what next?

I am this day sixty years old.

This past Thursday, my Sabbath, I went to the nearby County Park as is my custom in good weather. I had brought along a book to read after Matins, but it seemed better to make it a day to consider my path, so I laid it aside. Some years ago, I attended a “Credo” conference sponsored by the Episcopal Church for its employees, and the week culminated in a quiet half-day to write a “Credo Plan,” a statement of one's identity, discernment of the next steps, and how one intended to take those steps.

As it happens, I have been reading my old essays here at the Music Box and its predecessor on LiveJournal, alongside my personal journal which I started fifteen years ago. I had almost completed this review, and it seemed to be a thread that came together with my birthday's transition into a new decade and the day that was before me, unstructured and free. I felt that I had been led to this day as a little Spiritual Retreat, a Quiet Day for discernment.

In one sense, I got nowhere. I wrote many things in my notebook, but they amounted to little. In another sense, it was a reaffirmation of what I had written for myself at the conference in 2008:

I must do what is in my power to take the liturgy and music at hand, and make them better than they would be without me. This task is not about me. It is not only about my choristers, or the parish congregation. Disciplined music is for the benefit of the whole Church; it is part of that living sacrifice which is holy, acceptable unto God, and our reasonable service (Rom. 12:1).

I am still on that track, and still seeking what the Benedictines would call Conversion of Life. I want to make myself small so that the Music may be large. I see that I must chop away at the underbrush and weeds – too much stuff, too many commitments, too many tasks – so that the fruit that I am to bear may come to maturity. I need to attempt less so that I can do more.

To my surprise, I have come to see that this Music Box is part of what I am to do, at least for now. The writing of these essays has often clarified my thoughts, and I hope that they have sometimes been beneficial to others.

So, what next?

A new year of choral music, for one thing. This weekend has been mostly devoted to preparations for Youth Choir, which begins on Wednesday. After doing only a minimal amount of work at the organ for almost a month, this fortnight has put me back on the bench, back into my practice routines.

As the years pile on, the horizon shortens. I cannot say how long I shall be granted life and strength to continue with these things, and that is fine; I need only take the next step, and the next one after that.

RSCM Report: Final Thoughts

Evensong, and a technical note on Psalmody

From last year:

I told [Debra] how I came undone when I heard Kyle's voice, looked across and saw her singing [the solo on the final pages of “Like as the hart.”] "You think it gets you," she said, agreeing with me. "Think what I felt like: that was my kid singing it."

This year, it was my kids at the Saturday Evensong: Mark and Mike, along with Saul, singing the opening stanza of “Promised Land” and again as part of the quartet from the Walmisley Magnificat. I came entirely undone, thinking of all the years we have had together in choir, a time that has now ended.


Last year, we had no setting of the Preces and Responses, and the Psalm was done in plainsong by a semichorus of teens and adults. The choir directors had some offseason e-mail discussion about this. Some thought that it is impractical to achieve a high level of performance in psalmody with a large group, especially with trebles who may or may not watch the director. I expressed the importance of the psalmody, precisely in order to teach them to watch and listen. The discipline of psalmody is essential to the development of good choral singing, to say nothing of its spiritual benefits. The attention demanded by a choral setting of the Responses is equally important, and brings an intensity to Choral Evensong that carries over into the other music. Whether my words had any influence I do not know, but we did this year have a fine set of Responses by Stephen Carletti, written for Mr. Ashby's former choir in Capetown and based on South African models. And we sang a Psalm to Anglican Chant, all of us.

I was granted an insight during our rehearsal at the Presbyterian Church and in the subsequent liturgy: Ensemble in Psalmody, especially in a large choir, depends on watching the director, but depends much more on watching and listening to each other. We had some difficulty in synchronizing a verse sung by tenor and bass in unison, with the two sections spread widely across the chancel. I found that if I watched Mike at the far end of the row, I could synchronize my syllables with his better than I could by simply watching Mr. Ashby; when the full choir was singing, I could watch both Mike and Bryn, likewise at the far end of the choir from me.

In the other music as well as the Psalm, I found that I could anchor my pitch by tuning to Kyle (two seats to my right, singing treble) and Meara (behind us, singing alto) – fifths, thirds, octaves, unification of vowels. Their absolutely reliable singing did much to make us the fine choir that we were this year; it certainly made me a better singer.


The Chaplain and the Director

The weekday Evensongs at Todd Hall are as important to me as the final Evensong out in the community. Evensong gives a focus to the day's rehearsals; it gives the new choristers experience in the service before the weekend; most of all, it is an opportunity to sing and worship together. When I sing Evensong back home, usually by myself, I always feel its connection to the RSCM Evensongs and the First Sunday Evensongs in our parish.

This year, Michael K. was our Chaplain, a role filled in the past by Br. Vincent. By living in the Big House, I was able to watch Michael and Mr. Ashby plan the services and work together. Michael's sermons were excellent, including one on a part of the Passion account that was appointed in this week's Lectionary. One might think that these bloody and painful passages should be skipped over for children; that would be entirely wrong. We adults would like to think that the life of children is all sunshine and roses. No, they experience all the pain, fear, grief, and darkness that are known all too well by adults. The only way to understand these things as a child or an adult involves people mocking Jesus, spitting on him, crowning him with thorns, and finally nailing him to a cross, as we heard in the lesson and as Michael unpacked in his sermon.

Now, Michael is capable of being as goofy as Br. Vincent; he displayed this in our final time together as a choir in a dance with Eddie that might be on YouTube by now. But he also proved himself of being as serious in his devotion to Our Lord as Br. Vincent. And that is saying much. He is a postulant, and will be a terrific priest someday.

Our musical director, Garmon Ashby, was at his second St. Louis Course. I loved his manner of work with the choir: well-planned, fast-paced, focused on the places that needed work, with plenty of questions for the choristers, and a better understanding of vocal production and care for the voice than we have sometimes seen. Our rehearsals were calm, in spite of the fast pace, and I do not think that any of us were anxious about any of the music at any point. He certainly did not seem to be, and that carried over to the choir. By the weekend, we were fully prepared and sang the services with confidence.

I did not want to intrude on him in our shared quarters, for he used much of his free time in planning the next rehearsals. But I nonetheless consider it a privilege to have gotten to know him a bit better. I hope he will be back at Todd Hall at a future Course.


That they may be one...

… that they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee... (St. John 17:21)

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 then the house was filled with a cloud, even the house of the LORD... (II Chronicles 5:13)

It is always hard to leave the Course. In our week of singing together, we became as one. At our midweek Eucharist at Todd Hall, the priest expressed his wish that we could all stay and be part of his parish. Many of us would love to do that, to sing together all the time. But we cannot: all of us have responsibilities elsewhere, and people who are dear to us.

This desire, this longing to keep singing together, is part of something larger; it is a desire that is shared by Our Lord, and which shall find its fulfillment in him. The day will come when we are parted no more, but are one, even as he is one with the Father and the Holy Ghost:

On Jordan's stormy banks I stand,
and cast a wishful eye
to Canaan's fair and happy land
where my possessions lie.

Oh, who will come and go with me?
I am bound for the promised land,

RSCM Report: Advice to Young Musicians

Some of the young men and women of the Course intend to carry on the work of Musician as professionals. Mike will be starting a degree program in choral conducting and voice, Meara is studying voice with an eye toward music therapy, Kyle was the organ scholar this week and (I gather) now sings with a cathedral choir, one of the finest in the country. Many others who sang this week have the talent to walk this path: I think of Saul with his violin and fine tenor voice; Jacques with his obvious love of the piano that he exhibited with a talent show performance of a Beethoven sonata movement. There are others, and I do not mean to slight them. And there are still more in our parish choir at home, people like Paul and Yuhka and Claire and Caleigh and Greta and Issay.

I have done this work as best I can for close to forty years. What would I say to these young musicians?


Learn from the best – that begins with the course directors we have had. You will not find choral musicians any better than these men and women anywhere. Learn from the good musicians in every genre.

Learn from the bad musicians, too – When encountering Bad Music in a rehearsal or performance, figure out why it is not working. It can be most instructive.

You have many Teachers, including the Old Masters. Learn from them. If you are a music teacher or conductor, learn from your students, from your ensemble. Be grateful for good teachers; they are rare. You have one Teacher above all who will never give up on you.

Someone is always better; don't let that bother you. But:

Be the best that you can be. Music is hard work, and will remain so for the rest of your life. There is no way around it, and you owe it to yourself, to God, to the community to do the work, and be a shining light. Practice. Be prepared for rehearsals, for lessons, for performances, for church services. Be the musician on whom others in the choir or ensemble can rely.

The old books are best

Sometimes it will get ugly – You may have teachers who belittle you and tell you that you are worthless scum. Or conductors, or theatrical directors, or critics. And whenever you get in front of people to perform, the possibility is always there for epic failure. It will happen to you, probably more than once. Maybe a lot more than once. When it does, get up, dust yourself off, and move on. Most of all, forgive yourself. As for the teachers, conductors, and critics: learn from them if possible, but sometimes you must ignore them and press on. You will be stronger as a result.

You will have moments of surpassing splendor – you probably have already, in these Courses and elsewhere. Cherish these times, remember them. Be thankful for them; when it goes right, it is always a Gift and not entirely our doing.

Be kind. To yourself, to your fellow musicians, to your family and friends.

There is more to life than music. Live a full life. Spend time with friends, with family. Get outside: Beethoven would walk for hours in all kinds of weather.

You can do something else. Being a Musician is not an either-or choice. You can be a doctor, a schoolteacher, a mother with children at home, a sales clerk, a day laborer, and do the Music on the side. It is hard, but you will find that Music alone sometimes does not pay the bills. One of the finest of all bluegrass musicians, Lester Flatt, worked as a mill hand in a textile factory. The composer Charles Ives was an insurance executive, and a good one. You may find as much joy in your other work as you do in Music.

Cantare amantis est. This quote from St. Augustine is on my office door. It can be translated various ways; “Singing is born of love” might be one. I think it was Nadia Boulanger who said: “What is without love is nothing.” St. Paul had something to say about that, too (I Corinthians 13:1).


There is nothing that can equal a life in Music. If you choose this path, I expect that you will find it rewarding. And whether or not you walk the path, I wish for you every blessing and grace.

[See also this.]

RSCM Report: Part II

Two Ladies from Memphis (and one from Indianapolis)

One of our two scheduled organists, David O., became seriously ill before the Course and had to stay home. That left Debbie Smith, already the adult housemaster and organist for the Evensong, to learn the Mass music on the fly. The task would have put me in a panic; Debbie took it in stride. She was on the bench in the Todd Hall Chapel every morning at 6 am, besides all-too-brief visits to the churches, with both of the instruments unfamiliar to her. And in the Saturday and Sunday services, she played splendidly.

It fell to me to assist Kristin Lensch, the treble housemaster, as accompanist for two sectional rehearsals. It was an unalloyed delight to begin the day's work at the piano behind Kristin, facing thirty-some energetic trebles, Lucy and Ted from our parish among them. I could write much about Kristin, but will say only that she is one of the finest choral musicians I have encountered. Were I responsible for an RSCM Course, she would be my first choice as musical director. And Debbie would be the organist.

These two have been mutual friends for a long time, and part of the St. Louis Course from its inception. When I think of these Ladies from Memphis, I think as well of Debra Nethercott. Much of Mr. B.'s work fell to her as Executive Director, and I think it was a difficult week for her, most of all because her duties kept her from singing. I could say much about her as well, but it is sufficient to note that her choir has produced young musicians of the highest quality such as Eddie and Spencer, Kyle and her sisters, the Conley brothers, and too many others to name.

Though I see them only this one week of the year, I count these three ladies among my best friends and professional colleagues, and treasure my time with them.

[Footnote: It is not my normal policy to give full names in the Music Box, in order to respect privacy. I have done so here, and in the previous entry where I mentioned the Choir School, because of my respect for the work of these people, in hopes that my high opinion of them may serve in some small way as an endorsement.]

The Big House

Todd Hall, the site of the RSCM Course, was originally a private residence. After the Todd family gave it to the local Episcopal parish (St. George's Belleville) in 1982, other buildings were added, making it into a retreat center. Always, Mr. B. and Br. Vincent have stayed in the House during the Course, along with the musical director, with the rest of us in the other buildings, mostly Wilson and Blackburn.

I was assigned a room in Blackburn as usual. While I unpacked, Weezer came by and asked if I would move; they needed the room for one of the women. He sent me to the Big House, which I was to share for the week with Mr. Ashby and Mr. Kurth.

It is a luxurious place in a 1950's split-level manner, but at times, especially the first night, it reminded me of staying in my Mother's house alone after she had gone to the care center. I found that the Big House was empty without the two men who had always been in it (yes, “always” means “one week a year,” but I never saw the House in any other light). After the first night's Compline, I sat in the fine screened porch on the back of the house, eating a bedtime snack. The night was heavy with the sounds of a hot summer night in the country. It was quiet, beautiful with the last light of evening in the west across the Mississippi. But I missed Mr. B., who would be out here on the porch smoking cigarettes and talking with the other adult participants.

There are other memories in this house. I remember Mr. Todd, who built it for his family. Years ago, when I often sat in the grape arbor on the south end of the house to write, he would trundle up in his golf cart, unlock the padlock on the wooden door to the swimming pool, and go in to swim laps. He was (I think) in his eighties by then, and living in a newer house on the east side of the property. “We can't let people use the pool,” he told me. “The liability insurance is too high.” Since he died, the pool has been empty, drained and used for storage.

Some of Mr. and Mrs. Todd's values remain evident: most people would not build a private Chapel onto their house, with pipe organ and space to rehearse a seventy-voice choir. Nor would they build a labyrinth, nor would they give it all to the Episcopal parish and stay on hand to assist in running the retreat center.

A more subtle memory of them became evident to me as the week progressed: they loved the outdoors. I suspect that they lived as I lived this week, eating my first breakfast at 6 am on the screened porch, spending time out there in the evenings, walking the paths and byways of the property.

Charles and Virginia Todd in their way contributed much to the Course. May they rest in peace, and delight in the music we make in their Chapel.

RSCM Report: Generations

For the Lord is gracious;
his mercy is everlasting;
and his truth endureth from generation to generation (Psalm 100:4)

For the first time, we had an RSCM St. Louis Course without Mr. B. Last year, I wrote that

[Mr. B.] is the one who started the St. Louis Course from scratch sixteen years ago, and I am convinced that this is the Great Work of his life. Now he is laying it aside, and it is obvious how much it means to him, and what an emotional day this was for him. In the downstairs choir room, he told the choir of the news after the service; it was an emotional moment for us all, most of all for his own choristers who love this man so deeply.

I have not yet dealt with it; I cannot imagine this Course without him. For now, I can only thank him for what he has done: the tedious administrative groundwork that has gone into the Course, year after year; his gracious hospitality in the "big house" after midweek Evensongs which made the Course such a special place for many of the adult participants, and so much more. May God's blessings be with him, and with us as we seek to go onward next year.

This year, the leadership was largely in the hands of a new generation. Instead of Mr. B., we had an executive committee of Debra, Kristin, Debbie and Weezer. Instead of Br. V. as Chaplain, we had Michael K. Instead of Caitlin and Elizabeth, we had Meredith, Jennifer, and Meara; for the boys we had Eddie and Mike, and able assistance from the assistant proctors Mark, Jenna, and Kyle. Four of those that I have named are from our parish and the others I have know from the Course since they were children; it pleases me that they have all grown into such capable leadership and responsibility for the choristers, as well as leading the choir with their musicianship.

Among the choristers and adults were many new participants, notably the group from the Choir School of East Texas, with Jeffery Ford, musical director, and Diana Keesey, executive director, whom I hope will be my friends for years to come. The musicianship of these choristers, their spirit, their laughter and joy in rehearsals and mealtimes were a delight. The mutual affection and respect between Jeffery, Diane, and their choristers was obvious, and is the foundation for the work they do together. I consider their Choir School a bold undertaking, and wish them the best as they build something virtually unique in the U.S. May the school prosper and be an example to others.



Four of the young women mentioned above found themselves in the ATB rehearsals this year, since we had plenty of strong confident trebles. They were joined in the alto section by Susan, another veteran of RSCM Courses and now in her mid-twenties, and several of the high-school age women from the Texas choir school. Other new altos of more advanced years, some of them parents of choristers, joined them. The result: a most amazing alto sound, rich and velvety and strong.

How did they come to this sound, and that in their first rehearsal together? It is the older women's doing as well as the young. The oldest of them, Judith (who is now in her sixties) told me later that she has noticed that her vibrato is more prominent than it used to be, which is normal for older singers. I listened for it in the next rehearsal, and yes, there it was – it blended with the rest and added a richness to the sound that would otherwise have been absent. She sat between Jennifer and Meredith for many of the rehearsals, and I hope that they got to know her better; Judith's intelligence, stability, and experience are valuable qualities to find in a friend when one is in one's twenties (or any time; I consider Judith to be one of my close friends).

We need one another, and that is reflected vocally. When there is a full spectrum of young, middle-aged, and older singers in a group, the sound is healthier. And it is in this manner, this act of singing together, that the faith is transmitted “from generation to generation.” It is not just the faith, I submit, but musicianship as well. Others taught me; I now teach the choristers that are in our parish; they in turn will someday teach others. If we could know, we would find that the chain extends back many generations, probably to the first hominids who made Music in the Earliest Days.

The tenor and bass sound was equally fine this year, with almost all of it coming from the teens and young adults. I sang between two young baritones from our parish, Ken and Tom, with Emmanuel (from Dallas) beside him. It was a delight to sing at their side as colleagues, and to look across and see others from our parish and from past Courses– Mike and Mark, no longer able to sing together except for the annual RSCM week – Max, singing with the tenors beside my young friend Saul from last year, with Eddie and Spencer from the Indianapolis group, both of them fine musicians and fine young men. It seems but yesterday that they were all trebles, and now Eddie is married, Mike and Mark are in college, and Spencer will be soon.

It was good to be with these people – men old and young, women, girls, boys. Our music together was at times a glimpse of that Promised Land where the Song shall be one, all creation together.

on Intercessory Prayer

Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. (Romans 8:27)

I am not very good at intercessory prayer. I end up feeling guilty much of the time, thinking of all the people I should be praying for, and all the people I forget to pray for, especially all the people that I have told “I'll pray for you,” and then I've forgotten to do so.

There are a number of problems with intercessory prayer. First, what good does it do?

I have a friend, Byron C. Bangert, who is a genuine Liberal Theologian. I owe him much, because when Byron was a young clergyman, he took a chance on hiring an untidy-looking young pianist who said he knew nothing about playing the organ, but thought he might be able to learn how. We have remained friends through all these years, as his theology has grown steadily more liberal and mine more Catholic and (in many ways) conservative.

Bangert wrote a book in 2006 ["Consenting to God and Nature,” a book which I heartily recommend]. In part, it is about this very question: What good does it do? If one believes as he does:

As a first step, I will endorse the understandings of the natural world that come to us from contemporary science, in particular, the view that there are no exceptions to the universality and inviolability of the causal nexus that is constitutive of all events.

then how could any prayer ever be answered? In short: God is not only unwilling to act in human or natural affairs by doing such things as, for example, raising his Son from the dead on the third day; God is unable to do so in a direct way (as Bangert expands upon later). More precisely, God is not omnipotent in the traditionally recognized sense; instead, God works (and can only work) through the existing natural laws revealed by modern science, and through the volition of those who are willing to work with him. It seems to me that this is refuted by the Argument of Anselm: one can easily imagine a God who can suspend the natural laws, and such a God would be greater. I am confident that Bangert would disagree.

He espouses Process Theology as a way for God to interact with the universe, positing a God who is panentheistic. When I first saw this word, I thought it was a misprint for “pantheistic”; it is not. Instead, panentheism claims that God contains the world but is not identical with it. It denies that the world is something that God “made.” The universe is not identical with God, but God cannot exist without the universe. Although, in my view, there are serious problems with Process Theology, it does offer a way for God to answer prayer. God can “persuade” agents who possess free will to do things His way. And in this view (based on the philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead), everything down to the subatomic particles has a degree of free will appropriate to its mode of being. So, if God wanted to do something that appears to be in violation of natural laws, all he has to do is ask, and if enough things are willing to cooperate, the “miracle” would take place.

When I first read of this (again, in Bangert's book; I had been innocent of these ideas before), I was intrigued. I could well imagine the atoms and molecules hearing God's voice and joyfully obeying his every wish, and far more reliably than humans have done. All of a sudden, anything was possible: “Is there any thing too hard for the Lord?”, as the angel said. I still suspect that there might be some truth in here, somewhere, but I do not think that the current formulation is correct.

For example, I am unable to accept that God does not exist apart from the universe. I toyed with the idea that he did, at the beginning, exist on his own, and created the universe as something to which he was no more directly related than an author to his story. But by means of the Incarnation, he irrevocably tied himself to this universe by his free choice. There is a real person, a flesh-and-blood Homo sapiens who was “born of a woman” in a particular time and place into this particular universe, who is now and for ever inseparably a part of the Godhead.

I broached these ideas to Byron in a long letter; he responded at equal length saying that this is completely incompatible with Process Theology, as are the concepts of the Incarnation and the Trinity. Jesus did not have two natures (the “hypostatic union,” as I believe it is called); he was simply a human who completely lived what he said in the Garden: “Not my will, but thine be done.” From beginning to end, his will was perfectly aligned with the Father's. While this, also, is true as far as it goes, I think that it is not the full picture. I think that it is equally true that “the Word was made flesh.”

My point, after this long digression, is that by whatever means, I do believe that God can answer prayer, even if it means acting contrary to the laws of physics, biology, and the other sciences. I remain agnostic as to just how this works, but I accept the evidence – most of all the Resurrection -- as convincing proof.


A second problem:

As noted, I forget to pray for people that need prayer, and that I ought to be remembering, and then beat myself up with guilt for forgetting them. This is, in the end, a statement of finitude. I cannot pray for everyone who needs prayer, any more than I can help everyone who needs help. I can, at best, tackle a microscopic sliver of these tasks. But we know someone who does not forget even the smallest sparrow, and who is unwilling for any of his sheep to perish:

. . . this man, because he continueth ever, hath an unchangeable priesthood. Wherefore he is able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for them. (Hebrews 7:24-25)

Our intercessions, as inadequate as they are, become part of his perfect intercession. Our intercessory prayers are “through Jesus Christ our Lord.” And so long as that is true, they will be heard. If I forget to pray for someone, He doesn't.


A final problem: What to pray for?

“Even the wise do not know all ends,” as (I think) Gandalf said. When someone is sick (for example), is it really best to pray for healing? Might not the illness be a means of grace for the person bearing it? Some of mine have been so. Yet, we do have an Example telling us to ask for specific needs that we have: “Give us this day our daily bread.” Further, people came to Jesus seeking very specific help for themselves and others. So, when someone is sick, I do pray that God will heal them, and likewise for any other difficulty. When I hear or read of someone in need, I pray for them right then, and every time that they come back to mind. I try not to worry about the times that they do not come back to my mind; as noted previously, I trust our Lord Christ with that. I trust the Father who gives every good gift to refrain from giving us what we ask when something other would be of more benefit. I further trust the “groanings which cannot be uttered” of the Spirit to express what I cannot, or dare not, say.

But more and more, my prayers tend to take the form of “Remember ______ .” As the Quakers say, I “hold them to the Light,” and trust that God will know how best to address their need.

Seeing then that we have a great high priest, that is passed into the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast our profession. For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin. Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need (Hebrews 4:14-16)

[Footnote: For a much better treatment of this subject, see “Letters to Malcolm, chiefly on Prayer,” by C.S. Lewis. Some people consider it to be his finest book.]

Prayer and the Sanctification of Time

Many years ago, I worked for an Anglican parish in the Caribbean where Matins and Evensong were said daily at the church. Anywhere from a half-dozen to twenty or more people came – taxi drivers, hotel maids and kitchen workers, bartenders, unemployed people, one family with four children, two police officers, office workers, a lawyer. They cared about these services enough to fit them in around their workdays and other duties. A couple of the older folks walked into town for Matins pretty much every day; one of the taxidrivers gave them lifts home or to the markets afterwards for free.

It is for this that I became an Anglican.



One hundred fifty psalms every month; great swaths of Holy Scripture, daily canticles that quickly became best of friends, prayers that expressed what needed to be said to begin and end the day – and all of it in the magnificent language of the old Prayerbook and the Authorized Version of the Bible. . . . There were no sermons (except at choral evensong, which was offered every Sunday), normally no music except for one unaccompanied hymn after the collects; just plain ordinary people, sharing language (Biblical and otherwise) that was thoroughly honest, polished like stones in a creekbed by centuries of use. Mind you – these were not monks and nuns, or particularly “religious.” Most of them had little education and spoke the everyday dialect of the Caribbean – incomparably beautiful, but quite different from the language of the Bible and Prayerbook. Despite what trendy clergypersons and “liturgists” have insisted to me in the decades since, they understood the “thees” and “thous” and all the rest without the slightest difficulty.

This was Thomas Cranmer's dream. As one can read in the preface to the First Book of Common Prayer of 1549 (page 866 in the U.S church's 1979 BCP), the Daily Offices of the medieval monks and nuns were so complex and burdensome that an average layperson could not hope to negotiate his way through them. He disposed of the “Anthems, Responds, Invitatories, and such like things” that created most of the complexity; he directed that the Psalter, and most often the Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments, be read straight through in course rather than scattered around or (largely) ignored; he condensed the seven monastic Offices into two: Matins and Evensong. So far as I know, parish clergy in the Church of England are still under vow to say these offices in the church every day. American clergy are under no such vow.

Cranmer intended for the people of the parish to attend these services, where there “[was] ordained nothing to be read, but the very pure word of God, the holy Scriptures, or that which is evidently grounded upon the same...” with the hope that “the people (by daily hearing of holy Scripture read in the Church) should continually profit more and more in the knowledge of God, and be more inflamed with the love of his true religion.”

In the 450-plus years since, it has not often happened that way. But there are many Anglican laypeople, besides the monastics of the Anglican communion, and (I hope, somewhere) a few clergy who say the offices as they are able, and find them to be of inestimable value. In my current parish, there are a handful of us, mostly from the Brotherhood of St. Andrew and the Daughters of the King, who do what we can. There are fourteen mornings-and-evenings in a week, we have public services at the church for five to seven of them, depending on the week. Attendance normally ranges from one (the norm at Matins) to about a dozen (the monthly Saturday Matins with the Daughters of the King), and somewhat more at the once-a-month Choral Evensong. Most weeks, I make it to four of these services, praying the balance of them at home, or wherever I happen to be.

Matins and Evensong are the cornerstones upon which the day is built. They are, of course, much older than Cranmer. They are rooted in the earliest days of Israel's pilgrimage: in Exodus, God tells Moses and Aaron to offer “sweet incense” (Ex. 30:7-8) and burnt offerings (Ex. 29:38-46) every morning and evening as a “continual offering throughout your generations”. God goes on to say that “there will I meet with the children of Israel,” and “I will dwell among [them], and will be their God.” Placing these statements in the context of the daily offerings implies to me that they are central in the encounter between God and his people. There is more: it is a “lamb of the first year” that is offered as the burnt offering, and the incense is compounded on a base of frankincense (Ex. 30:34). The altars of incense and burnt offerings (as well as Aaron, representing what now, in the time of the “priesthood of all believers,” would be all of us) are sanctified by anointing oil of which “pure myrrh” is a principal ingredient. Thanks to the Magi, frankincense and myrrh are evermore connected with the Lamb of God whose Star they followed. These things teach that all of our prayers are “through Jesus Christ our Lord.” But that is a topic for another time.

In the Anglican approach, it is in these two offices of Matins and Evensong that large chunks of Psalmody and Scripture are read. It is vital, in my experience, to immerse oneself in the Story. It is impossible to live as a Christian without doing so. Obviously, our prayers are not limited to what is printed in the Prayerbook. But none of us can pray in a vacuum, as if it were just “me and God,” with no context of Scripture or Church. As often happens, Cardinal Ratzinger has appropriate words about this:

[speaking of the “I – Thou” theologies of Martin Buber and others in the 1930's] Partnership between God and man is conceived in I-Thou terms in a way which deprives God of his infinity and excludes each individual “I” from the unity of being. By comparison with God, man's identity is not simply in himself but outside himself . . . The Christian believer discovers his true identity in him who, as the “firstborn of all creation,” holds all things together (Col. 1:15ff), with the result that we can say that our life is hidden with him in God (Col. 3:3). . . . The church as a whole presents the model of this kind of “identity.” . . . In finding my own identity by being identified with Christ, I am made one with him: my true self is restored back to me, I know that I am accepted, and this enables me to give myself back to him. On this basis the theology of the Middle Ages proposed that the aim of prayer . . . was that, through it, man should become an anima ecclesiastica – a personal embodiment of the church. . . . In this process the language of our Mother becomes ours; we learn to speak it along with her, so that, gradually her words on our lips become our words. (from The Feast of Faith, Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger; my emphasis)

This last is the most beautiful statement of why one should pray the Daily Offices (and the other prayers of the Church) that I have ever encountered. It corresponds exactly with my experience of praying the Offices for close to three decades. These prayers, psalms, and Scriptures remain the prayers of Holy Mother Church, but they have become “my” words, my prayers as well. Their language and ideas have spilled over into every corner of my life. If they would have the proper and full effect of turning me into a true anima ecclesiastica, it would be a Good Thing, but there is much still to be done.

I am focusing narrowly on the Anglican traditions here; there are many other paths. About ten years ago, I happened in a thrift store upon a set of the four Roman Catholic books for the Liturgy of the Hours. They had belonged to a Hispanic Jesuit, and there they were on the shelf. I bought them for 80 cents per volume, and spent the next six months or so saying the Offices from them, instead of from the Episcopal book. In (modern) Roman usage, the large chunks of Scripture and Psalmody are in the “Office of Readings,” and there are, as Cranmer noted, a great many “Anthems, Responds, Invitatories, and such like things.” The largest difference for me was the arrangement of the psalmody, following the Benedictine model of placing psalms where they best fit in terms of time of day, and day of the week. There are advantages to this. But the English translations are horribly pedestrian (I suspect the services, psalms, and Scripture lessons would be much better in Latin), and I had already grown too accustomed to the Book of Common Prayer. So, after a half-year, the Roman books went on the shelf, for occasional reference. And, again, there are many other paths to prayer. I encourage you to find, and follow, one that “is suitable to your condition,” as they used to say. Even for those who do not follow the Roman Rite in these particulars, it is worthwhile to read the General Instruction of the Liturgy of the Hours.


A few other details:

One important ingredient to daily prayer is Table Grace. In addition to the obvious use at mealtimes, I often pray such prayers as I cook, wash dishes, and shop for groceries. The whole relationship with food is cause for most grateful thanksgiving.

Then, there are the “Little Hours.” They are just that – little. I have come to them rather late, and am still struggling to make the midday Hour a regular part of my life. But they have helped me. The Book of Common Prayer gives forms for “An Order of Service for Noonday” and “An Order for Compline,” which is at the close of day. I follow these, conforming the language to “Rite One” traditional usage, which I consider more appropriate for prayer. In addition, I say (usually in a whisper, for Mrs. C. is sleeping) a Little Hour upon my first awakening, before I get out of bed. This is of my own devising, but follows the form of the Noonday hour:

Invitatory:

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

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost:
As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be:
world without end. Amen.

Psalm 100:

O be joyful in the Lord, all ye lands . . . .

Scripture: Hebrews 12:1-3

Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses . . .

Kyrie eleison.
Christe eleison.
Kyrie eleison.

The Lord's Prayer

A Collect for Grace (BCP p. 57)

O Lord, our heavenly Father, almighty and everlasting God, who hast safely brought us to the beginning of this day: Defend us in the same with thy mighty power; and grant that this day we fall into no sin, neither run into any kind of danger; but that we, being ordered by thy governance, may do always what is righteous in thy sight; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Dismissal:

Let us bless the Lord.
Thanks be to God.
(Alleluias added to the above during the Easter Season)

The above has been very helpful toward beginning the day in a proper context, and I commend it to you.

Then, and in some ways the most important, is the ongoing practice of “breath prayer.” The most common way of doing this is the “Jesus Prayer,” from the eastern Orthodox tradition. I tried that for a while, and ended up with my own form: I pray “Deo gratias,” inhaling “Deo” and exhaling “gratias.” It seems to me that this is a way of fulfilling the Apostle's injunction: “Rejoice evermore. Pray without ceasing. In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.” (I Thess. 5:16-18) In addition, since it is the final response of the Offices ("Thanks be to God"), it is a way in which the set times of prayer spill over into the rest of life, echoing throughout the day with every breath.


And there is yet another way to sanctify time: Music. But I have spoken of that elsewhere.

(revised from my LiveJournal: April 16, 2008)

Saint Benedict, and Getting Things Done

Today, July 11, is the Feast of St. Benedict.

Listen carefully, my son, to the master's instructions, and attend to them with the ear of your heart... The labor of obedience will bring you back to him from whom you had drifted through the sloth of disobedience. (Prologue to the Rule of St. Benedict)

Benedict's thoroughly sensible Rule laid a foundation for Christian life in community in the Western Church. Much of it deals with the Opus Dei, the daily cycle of Psalmody, Scripture, and Prayer. As I wrote in the previous essay, nothing is more important: Operi Dei nihil praeponatur. The Rule gives down-to-earth advice on becoming more humble and more obedient. And it covers the administrative aspects of living in community with unsurpassed wisdom.

Some of it might require a grain of salt nowadays:

Should anyone make a mistake in a psalm, responsory, refrain or reading, he must make satisfaction there before all.... Children, however, are to be whipped for such a fault. (Chapter 45, “Mistakes in the oratory,” sentences 1 and 3)

That might not go over so well in our youth choir rehearsals.

Much has been written and said about this Saint. I will content myself with one link, a sermon by the Holy Father who took his name, Benedict XVI: General Audience, 9 April 2008

… the Saint's work and particularly his Rule were to prove heralds of an authentic spiritual leaven which, in the course of the centuries, far beyond the boundaries of his country and time, changed the face of Europe following the fall of the political unity created by the Roman Empire, inspiring a new spiritual and cultural unity, that of the Christian faith shared by the peoples of the Continent. This is how the reality we call "Europe" came into being....

Without prayer there is no experience of God. Yet Benedict's spirituality was not an interiority removed from reality. In the anxiety and confusion of his day, he lived under God's gaze and in this very way never lost sight of the duties of daily life and of man with his practical needs.

A Rule of life is not just for monks and nuns. It is a helpful practice for anyone to develop some manner of Rule. I first started such a document many years ago as a way to organize my work on Sundays, a complex and challenging day for church musicians and others, such as clergy. At first, I simply wanted a task list so that others could fill in for me, but it quickly grew beyond that, and beyond Sundays into the rest of the week. Over years, it grew larger and more detailed, and then simpler. Changes to the Rule are made with thought and prayer, and the result is that, when I am disciplined by it (which is not always) I am not living my life by whim, but by reason and faith. I do not always live up to it.

As one of my colleagues, a youth director, often said, “Transitions are important.” If I am on task, I am all right – as I wrote the other day in regard to the Daily Office: once I begin, I can almost always carry it through. The point of danger arises when one task is laid aside and it is time to do Something Else. What might that be? Countless times the Rule has helped me; when in doubt, I do what is next. If necessary, I open my computer file and look at the Rule, and it reminds me. But over time, the sequence of the day's work becomes habitual, and that is good.

There must be enough flexibility to lay aside the order of things in the Rule to take care of what Stephen Covey would call “Quadrant One” tasks – “important and urgent.” But one of the defining qualities of such a task is that when it arises, there is no question as to what to do next, though the question of how to address the task may be less clear. As soon as possible, I return to the Rule.

My recent tweaks have mostly had to do with my growing recognition of larger cycles in my life, especially the monthly cycle that culminates in Choral Evensong, and the weekly cycles that center on Choral Rehearsals and Sunday Eucharist. How can my work be best arranged so that the things that matter get done?

I have said enough. You must make your own Rule, informed by the work of others, including Benedict most of all.

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.

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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.

Whitsunday, and the Leipzig Chorales

This day is the feast of the Holy Ghost the Lord, and Giver of Life, one of the seven Principal Feasts of the Church. My organ voluntaries today were the first two chorale preludes from the great Leipzig Chorales, gathered as a collection by J. S. Bach in his final years. The collection begins with Komm, heiliger Geist “in organo pleno” [see the first link at the end for a YouTube performance]. It is followed by a second setting, “alio modo” (“in another form”). The first (which was my postlude) represents one aspect of the Spirit: Her boundless energy, Her infinite capacity to be “outside the box,” outside any possible limitation and beyond even our wildest hopes and imaginings. The second is the quiet and gentle Comforter, the “still, small voice” who guides us when we are perplexed, binds up our wounds, patiently forms us into the image of Christ. The first is the mighty wind and the tongues of fire that fell on the disciples; the second is the water of life, flowing out from the throne of God – and from each believer – for the healing of the nations (Ezekiel 47, Revelation 22:1-2, St. John 7:37-39)

But there is also a subtext to this Day which is heard in the Daily Office Lessons:
- Deuteronomy 16:9-12
- Acts 4:18-33
- St. John 4:19-26

Deuteronomy makes clear that this feast of thanksgiving is not just for the elites. It is for everyone, and especially the “stranger, and the fatherless, and the widow.”

And thou shalt rejoice before the LORD thy God, thou, and thy son, and thy daughter, and thy manservant, and thy maidservant, and the Levite that is within thy gates, and the stranger, and the fatherless, and the widow, that are among you.... And thou shalt remember that thou wast a bondman in Egypt.

Our Lord Christ tells the Woman of Samaria that the worship of the living God is no longer bound to any place, nor limited to the priests and Levites and the few who have been the chosen.

[T]he hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth, for the Father seeketh such to worship him.

The door is open for the likes of William Tyndale, who told one of the prelates of his day that “ere many years I will cause a boy that driveth the plough to know more Scripture than thou doest.” From the first, Christianity has been most of all a religion of slaves, outcasts, beggars, sharecroppers, peasants, common working folk, and children. And, miraculously, it is all this without setting them against the rich, the well-educated, the comfortable; there is room for all. This is the work of the Holy Ghost, in concert with the Father and the Son. The door is now open for everyone.

“Would God that all the LORD's people were prophets,” said Moses (Numbers 11:29). Today is this hope fulfilled: “Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy... And on my servants and on my handmaidens I will pour out in those days of my Spirit, and they shall prophesy” (Acts 2:17-18, quoting Joel).

One of the ways in which this is fulfilled is through Music, which is given to all of us in one form or another. In Friday's Epistle from the Daily Offices we heard this:

[B]e filled with the Spirit; speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making music in your heart to the Lord (Ephesians 5:19)

When we sing well, or play well, the music is living water flowing out from us. It is not our doing; it is the work of the Spirit.

For every work [or act] of creation is threefold, an earthly trinity to match the heavenly.

First [not in time, but merely in order of enumeration] there is the Creative Idea, passionless, timeless, beholding the whole work complete at once, the end in the beginning: and this is the image of the Father.

Second, there is the Creative Energy [or Activity] begotten of that idea, working in time from the beginning to the end, with sweat and passion, being incarnate in the bonds of matter: and this is the image of the Word.

Third, there is the Creative Power, the meaning of the work and its response in the lively soul: and this is the image of the indwelling Spirit.

And these three are one, each equally in itself the whole work, whereof none can exist without other: and this is the image of the Trinity. (Dorothy Sayers, “The Mind of the Maker” p. 37-38, quoted here.)

---

I would love to play the Leipzig Chorales as a concert, or more probably as two concerts on successive nights. One sometimes hears the Clavierübung chorales in concert, with the Prelude and Fugue in E flat framing them, and it makes a highly effective programme. I do not recall ever hearing of the Leipzig Chorales as a programme, though surely many have done it. I believe that this music, heard all at once, would be a most profound lesson in the art of the organ chorale. Not only does Bach demonstrate many ways in which the Tune can be treated, he offers multiple versions of some of the chorales, showing the range of possibilities – as we heard today with the two widely divergent settings of Komm, heiliger Geist.

Were I to do such a thing, today's two voluntaries would be the beginning of the first concert, the first fifteen minutes. There would follow:

An Wasserflussen Babylon
Schmücke dich, O liebe Seele
Herr Jesu Christ, dich zu uns wend
O Lamm Gottes unschuldig
Three settings of Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland

This set of preludes would begin and end strongly and contain sufficient variety to be engaging. If we sang the chorales, it would help the audience understand what Bach is doing, and would make a good full programme. The problem might be with the second night's music:

Three settings of Allein Gott in der Höh sei Ehr'
Two settings of Jesus Christus, unser Heiland
Komm, Gott Schöpfer, Heiliger Geist
Some Canonic Variations on the Christmas song Vom Himmel hoch, da komm ich her
Vor deinen Thron tret ich

For the most part, this music is quiet. It might be especially difficult to maintain interest through the Canonic Variations so late in a program; they are sublime, but the listener (and the player) must be attentive. It would be well to end with the Vor deinen Thron, composed in part on the final day of Bach's life. It would be very well indeed; coming to such an ending would be a chief reason for playing these programs.

In practical terms, I have played all but four of these chorales, and one of the four is fingered and on the schedule for October (Herr Jesu Christ, dich zu uns wend – I am excited to finally be playing this delightful piece). Several of these are among the chief parts of my repertoire, music that is perhaps more important to me than any other – in that category I would place the quiet setting of Komm, Heiliger Geist from this morning, the O Lamm Gottes, the first setting of Allein Gott, and Vor deinen Thron. But I do not know if I could get all of them to performance level at the same time; it is a lot of music.

Here are recordings of the Eighteen Chorales, but without the Canonic Variations, played very well by Hans Otto in 1970 on two Silbermann organs of the sort that would have been familiar to Bach. All told, it is about ninety minutes of music.

First part
Second part
Third part

And here is Helmut Walcha playing the Canonic Variations on another Silbermann organ, from perhaps 1960.