Kristin and Debbie, the section was fine without me. Of this I am glad.

For my days will soon be done. It is these young people, and those like them in every land, every culture, who must carry the Song forward into what may be dark and uncertain times.

On the fringes of our week: the Republican National Convention. Some of the adults (most decidedly not me) were following bits of it on Twitter and similar online sources, and it came up in the conversations at meals more often than I would have liked. The Democrats are this week, and in my opinion not one whit better or more virtuous than the Republicans.

The Song is never in a vacuum; the Light shines not in light, but darkness. Not just the Alleluias at the end of the Dirksen, but the whole week of the Course was in many respects a taste of heaven. It must not stop there; it must, somehow, ring outward into the world even as our sounds rang through the Basilica. It is given us as musicians to be a sign of Hope. And it is needed, desperately. What we have in our voices, our intelligence, our working together, our playing of instruments, our Song – this is part of what the world needs for its healing and reconciliation. This is an important part of what we can give to it.

The connection between the Course and “back home” is, I think, in the Daily Office. It pleased me that some of our choristers joined us for daily Morning Prayer in the chapel even when they did not have to. It may be that they “get it.” I hope so.

On the face of it, the Officium, especially as led by a Benedictine (that is, Brother Vincent Ignatius, OSB, my friend) has a certain pedestrian quality to it. There is no excitement. None. Especially in the middle of Ordinary Time. There are no external reasons to be carried up into the heavenly places, as I was in the Dirksen Alleluias.

What one finds instead is Stability. And over time, Conversion of Life. The psalms, the lessons, the prayers… day after day. A rhythm like that of the sun and moon, rising and setting. A river flowing, quiet and calm but irresistible: “On this rock I will build my Church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.”

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When I returned to my parish church for this day (Tuesday, July 26: the Feast of Joachim and Anna, parents of the Blessed Virgin Mary), somewhat in dread of the morning’s impending staff meeting, and what might lie in wait for me in the e-mail in-box, I began, as is my custom and duty, with Matins (Morning Prayer). Most days it is just me. I took my books into the church’s courtyard and began:

I was glad when they said to me: Let us go into the house of the Lord….

O Lord, open thou our lips:
And our mouth shall shew forth thy praise….

We sang these words back at Todd Hall. We rehearsed them with diligence, we sang them in the liturgy. It may appear that I was alone this morning in the courtyard, under a half moon in a clear blue sky, singing the Psalms, reading the Lessons, singing the Creed, the Suffrages, the Collects, in the company of a pair of goldfinches flurrying about, and a dove – a yearling, whose mother hatched him this spring from an egg in the tree right here, outside the Sacristy window.

When one sings or says the Officium, one is never alone. Not least, when I sing Matins and Evensong here in the parish courtyard or church, I renew my connection to the Evensongs at Todd Hall, from this Course and all the Courses of the last score (almost) of years – and all the Courses yet to come, and our monthly Evensongs here in the parish church. I renew my connection to those with whom I have sung, not a few of them now in that greater Light, where the Song is heard undimmed by mortal frailty.

To those of my young friends who may someday read these pages: I commend to you the daily practice of Morning and Evening Prayer. You already know how to do it; it is simply Choral Evensong without the choir. If you wish, you may speak it, as we did in the daily Morning Prayer at Todd Hall. I will observe that it is better if you sing it, and better still to do it outdoors when you can. And better still if you can find a community, however small, to do it with you. That makes the connection to the wider Church more readily visible, as it did last week at the Course. For a few of you, the Officium might become part of a life’s Vocation, as it has for Brother Vincent. But the path is open to all, whatever their state of life.

For the usage of the Episcopal Church, everything you need is in the Book of Common Prayer, a Bible, the Hymnal 1982, and perhaps a Psalter such as the big red Plainsong Psalters on the shelf in our choir room. You can also find most of this in various online sources. There is no special place or time to start; the river began to flow thousands of years ago. Or rather, there is a special place and time to start: Here. Now.

Remember that it will not be exciting. After a while, it will be quite ordinary, like breathing. But remember also before whom you stand, and with whom you are singing and praying. You may not see them or hear them, not in the way that is possible when we are in a Course, but they are there.

“On this rock I will build my Church…”

Holy Week 2016: Part One

Saturday: The Feast of St. Joseph

This year, the Passion and Resurrection are framed by the Incarnation: St. Joseph on the eve of Holy Week, and the Annunciation (March 25), transferred to the first open day after the Octave of Easter.

It is, of course, a Day of Preparation. Organ practice, lots of it. I made it through solid Workouts on the two big pieces for the week: the Samuel Barber Variations on “Wondrous Love” for Maundy Thursday, and the Final from the first symphony of Louis Vierne. More on that as the week progresses.

The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday

A guest at Matins: a serious young man, perhaps in his twenties. He came in during the First Lesson, having been waiting for us in the Church – Sunday Matins is in the upstairs Chapel, because we were evicted from the Church by the previous Rector; our presence was disturbing to those who were arriving for the 7:45 Eucharist. I called out page numbers as we proceeded through the Office, but it was quickly clear that our guest was as thoroughly comfortable with Rite One Morning Prayer as Fr. H. (one of our retired priests) and I. It was good to have him there, and it may well have been as good for him to find a community of prayer as it was for the two of us, both old and nearing the end of our days, to have the company of a young man who cares about the things that so few consider to be worth their time.

I should know better. “The voice of prayer is never silent…” Prayer at morning and evening has been continuous in one form or another since the days of Moses, and probably before – perhaps all the way back to when the Lord God walked in the Garden in the cool of the day, seeking the company of the Man and Woman whom he had made. Who am I to think that it could die away when Fr. H. and I are gone from this life?

There have never been many who have been regular with the Daily Office. But there have, and ever shall be, always a few.

***

A lesson in improvisation: stay in the home key if the duration is uncertain.

This year, for the first time I was to “play something” as the people entered the church, having processed with palms around the block – formerly, we continued to sing. At the 9:00 service, it went well enough; at 11:00 on the organ and with a larger congregation, I essayed a modulation to the dominant. About the time I got well into that, the last of the procession came through the door, perhaps two or three minutes sooner than I had estimated. I rushed back to the tonic key, but did not round off the form satisfactorily.

Gerre Hancock recommends for such situations that one alternate phrases in an open-ended pattern (with the implication of staying in the home key): A, then B and return of A, then B and C, and return of B; C and D, and return of C, and so on until the liturgical action is complete (e.g., communion, or today’s procession). I was attempting a set of variations, which would also work – if I had stayed in the tonic.

****

Yoga and Psalmody: This afternoon was the final session of our Lenten Yoga class, taught by my friend and fellow-laborer Nora. I am an entire novice at this ancient practice, though I have some experience with the Alexander Technique and with Pilates, which (I find) have points of contact with Yoga.

Probably the most important shared concept is Breath, and the integration of Breath and Movement. This concept is shared with another ancient practice: Plainsong Psalmody. I went straight from the Yoga class to Evensong, up in the church, and I found my awareness of the Breath at the asterisk much deepened by what I had just done.

I must tell this to the choir on Wednesday, especially the Youth Choir. They follow my lead in taking a long break at the half-verse asterisk – if they don’t, I correct them until they do – but I suspect that they have no idea why it matters. It is a little silent centering of heart and spirit, right there in the middle of every psalm verse. It will help if they inhale slowly through the entire length of the pause, center the breath low in the abdomen, and do all of this with spiritual intention.

When we arrive at the Great Vigil in six days, the adult choir has about forty minutes of psalmody during the Office of Lessons, in the darkness by candlelight. If we could somehow Breathe with intention at all of those half-verses – hundreds of them, probably -- I suspect that we would be transformed.

***

The evening was devoted to next Sunday’s bulletins, and this Wednesday’s rehearsal plan. It will be a complex rehearsal: the first section will be devoted to the First Sunday Evensong (April 3, the Second Sunday of Easter). Some of the singers are dismissed, then we continue with work on the Great Vigil and Sunday morning; then, more of the singers are dismissed and a smaller group rehearses for Maundy Thursday and Good Friday.

It took longer to prepare a workable plan than the two hours that it will take to have the rehearsal. I had to go back several times and add little things that we must rehearse on Wednesday because there will be no time on Sunday morning, or Saturday evening.

All told, I am involved in sixty musical items, large and small, between the beginning of Maundy Thursday and the end of the 11:00 service on Easter Day, and the choir needs at least some rehearsal on the majority of them. That is what makes this Wednesday’s rehearsal harder than usual to plan.

The list of sixty items does not include the Youth Choir rehearsal on Wednesday – they are focusing on the next time they sing, which is April 10 – nor the Taize service on Tuesday – nor the four additional Evensong items that will be in the Wednesday evening rehearsal – nor (thankfully) a prelude and postlude for Sunday morning; the brass quintet will do that.

For now, I am in fairly good shape in terms of practicing, thanks to hard work at the organ on Friday and Saturday. It is the organizational part that is on the edge of slipping into chaos. There may be some important things that I overlook until the moment they are needed., and there are certainly a great many small (and a few not-so-small) tasks that must all be completed in due time.

But I don’t need all sixty musical items at once; we can (and must) take One Service at a Time. The most complex of them is the Great Vigil, with twenty-one items; the simplest is Good Friday, with three hymns and a psalm.

When I feel overworked, I consider J. S. Bach, who worked much harder, and at a supremely high level. His example urges me onward, to do what I can in my time and place.

*****

I will attempt to write something here in the Music Box each day of this Week, and perhaps the Octave of Easter as well. In the meantime, here are a couple of YouTube clips from recent weeks.

First, an anthem: “When all else is gone.” The text by Shirley Erena Murray did not have a tune in her book “Touch the earth lightly” and I wanted very much for it to be sung on the appropriate Sunday as a response to I Corinthians 13. The only way for that to happen was for me to write something. It is again appropriate this week, the time “when all else is gone.”

when our faith is gone, when hope is vain,
love moves the stone,
love, love alone.
(Shirley Erena Murray, copyright © 2008)

Artwork: The deposition of Christ in the sepulchure (El Greco, c. 1575)


And an organ piece: this was the Liszt that I played for the midday Lenten recital at the Congregational church: here is the link. I should say a bit more about this music: here are part of my program notes from the concert.

Variations on “Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen” Franz LISZT (1811-86)

Friend of Berlioz, Chopin, Paganini, von Bulow, Wagner, Bruckner… at the center of the most radical wing of German music of the mid-nineteenth century… adored by audiences across Europe and constantly surrounded by admirers… champion of new music and supporter of young composers, through his efforts making possible the first productions of Tannhäuser and Lohengrin… generous supporter of those in need, playing many of his recitals as benefits for the poor or for disaster relief… one of the greatest pianists of all time… a Roman Catholic of deep and mystical leanings who contemplated the priesthood as a young man and turned again to the Church in his later years… This was Franz Liszt, a musician of great complexity and genius.

The Variations date from a period of inner turmoil and grief. Liszt had departed Weimar in unhappy circumstances, settling in Rome where his long-time mistress, the Princess Carolyne von Sayn-Wittgenstein, had come in hopes of gaining a divorce or annulment from the Roman Catholic authorities; by this time, it was becoming clear that this was a hopeless effort. His son Daniel had died in 1859; his daughter Blandina died in childbirth in 1862, the most immediate impulse behind the Variations. About this time (1863), Liszt moved into a monastic cell at the Oratorio della Madonna di Rosario in Rome and took holy orders.

The Variations are built on the bass line of the first chorus of Bach’s Cantata 12, “Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen” – “Tears, complaints, cares, fear, anguish, and distress are the bitter bread of Christians.” Bach later used the same bass line as the ostinato of the Crucifixus from the B Minor Mass. Liszt develops this ostinato through a series of thirty increasingly free variations. After the final variation builds through a series of diminished seventh chords to a climax, a recitative leads to the conclusion, the chorale which closes Cantata 12: “Was Gott tut, daß ist wohlgetan” (“What God does is well-done”).

Artwork: Christ on the Mount of Olives, and the Angel with the Cup of Suffering (Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, c. 1750)

Christ being nailed to the Cross (Albrecht Dürer, 1511)

Christ carrying the Cross (El Greco, c. 1578)

The Chronicles

The books of I and II Chronicles are entirely absent from the Revised Common Lectionary. Only a few disconnected bits appear in the Daily Office Lectionary, interspersed into the narrative of I and II Kings that we have recently completed. I submit that this is a grievous error, akin to using only one Gospel account for public worship (perhaps St. Luke, as it is the most elegantly written), entirely ignoring St. Matthew and Mark, and taking only a few stray bits from St. John. We have four accounts of the Messiah’s ministry for very good reasons, not least to emphasize the centrality of these events. It is for similar reasons that Genesis contains two creation stories, and other passages where it appears that two or more parallel oral histories have been stitched together. Exodus contains but the one account of the deliverance from Egypt and the giving of the Torah, but it is revisited several times in the Psalter (especially Psalms 105 and 106, but also Psalm 78 and others), and is never far from the heart of the prophets.

It has been my custom for decades to read the Chronicles at this point in the two-year Daily cycle, after the completion of II Kings, alongside the bits from Jeremiah and Lamentations that have occupied us for the last week or so and the reading of Ezra and Nehemiah that begins tomorrow. I commend this practice to you, especially the reading of the Chronicles as a connected narrative in one swoop.

I will admit that I do not read the genealogies closely, and skim lightly over some of the other passages. But they are not to be entirely skipped. Some observations:

Adam, Sheth, Enosh
Kenan, Mahalaleel, Jered (I Chron. 1:1-2)

Thus begins the nine chapter genealogy. It profits from being read aloud, for it then becomes clear that the names are grouped for ease of memorization. It boggles my mind to consider such a task, but it is equally clear that some people did exactly that – they memorized these lists of names so that they could retain them as a part of their history, long before such things were committed to writing. It is also striking how little bits of family lore slip into the lists, just as they would when an old person is recounting her memories to the youngsters. There are many such examples in I Chronicles; here is one.

Now Sheshan had no sons, but daughters. And Sheshan had a servant, an Egyptian, whose name was Jarha. And Sheshan gave his daughter to Jarha his servant to wife; and she bare him Attai. And Attai begat Nathan, and Nathan begat Zabad… (I Chron. 2:34-36)

As a child, I sat for hours in utter boredom in my grandfather’s sitting room, the flies buzzing in the windows, as he and his sisters spoke of relatives and ancestors long dead, slipping in stories in exactly this manner. I wish that I had listened.

It is worthy of note also that there are no dates. Just the names, in their order, with an occasional reference to the wider events of the kingdom, such as “in the days of Hezekiah king of Judah” (4:41).

And these are they whom David set over the service of song

And these are they whom David set over the service of song in the house of the LORD, after that the ark had rest. And they ministered before the dwelling place of the tabernacle of the congregation with singing, until Solomon had built the house of the LORD in Jerusalem: and then they waited on their office according to their order… (6:31-32)

It is a delight to read these names, “they that waited, with their children” (v. 33). As the commentaries observe, these musicians, these Levites (and the porters, the equivalent of modern-day church sextons and ushers) are elsewhere nameless. It is only the priests who are considered worthy of mention by name.

This parallels current practice. In the church hallway upstairs, one may find photographs of the Bishops of Iowa and the Rectors and other clergy of this parish. No musicians. No Christian educators. And especially, no sextons or vergers, no ladies and gentlemen of the Altar Guild.

It is well to know by evidence of Holy Scripture that these persons are not unknown to God.

So they brought the ark of God, and set it in the midst of the tent that David had pitched for it, and they offered burnt sacrifices and praise offerings before God… And he appointed certain of the Levites to minister before the ark of the LORD, and to record, and to thank and praise the LORD God of Israel: Asaph the chief, and next to him Zechariah, Jeiel, and Shemiramoth… (16:1, 4-5a)

Then on that day David delivered this psalm to thank the LORD into the hand of Asaph and his brethren. Give thanks unto the LORD, call upon his name, make know his deeds among the people. Sing unto him, sing psalms unto him, talk ye of all his wondrous works (v. 7-9)

The following passage (v. 8-36) is an anthology drawn from several of the Psalms, which the commentary assures us are all “post-exilic.” I would not be so sure, not in the face of a direct statement in Scripture that they came from the hand of David at the very time that the ark came to Jerusalem.

After the psalms, the passage continues:

So he left there before the ark of the covenant of the LORD Asaph and his brethren to minister before the ark continually, as every day’s work required (16:37)

To any church musician, that last part has resonance. Three thousand years later, the ministry continues “as every day’s work requires.”

Yet more names

Chapters 23 through 27 are an account of those who ministered at the time when David, “old and full of days, made Solomon his son king over Israel” (23:1). It is a treasure to know these names, even to the point of the ordering of the musicians into twenty-four bands (25:8-31), after “they cast lots, ward against ward, as well the small as the great, the teacher as the scholar (v. 8). We see in this passage that then as now the music involves not just the adults and the most accomplished, but the small as well as the great, the teacher and the scholar. The musicians learned their work from childhood by doing it alongside their parents, their uncles and grandparents, the others of the musical community. This is a model for modern church music, a model which is too often ignored by musicians and parishes who do not have the patience to include the children in anything meaningful or important.

Moreover David and the captains of the host separated to the service of the sons of Asaph, and of Heman, and of Jeduthun, who should prophesy with harps, with psalteries, and with cymbals… (25:1)

The close relation of prophecy and music is a subject too large to address here; it is enough to note that one does not simply “play” at music; it must be a prophetic work, guided (as with all prophecy) by the Spirit of God. In this context, one may well consider St. Paul’s teachings in I Corinthians 12 through 14:

Follow after charity, and desire spiritual gifts, but rather that ye may prophesy… he that prophesieth speaketh unto men to edification, and exhortation, and comfort (14:1,3)

And of course, this:

What is it then? I will pray with the spirit, and I will pray with the understanding also: I will sing with the spirit, and I will sing with the understanding also (14:15)

The conclusion of the matter: Holy Men and Holy Women

Time fails to delve further into these things, but I cannot pass II Chronicles without the mention of two passages, both of them with the essential details presented here and not in II Kings:

Also the Levites which were the singers, all of them of Asaph, of Heman, of Jeduthun, with their sons and their brethren, being arrayed in white line, having cymbals and psalteries and harps, stood at the east end of the altar, and with them an hundred and twenty priests sounding with trumpets: It came even to pass, as the trumpeters and singers were as one, to make one sound to be heard in praising and thanking the LORD… that the house was filled with a cloud, even the house of the LORD; So that the priests could not stand to minister by reason of the cloud: for the glory of the LORD had filled the house of God (II Chronicles 5:11-14)

Those who have been involved in the church’s music for very long have experienced such moments, when the musicians (including the congregation as they sing) are “as one,” and the Shekinah, the “cloud” that is the outward sign of the glory of the LORD, fills the house to the point that we are overcome and (at least for the moment) cannot continue.

This is not something of human manufacture. There is always the temptation to use music to manipulate, to achieve a desired effect or to implant an agenda. These are unworthy goals which stand in the way of music’s proper function, which is to help the people attain their unity in Christ (“as one”) and together to come into the divine Presence.
..........

Hezekiah began to reign when he was five and twenty years old, and he reigned nine and twenty years in Jerusalem… and he did that which was right in the sight of the LORD, according to all that David his father had done. He in the first year of his reign, in the first month, opened the doors of the house of the LORD, and repaired them… (II Chron. 29:1-3)

The reign of Hezekiah is one of the central passages of the Old Testament. Fittingly, it is recorded not once or twice, but three times (II Kings, here in II Chronicles, and Isaiah). It is only here that the account is given in detail of the cleansing of the House and the restoration of worship according to its ancient and proper pattern, including the musical work (29:25-28), and the great Passover, such as had not been since the time of Solomon (chapter 30).

The Sages say that there are four holy men who found God on their own, out of the darkness without human assistance (though not without Divine help and revelation): Abraham, Job, the Messiah – and Hezekiah. He had grown up in the wicked court of his father Ahaz, and somehow he found it in his heart to do as he did.

But he was not the last king worthy of his fathers, for as we read in the Chronicles, there was one more revival under Josiah (chapters 34 and 35). He too restored the passover, with the musical service (35:15), so that it was written

And there was no passover like to that kept in Israel from the days of Samuel the prophet (35:18).

When he died in battle at the age of thirty-nine,

… all Judah and Jerusalem mourned for Josiah. And Jeremiah lamented for Josiah: and all the singing men and the singing women spake of Josiah in their lamentations to this day… (35:24-25).

The end was now at hand. But it is not a small thing for one’s death to be lamented by Jeremiah the prophet – perhaps in musical form, as might be implied by the context. One might also note the “singing women” in this verse; until now, we have heard nothing of female musicians, and it is good to know that they were there. Unlike the men, we do not even have their names, nor anything about what they did (beyond “lamentations”). But like the men, they are known to God and their music is not forgotten; like all music that is true, it ever remains in the heart of God.

We live in time and can see and hear but the present moment, with memories of the past – our own memories, and those preserved in the genealogies and stories and writings passed from our ancestors. Music preeminently is the art of the Present – it exists in its only true form, its live sound in performance, only in the moment. But God stands above the circle of time and perceives it all, in its entirety, all at once and forever.

King David, and some loose ends

If the Daily Office Lectionary were to work straight through the Old Testament books, today would have been the second chapter of I Kings: chapter one was yesterday, chapter three is tomorrow. And chapter two is omitted, excepting the first four verses.

Longtime readers of the Music Box know that I love these untidy bits of Holy Scripture that the framers of the Lectionary thought it better to skip. Some of them would be boring as a spoken lesson in public liturgy (e.g., most of Leviticus, especially the details of the sacrifices and offerings, and the diagnosis of leprosy). Some of them would seem redundant, such as I and II Chronicles. I would submit that when the Scriptures see fit to repeat something, especially when there are differences in detail, it is not without reason (e.g., the Gospels according to Matthew, Mark, and Luke). Some do not fit comfortably with modern liberal theology (e.g., Romans 1:26-27).

And some reflect badly on people, describing aspects of them that we would prefer to overlook. The second chapter of I Kings is one of these. “Now the days of David drew nigh that he should die, and he charged Solomon his son, saying...” (v. 1). David tells Solomon to see to it that some old scores are settled, and in such a manner that David will be guiltless, or at least appear so. (Any parallel with the death of Uriah the Hittite is purely a coincidence.)

The most troubling to me is David's instructions to see that Joab the son of Zeruiah (v. 5-6, and 28-34), who has been the captain of David's host all these many years, through good times and bad, does "not go down to the grave in peace" (v.6). There were many occasions when Joab's plain-spoken wisdom bailed David out (e.g., II Samuel 19:1-8, following the death of Absalom). David lists some reasons why Joab should die, but it seems thoroughly ungrateful to treat his friend this way – and worse, to not do the deed himself, but to leave it to Solomon so that he himself can remain guiltless.

Uh... is this the same David who wrote Psalm 23? And Psalm 51?

Yes, it is. And I believe that is the point, or one of the points. It would have been easy for those who brought the Books of the Kings into the form in which we have them (much of it perhaps in the time of Hezekiah, and some of it doubtless during or after the Exile) to gloss over these bits, just as the lectionary people have done in our time. But, guided (I believe) by the Holy Spirit, they felt it necessary to tell the truth. David was indeed capable of singing Psalm 23. He was able to dance before the LORD with all his might in utter abandonment to praise and adoration (II Samuel 6:12-16). He had the insight to be one of the greatest of Prophets as well as King, by writing Psalm 22 and many others about the Messiah who was to come – and it was he to whom God first made that promise explicit (II Samuel 7:1-17). And this same David was capable of doing some thoroughly horrible things.

And so are we.

I finish with two thoughts. I honor Joab the son of Zeruiah, as I have said. He is one of the heroes of the story, a thoroughly brave and loyal man of valor. And he died well. Knowing that Solomon was out to get him, he went to the Altar of God and took hold of it. At first, Solomon's hit-man, Benaiah the son of Jehoiada – who had been one of David's forty men of might (II Samuel 23:20-23), fighting alongside Joab for all these years – refused to obey his orders; he went back to Solomon, who told him to go ahead, even with Joab holding on to the horns of the Altar.

The people of that time viewed the Altar and the Holy Place as safe spaces – as we hope our churches are to this day. But I think that Joab did this just as much out of faith – if he was to die, he was going to do so while hanging on to his Lord with all his might. “And he was buried in his own house in the wilderness” (v. 34). I like that – Joab was the sort of man who would have wanted a house in the wilderness. Not Jerusalem; the wilderness. Out there where he could be on his own, and at peace.

And the second thought: This same David, whom our Lord was not ashamed to claim as ancestor, was “a man after God's own heart” (I Samuel 13:14, cf 16:7-13). In the modern synagogues, one can find the inscription: Know before whom you stand. More than almost anyone who has ever lived, David knew. Even when (and perhaps especially when) he didn't get it right, he knew.

Now these be the last words of David. David the son of Jesse said, and the man who was raised up on high, the anointed of the God of Jacob, and the sweet psalmist of Israel, said, The Spirit of the LORD spake by me, and his word was in my tongue. The God of Israel said, the Rock of Israel spake to me, He that ruleth over men must be just, ruling in the fear of God. And he shall be as the light of the morning, when the sun riseth, even a morning without clouds; as the tender grass springing out of the earth by clear shining after rain. Although my house be not so with God [that is, I think, David knew that he had not always been just and how unworthy he was of the promises of God]; yet he hath made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things, and sure: for this is all my salvation, and all my desire... (II Samuel 23:1-5, with my comment in italics, and emphasis at the end)

The Last Words of David, by Randall Thompson

There are many performances of this on YouTube; this one is very fine, and not viewed so many times as some of the others. By the Florida All-State Choir and Orchestra in 2011, it has the energy and commitment that high school singers can often bring to their work – and that us older musicians would do well to emulate.

Operi Dei nihil praeponatur

Or, in the Common Speech, “Let nothing be placed before the work of God.” (from the Rule of St. Benedict)

The Opus Dei is the Daily Office – Matins, Evensong, and the little hours, or more broadly, the life of prayer in its many forms. As St. Benedict says, it must come first. I know this, rationally and from personal experience. It is the settled and universal witness of Holy Mother Church that this is so. Nonetheless, it remains a struggle. The “battle of prayer,” the Catechism of the Catholic Church calls it:

Prayer is both a gift of grace and a determined response on our part. It always presupposes effort. The great figures of prayer of the Old Covenant before Christ, as well as the Mother of God, the saints, and he himself, all teach us this: prayer is a battle. Against whom? Against ourselves and against the wiles of the tempter who does all he can to turn man away from prayer, away from union with God. We pray as we live, because we live as we pray. If we do not want to act habitually according to the Spirit of Christ, neither can we pray habitually in his name. The "spiritual battle" of the Christian's new life is inseparable from the battle of prayer. (paragraph 2725)

I have sung or said the Offices for about thirty years. But I have not been sufficiently faithful with this duty, this Officium; Matins and Compline are almost always there nowadays, but Evensong – many times I am “too busy.” Or hungry, or tired. And, often enough, I choose food and sleep over prayer. It has been a negative in this respect that when I am home, I do the appointed psalms in Hebrew. I am getting better, but it still takes me a lot longer than they would in English. And I still groan when I realize that it is the Fifteenth Evening, and Psalm 78 is appointed, all seventy-two verses. On the other hand, the Psalms have increasingly been a motivation when I waver: “If I skip Evensong tonight, I won't get to do this psalm until next month!” Even Psalm 78 – I love the latter part, when the Lord awakes like a warrior refreshed with wine, and smites his enemies on the backside (“kicks butt” would be a perfectly adequate translation. I love it!)

A second thing that helps is accountability. During the academic year, we list Matins at 7:30 on two or three mornings a week, a relic of the days when Fr. Sanderson was Priest-in-Charge and we were able to do all fourteen Offices every week, plus midday Eucharist on Major Feasts. For a while, it was him, me, and Bill K. But Fr. S. was called to another place, Bill K. retired and no longer had reason to come into town at 7:30 am, and since then, it is usually just me. Still, it says on the calendar that we are doing the Office, so I had better get out in the church and do it. And one never knows; some years ago, it was a typical weekday Matins with just me, and who should walk in but our diocesan Bishop! He was in town for a meeting and came to the service. And perhaps he was checking to see if we did indeed pray the Office as we claimed.

A third thing is that I know by long experience that if I can just get started, I will be glad that I did. Once I make it to “O Lord, open thou our lips,” I will be all right.

But even with all this, it is hard. It is, as the Catechism says, a “battle.” The thought lurks that “if I weren't doing these things, I could get more done.” I could read the shelves-full of books at home. I could get started on my work at church and get so much done in this first and freshest part of the day, when I am itching to get onto the organ bench, or into the other work that needs to be done. The "wiles of the tempter" are at work.

I think that the temptation to not-pray, to do anything except pray, is one of the most fearsome and deadly, right up there with Pride.

It is better to pray badly than not at all.

----
Longtime readers may remember this from my LiveJournal blog (April 4, 2008). Some of these old essays are worth revisiting. I hope to post another one or two soon, with further thoughts about Prayer.

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.

A radiant Sign of Hope

The Twelve Days have been a hard slog so far. The weather has been snowy and cold, and everything that involves being outside (such as going to work) takes longer. I am always worn out by the afternoon of Christmas Day, and this year I was coming down with a cold. My wife was also worn out by a back injury in November and the insanity of big-chain-store retail in December. By the time I got home that afternoon, the two of us stared bleakly at each other for a while, ate a light supper, and went to bed. Neither of us had bothered to have a gift for the other; she received no gifts at all other than some cash from her parents.

It has been little better since then; I have worked my normal schedule, fighting a mild fever and hacking cough in the rush to prepare for Sunday – having Christmas on Wednesday made it like two very short weeks with two Sundays to cover, two sets of bulletins to produce. Twice as much work, no extra time to do it.

Seeing that the refrigerator was starting to be a little barren – the weather had been too frightful, and I too tired, for my normal grocering the previous Monday, and promised to be even worse this Monday (yesterday, Dec. 30) – I swung by the all-night supermarket on Sunday when I was done at church, dully making my way through the store for milk, yoghurt, beer – all of these for my wife, nothing for me. I had lost my appetite with the fever and was barely eating. Halfway through, I had to stop and go to the store's filthy restroom with a bout of diarrhea. I somehow managed to get home and lug the groceries and twelve-pack of Grain Belt to the door, the wind chill some thirty below by now. I got everything inside, put away, and fell into the bed, still in most of my clothes.

The next morning: not a word of thanks. “I am almost out of oatmeal. And you didn't bother to even look.”

Lo, how a Rose e'er blooming
from tender stem hath sprung!
Of Jesse's lineage coming
as seers of old have sung.
It came a blossom bright,
amid the cold of winter,
when half-spent was the night.

The week has been instructive. In my weakness, I clung to the Daily Office, and for the three Major Feasts, the Ante-Communion service with the Eucharistic lessons (for this is how I celebrate them, not being a priest). For Stephen's Day, which was a day off and the worst of my sickness, that was all I could manage – Matins, Ante-Communion, Evensong, sleep.

And a slim little book: the Infancy Narratives volume of Benedict XVI's “Jesus of Nazareth.” Having read the other two volumes, I was slightly disappointed when I purchased and read it early in 2013; it is 132 pages and hardly more than a two-hour read, where the other volumes had been substantial. And it cost the same: $20.00. Worse, the ending seemed like Benedict simply ran out of steam and quit. To some extent, that might have been true, for his powers were failing when he wrote this and it is a miracle that we have it at all.

But now – here I was in the Twelve Days, in most desperate need. It was medicine for the soul. Even the ending now makes sense; Benedict saw rightly that this book must lead directly into the one he wrote first, which takes up the story of Jesus of Nazareth at his Baptism. I can see that if one were to read the books in order (that is, the Infancy narrative first), the end of this book would flow almost seamlessly into the beginning of the next, and the very fine ending of "volume three" (the second to be written, covering the events from Palm Sunday through the Ascension) would be a fitting conclusion.

I do not have the time or energy for extensive quotes; I will simply recommend the book to anyone who wants a companion through the infancy narratives of St. Matthew and St. Luke.

And one quote:

Is what we profess in the Creed true, then?--'I believe in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of God … [who] by the Holy Spirit was incarnate of the Virgin Mary?' The answer is an unequivocal yes.... These two moments [the Virgin Birth and the Resurrection] are a scandal to the modern spirit. God is 'allowed' to act in ideas and thoughts, in the spiritual domain—but not in the material. That is shocking. He does not belong there. But that is precisely the point: God is God and he does not operate merely on the level of ideas....

Hence the conception and birth of Jesus from the Virgin Mary is a fundamental element of our faith and a radiant sign of hope. (p. 56-57)

Today, I am better. It was still a struggle to get to the church in the snow and I was ten minutes late in starting Matins, out in the church in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament, and the final public liturgy of the year. But I was able to sing the Psalms and Canticles without coughing for the first time since Christmas Eve. And I was able to put in a solid day of work, much of it on a First Workout of “Les Mages” from the Messiaen Nativity suite. It will be the prelude for Sunday.

My wife and I both have this Thursday as a day off. Perhaps we can mend some bridges then. It will help that I swung by the store for some oatmeal on the way home today.

O Star of Hope, O Mother of God,
pray for us sinners.
May we treasure His words in our hearts,
as you have ever done.
May they bear fruit in our lives
for the Kingdom which began
with your obedience.
May we love the poor among us
and be their servants.
May we, with you, behold his face
forever, world without end.

commitment to the Song

With gracious thanks to M.W., who sent me a link to the excellent site The Daily Office from the Mission of St. Clare.

The site includes links to the BBC Choral Evensong, which is of course a staple of my life, as it has been for thousands of Anglicans these eighty years and more -- the longest running weekly radio broadcast that exists.

From Wikipedia, s.v. "BBC Radio 3":

The programme has a strong following, revealed by various unpopular attempts in the past to change the broadcast arrangements. When the programme was moved from Radio 4 to Radio 3 in 1970 it became a monthly broadcast but vigorous protests resulted in a return of the weekly transmission on Wednesday afternoons.

More recently, in 2007 the live broadcast was switched to Sundays which again resulted in protests. The live transmission was returned to Wednesdays in September 2008 with a recorded repeat on Sunday afternoons. Choral Evensong forms part of Radio 3's remit on religious programming though the musical performance and repertoire holds interest for a wider audience.

The Mission St. Clare site also includes links to Thursday Evensong at Grace Cathedral, San Francisco and Compline from St. Mark's, Seattle. This morning as I have worked through my e-mail and other deskwork, I have been listening to the Grace Cathedral broadcast and their excellent choir. For this service, the Canticles were Stanford in B flat, and the Anthem was Beati quorum via, likewise by Stanford - an appropriate choice for the feast, which was Eve of St. Francis.

The Grace Cathedral choir of men and boys is one of the finest in the world; the boys are in the Cathedral School, and the ATBs are all professional singers. Their singing of the Stanford music is splendid.

But it is, in one important way, inferior to what one would have heard at this year's RSCM Course (the Beati quorum via) and last year's (Stanford in B flat - I may be wrong about the year, but I know that we sang it very recently).

We were more committed to the music.

A choir such as Grace's sings this music all the time. Especially for the professionals, it can become commonplace: another day at the Office.

For those of us who attend an RSCM Course, it is anything but commonplace. This is our only opportunity all year to sing this sort of music, and with this sort of choir and director. For me, and I know for many others of us, these services, this music, are among the most important things in our lives. And that can be heard in the results.

I wrote of this some while ago about another time and place. We are, thank the Lord, not in the situation of those German musicians in 1944. For them, it really was life and death to play the Bruckner Ninth as what can only be termed a Prayer. But at whatever level one is making Music, it has a chance to be effective only when the musicians commit themselves entirely to what they are singing or playing.

As the Berlin Philharmonic showed in that recording, it is possible for professionals to achieve this. It is harder for them than it is for amateurs, and harder for adults than it is for children.

Evensong: Sunday of Proper 17, Year A

Psalms for the First Evening: 6, 7, 8
I Kings 8:22-40
St. John 8:47-59

When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, *
the moon and the stars you have set in their courses,
What is man that you should be mindful of him? *
the son of man that you should seek him out?

Eleven weeks ago in the middle of June, we started this cycle of Lessons from the Old Testament for the Daily Office with Hannah and Samuel. We have read of Saul son of Kish, of David son of Jesse. And now we are at what must have seemed the high point of the narrative: Solomon son of David and the dedication of the temple.

By the time the Books of the Kings were most likely set down in order as we have them, the temple lay in ruins, not one stone left upon another. The prophet Isaiah wrote of this: "Thy holy cities are a wilderness, Zion is a wilderness, Jerusalem a desolation. Our holy and our beautiful house, where our fathers praised thee, is burned up with fire: and all our pleasant things are laid waste." (Isaiah 64:10-11)

It is no wonder that the editors who assembled First Kings under the inspiration of the Holy Ghost devoted eleven chapters to the reign of Solomon, four of those chapters to the building and dedication of the temple. It was a Good Day, the best of days. In a few short years the kingdoms would be divided and begin their spiral into ruin. Never again, even to this day, would the land have rest from all its enemies round about. Never again could it be said that "Judah and Israel were many, as the sand which is by the sea in multitude, eating and drinking, and making merry." (4:20)

But what is that to us? The days of the Temple rituals are past, and we worship One who is greater than the Temple. "Before Abraham was, I am," he said to the people (St. John 8:58), identifying himself as not only one who is greater than Abraham and the prophets, but as the one who is the Son of the Father, the "I AM" revealed to Moses at the burning bush: "God of God, Light of Light, very God of very God, begotten, not made; being of one substance with the Father."

And yet... we continue to build places that are called by his name.

Many people come into this place during the week to pray -- on Sunday, but also throughout the week. They often kneel in silence, most often well back in the church. Or they kneel at the side altar. Perhaps they light a votive candle. Others walk by outside and leave prayer requests in the book, or tie a ribbon on the tree as a symbol of their petition.

I count myself blessed to spend many of my working hours in this room, on the organ bench or at the piano, and I pray that I may never take it for granted.

Some of us would say that our Lord Jesus Christ is present in the Blessed Sacrament of the Altar, reserved in the tabernacle up there by the candle. Whatever we may think of that, most of us in the Anglican tradition would say that this place is more than what the Puritans would have called a "meeting house," simply a convenient place to gather on the Lord's Day. This, and every other Christian church, is a place that is called by the name of Christ, and where, in some manner, he chooses to dwell among his people. As we shall recall shortly in the prayer of St. Chrysostom, "when two or three are gathered together in his Name, [he] will be in the midst of them."

Why should God pay attention to us this evening, or any time that we pray in this place, or even when we remember it from afar and pray "toward this place," as Solomon phrased it? "What is man that you should be mindful of him, the son of man that you should seek him out?"

Part of the answer is in the sign that Our Lord Jesus gave after cleansing the Temple, saying that it must be a house of prayer for all people. In chapter two of his Gospel, St. John recounts it in this manner:

Then answered the Jews and said unto him, What sign shewest thou unto us, seeing that thou doest these things? Jesus answered and said unto them, Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up. Then said the Jews, Forty and six years was this temple in building, and wilt thou rear it up in three days? But he spake of the temple of his body. When therefore he was risen from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this unto them; and they believed the scripture, and the word which Jesus had said. (vv. 18-22)

And another part of the answer comes from St. Paul, in the Second Epistle to the Corinthians: "... ye are the temple of the living God; as God hath said, I will dwell in them, and walk in them; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people." (6:16b)

The Temple was but a figure of "a greater and more perfect tabernacle" (Hebrews 9:11): Jesus Christ Himself is the holy place, the One in whom all the fullness of God doth dwell (Colossians 2:9). When St. John the Divine described the holy city, new Jerusalem, he stated that he "saw no temple therein: for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it. And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof" (Revelation 21:22-23).

Through him, we "as lively stones, are built up an spiritual house, an holy priesthood, to offer up spiritual sacrifices, acceptable to God by Jesus Christ." (I Peter 2:5)

In connection with this we must consider a detail that is omitted from the narrative in First Kings. We find it in the parallel account of Second Chronicles:

And it came to pass, when the priests were come out of the holy place: (for all the priests that were present were sanctified, and did not then wait by course: Also the Levites which were the singers, all of them of Asaph, of Heman, of Jeduthun, with their sons and their brethren, being arrayed in white linen, having cymbals and psalteries and harps, stood at the east end of the altar, and with them an hundred and twenty priests sounding with trumpets:)

It came even to pass, as the trumpeters and singers were as one, to make one sound to be heard in praising and thanking the LORD; and when they lifted up their voice with the trumpets and cymbals and instruments of musick, and praised the LORD, saying, For he is good; for his mercy endureth for ever: that the house was filled with a cloud, even the house of the LORD; So that the priests could not stand to minister by reason of the cloud: for the glory of the LORD had filled the house of God. (5:11-14)

In Psalm 22, we read that the Holy One is "enthroned upon the praises of Israel" (v. 3). This is as true now as it was on that day in the Temple: the presence of God is in some manner connected not only with the Blessed Sacrament, or the house that is called by his name, but with the music that we sing in this place, most of all in those moments when through the making of music, we become "as one."


It is with these things in mind that we can hear Solomon's prayer. We can join with him on behalf of those who enter this place to pray, those who tie a ribbon on the tree outside, those who remember this place from afar and wish that they could be here.

... hearken unto the cry and to the prayer which thy servant prayeth before thee to day: That thine eyes may be open toward this house night and day, even toward the place of which thou hast said, My name shall be there: that thou mayest hearken unto the prayer which thy servant shall make toward this place... And hear thou in heaven thy dwelling place: and when thou hearest, forgive. (8:19-20)

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Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, to the only wise God our Savior, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever. Amen. (St. Jude 24-25)

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(slightly expanded from the version that I preached at Evensong: September 1, 2013.)

Figured Bass, Handel, and Good Habits: An Update

As described here (January 11 entry), I have tried to work on figured bass and score reading this spring.

Many times before I have begun the new year with a new Project, and it has fizzled within a few weeks, as Lent and Easter approach. I sought this year to at least keep a "placeholder" in my day for this work. I might only work at it for five or ten minutes on a busy day. That is not enough to make any progress, but it is enough to keep it habitual.

In January, I began working partly a page at a time with C.P.E. Bach's "Essay on the True Art of Playing the Clavier," and mostly with the final part of Handel's Messiah (see here), which we sang on April 14 as I mentioned the other day. In terms of the figured bass aspects, it went well. Over these three months I developed a moderate facility with the piece and my skills improved.

But until mid-March, I had overlooked one step, which I now realize is crucial:

After the day's work on a passage of music, take the score away from the keyboard and conduct it.

The results amaze me: I have a greater understanding of the musical score -- even the parts of the "Amen" fugue that are complex -- and a good comfort level of reading the score, and hearing the sounds in my ears. I might actually learn to do this!

Two Wednesdays ago, I used the full score in the youth choir rehearsal and discovered some weaknesses. Most notably, I got lost in the Amen in the long passages where there is not much text underlay in the vocal parts -- they are simply singing "Amen." I repeatedly drifted from the soprano/treble line to the staff above it, which is the viola part. This was decidedly unhelpful to the choir as I sought to play their parts in places to help them. After rehearsal, I took a pencil and drew lines across the score pages to set the choral parts off from the string parts more clearly. This helped. Last Wednesday, I had to lead the adult rehearsal from the score, playing the bass line and chords and cueing the trumpets at appropriate places, as well as the vocal parts. I am proud to say that it worked! A careful listener would have disapproved of some of my chord realizations, but they were sufficient for the purpose.

And on Sunday, I felt thoroughly comfortable as a conductor. This would not have happened without these three months of work with the figured bass and full score, and the similar preparation of the Mozart piece that we did in January, a much simpler score to follow than the Handel.


I also decided in January that I would not turn on any computers until midday. Instead, I would undertake the important work of the day: Matins, then Practice. I begin after Matins with vocal warmup and practice (again, this is very often a "placeholder," and at most is fifteen or twenty minutes), then Figured Bass/Score Reading, then a bit of Fingering on an organ or piano piece that lies ahead, then my main session of Practice at the piano and organ. I then try to get my office work done in the afternoon (and on Sunday, the evening).

It worked well until mid-March, when it became clear that something had to give in order to get through Holy Week, Easter Day, and the Second Sunday of Easter. I laid the vocal practice and sight-singing aside, and the C.P.E. Bach book. It was tempting to lay Matins aside -- this is, I think, one of the greatest temptations that stands in the way of regular observance of the Daily Office: a busy time comes in one's work or home life, and the Tempter whispers "You could get a lot done in this half-hour. What harm will it do to skip a day?" Then the next day is even busier, and it is easier to skip the Office. Before long, it is a thing of the past. The funny thing is that if one succumbs, one ends up wasting far more than that precious half-hour at other points in the day.

I have been there. Many times. Sometimes -- including this March -- all that saves me is the obligation that for three days of the week, Matins is a public service of worship for which I am responsible. On two of those days, almost no one ever comes, but it remains a fixed Duty. For which I am grateful. Also, I am under a Vow as a Brother of St. Andrew, which includes the Daily Office at least once a day. There have been times that this, too, has been enough to carry me through.

So now, it has been almost a month since I have done my daily sight-singing, any proper and systematic vocal practice, or work with C.P.E. Bach and figured bass (beyond work with the Handel score). Holy Week is past. Easter Day is past. Two Sundays have passed. Now is The Test. Can I pick up where I left off? Today was not an especially good start; I spun my wheels and wasted a lot of time this day. Too much.

Jesu, juva.