Confirmation: Children of the heavenly Father

Today was the Bishop's Visitation, with the sacraments of Baptism and Confirmation. The appointed Gospel was St. Mark 9:30-37, wherein Jesus takes a little child in his arms and tells the disciples that “whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.”

With that in mind, our anthem was a setting of the old Swedish hymn “Children of the heavenly Father” by Daniel Kallman. Here is the YouTube clip from this morning's service.

I have been ill at ease for several days and not at all productive in my work. Today I realized why; this day was important to me, so much that I could focus on little else – very much like I get during Holy Week, or the run-up to our Lessons and Carols service in Advent, or the day of the first choir rehearsals of the fall season.

Our Bishop does not often visit our parish; his last visit was the installation of our current rector, about a year and a half ago, and he has not done Confirmation here for many years. He prefers to administer “regional” confirmations (of which today's service was one, though we had no candidates from beyond our parish), and the last one of those was I think more than a year ago.

We had two young adults who were both baptized and confirmed today – one of them, J., sings in the choir, and both of them are Musicians, string players. And we had two young children – one a child of about one or two years, the other an infant of about one month, on his first visit to Church. His parents are dear to me, and this child has not come to them easily, so it was highly emotional for me, and for many others who know them. May he live to see his children's children.

The confirmation included the two young men, as I mentioned, another adult who is new to our parish, plus two high school students who have gone through the multiple years of preparation for confirmation. They also are dear to me; one of them sang in our youth choir when he was a child and attended an RSCM Course with us.

And it included one of my friends, who asked me to be her sponsor. When the time came, I presented her to the Bishop, stumbling over her name, and alongside her husband and children, laid hands on her as the Bishop administered this holy Sacrament.

Strengthen, O Lord, your servant N. with your Holy Spirit; empower her for your service; and sustain her all the days of her life. Amen (BCP p. 309)

The power that is in this Sacrament differs from what one senses in Holy Baptism. There is a determination and strength in Confirmation, as the above prayer suggests. And there is a sustenance. I have found it so; I do not think that I would have persevered in my Christian life, and certainly not in my work as a church musician, without the inward grace of this Sacrament. Like the sacrament of Holy Matrimony, the inward grace of Confirmation seems to appear most of all very much later, years and decades later, when it is most needed.

And like all of the Sacraments, the power is not something “supernatural.” Not at all. It is, rather, thoroughly “natural” – the power I sensed today as I joined in the laying on of hands is the same power that one senses in a sunrise, or the vigorous strength of a tree in its full maturity, or the irresistible onset of Spring. I believe that this “naturalness” can be found only in the works of the One we serve, and never in the counterfeits of the Enemy. His works can dazzle, or entertain, or overpower with violence, or carry one away with the frenzy of a mob bent on mayhem and murder. But there is no life in them.

The wisdom that comes from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy. (St. James 3:17, from today's Epistle)

In closing, I include my prelude improvisation from the middle service. It is a set of variations on the hymn “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of creation,” with the tune “Lobe den Herren.”

Many of the important examples of the Variation form stray quite far from the tune as the variations continue; I tried to emulate this by moving to the dominant minor and including several passages of development, and avoiding full statements of the theme through much of the improvisation. A critic could call it a confused mish-mash of conflicting forms, with elements of A-B-A, and sonata form, and even a hint of rondo. But to my ear, it seems to work, and to present some possibilities for future efforts.

I did not realize how much of me was bound up into this day's liturgies until they were done. I was able to join my friend and her family for a relaxed dinner at a barbecue house, followed by an hour's nap in my Honda, up on the top level of the parking ramp in the sunshine, and then I spent the balance of the afternoon and evening working out fingerings. Most of it was for the Dorian Toccata and Fugue of Bach, which is on the schedule for Christ the King. It is a serious and intense work, and it was good to delve into it, and I found that I could do so with a freedom that had eluded me this week.

I took a break after the Toccata for Evensong in our church's courtyard as the sun set and the half-moon sailed across the clear sky. The psalm for this Twentieth Evening is 104, the psalm that most closely relates to the world of Nature. Near the end is a passage that is one of my watchwords; I have it posted in Hebrew in my office. In its context in the Psalm, it is a reminder that Music (when it is done aright), being one of the works of our Maker, partakes in the “naturalness” of all that lives and grows and nurtures and heals.

Ashira l'Adonai b'hachai
Azemerah leohi b'odi
Ye'erav alaiou sichi
Esemach b'Adonai

I will sing to the LORD as long as I live;
I will praise my God while I have my being.
May these words of mine please him;
I will rejoice in the LORD.

Evening Song, Canticles, and H. M. the Queen

Our First Sunday choral evensong on Sept. 6 went well. I do not have time to say much about it beyond grateful thanks to the choristers, especially the new choristers of the St. Simeon's Choir, which augments the regular Trinity Choir for evensongs – this was the first time for the combined groups.

But I do wish to refer you to some music from the service:

The organ prelude: by David Hurd, “Evening Song.” It is a quiet and contemplative piece, obviously influenced by Messiaen. I own Dr. Hurd an enormous debt, for he was the first Organist that I heard. I was eighteen, newly arrived at Duke, and singing in the Chapel Choir for the first Sunday of the term, when it was open to all comers. As we processed into the Duke Chapel, Hurd was playing the Bach Prelude and Fugue in B Minor on the old Aeolian organ - I believe that this was his first Sunday, as well, at least his first semester as Chapel Organist.

The Bach piece changed my life. I had no idea that Real Music could be a part of Christian worship. I knew of Bach -- by this time, I had played some of the first book of the Well Tempered Clavier -- but I had never heard any of the organ music; indeed, I had never heard a pipe organ.

I did not take organ lessons at Duke: a friend who was an organ major discouraged me from it. But the seed was planted. And I did not sing in the Duke Choirs; I auditioned - twice - and did not make the cut. This was grievous to me at the time, but it has proven to be better for me as a choral director; it has given me a firm commitment to the welcoming of all who evidence sufficient desire to come to rehearsals.

And here are the Canticles: the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis. These were composed for our choir by Justin Mann during the year that our Pilcher organ was in storage for a construction project and we were worshipping in the Parish Hall. Thus, the accompaniment is for piano. I do not know of another setting of the Canticles with piano accompaniment, which in my opinion should give this version wide applicability. On two Wednesdays' rehearsal, we did not entirely do it justice, but I hope that the YouTube clip gives a sufficient idea of the piece.

I must hurry on, but I cannot close without special thanks to Jean L., who suggested the idea of the St. Simeon's Choir and did much to make it possible.

And I also wish to congratulate Her Majesty the Queen: on this day, she passes Victoria as the longest-reigning British monarch. She is the "Royal" in the Royal School of Church Music -- that is, she is the RSCM's Royal Patron. Her mother, of blessed memory, was the Patron after the death of George VI (who, until his death, was the Patron, as was his father). It is said that she frequently visited the RSCM Courses in Great Britain, to hang out with the choristers and especially the directors, with whom she would have a bit of sherry or other refreshment. And she was diligent in this work to the end of her long life. Since then, Elizabeth R. has been the Patron. She is not a great fan of classical music, but she takes the RSCM seriously and supports its work.

Long live the Queen!

In my Father's house are many mansions

Today was a housewarming party for my friends N., J. and their children. Being Monday, it is also my Sabbath. And it was a beautiful sunny day of late summer. I was unsure of the parking in their neighborhood, so I left my Honda in the staff parking behind the church and walked, about fifteen minutes through a fine older neighborhood. And I found the place, which is on a street that I had never visited; a quiet side street close the children's school – once I got within about a half-block, all I had to do was to follow my ears to the house where lots of children were playing in the backyard – what seemed to be about half of our Youth Choir, plus many others.

It was the sort of house that I love: nineteenth century, with old wavy glass in the windows, what looked like pine floors, low ceilings, especially in the tiny bedrooms upstairs – which can be reached only by way of a narrow steep staircase. Too many homes of Episcopalians are cold and sterile, everything perfectly placed and mostly new, more like a luxury hotel suite than any place where a person could actually live. This was Home, a place that had clearly been home to several generations and brimming with life.

On this day, it was full of children, tumbling up and down the stairs, through the rooms, in and out the back door into the yard. I mostly stood in a corner of the kitchen with my friend's father and watched, talking of the Greatest Generation and what has followed, and comparing it to the generation of the War Between the States, who did what they could to ensure that nothing like that would ever happen again. It may have been such a family that first built this house, back in the 1880's or thereabouts. And I am sure that the great-grandparents of these children, who would have been of that Great Generation, would be pleased that they have a Home in a quiet neighborhood where they can walk to school, and would say a prayer that they never see the dark days of Depression and War.

I pray that for them, too.

All in all, it made for a fine Sabbath of rest for me to be there among these people, the parents who could almost (by age) be my children, and their children, running about and enjoying the day. It reminded me more than a little of the fictional household of Arthur and Molly Weasley.

Walking back to the church, I considered something that has sometimes nagged at me about Heaven – how could it be a perfect place and the Home of which all others are but a shadow without children running around and playing in the yard? It would not be fair for those who die as children and make their first entrance into Heaven as such to remain so; they must come to their full flowering of maturity, as must we all. So would there be no children in that place? On this day, the answer came to me: We are the children. All of us, clear back to Adam and Eve. In that place, the child that remains tucked away inside of us can peek its head around the door and see wonders beyond imagining. And all of his friends, all there. And a whole universe to play in. And at the same time, each of us with the maturity and wisdom of the ancients. And a Father who is more playful than the most mischievous child; one need only read in the Book of Nature and contemplate the God who created puppies and kittens and lambs in the spring.

Even so, come, Lord Jesus.

Hammered Dulcimer and miracles

I awoke early this morning with the thought that the Hammered Dulcimer could be an instrument for one of my young friends to learn. I did some “research” – that is, I spent about a half-hour on YouTube – and passed the results on to her mother.

But in the process, I was hooked.

This is one of those magical instruments which has always left me in awe of its beauty, quicksilver lightness, and grace. Here is a music video by Caleb Shetler that captures some of its spirit.

My favorite performer has always been John McCutcheon: here is one his videos.

For old times' sake, here is McCutcheon again, back in 1981, showing in the first half that he can also play the guitar. The second half is at the hammered dulcimer.

Back in those days, I was able to hear him in live performance several times, because he lived not far away in the mountains of Southwest Virginia.

Not only is the sound beautiful, but so are the instruments. And they are in a price range that I could afford. I spent some time looking at the websites of some builders. Oh, I want one of these!

And I could learn to play it. Here is the first of a series of instructional videos by Jess Dickinson
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Uh... when exactly will I do this? What will I have to neglect to do it? Is it not enough to play the organ? And the piano, with the chance to play that gorgeous Steinway in church every Sunday morning and as often as I can during the week?

That is the rub. I must focus on what I do, and not dream of going off on a tangent.
But I can enjoy the dulcimer and those who play it.

And after the morning's detour, it was a miracle of grace to go upstairs and open up the hundred-year-old Pilcher. Somehow, it was more beautiful in its ancient and venerable grace than before, this King of Instruments, this instrument of Bach and Franck and Messiaen, this instrument of Holy Mother Church and handmaiden of the Divine Liturgy.

And tomorrow, I hope to work with an ensemble yet more beautiful and gracious and precious in the sight of the Lord – for He made these instruments, these choristers with their voices. It is a miracle to sing; it is a miracle to work with singers in a choir. It is the first Sunday of the season for the adult choir, and in the evening – Choral Evensong.

All music is a miracle. I was glad of the reminder this morning.

Reading Music

This year, the Youth Choir has only one new chorister, plus two older choristers who have returned after some years away. Last year, we had a much larger number, but whether one or a dozen, I must teach them to read music. I wish I could say that all of our choristers can sight-sing with ease; they don't. But I have learned to set the standard lower: I would like for them to be able to find the place where we are rehearsing, follow their part in a choral score, sing or speak the rhythms accurately (at least to the level of eighth notes, dotted quarter/eighth patterns, triplets, and occasional sixteenth note passages), and have the basic concept of solfege.

I often draw a chart on the board that outlines the basics:
- follow the notes
- rhythm
- pitch
- other stuff

Follow the Notes:
A chorister is not going to get far if he is not in the same place on the page as the rest of the choir. Or even on the same anthem! It continues to surprise me how often a young chorister can appear to be singing merrily along through ten minutes of work on an anthem, and upon closer examination, she is looking at a completely different anthem. We had one example of that yesterday form a second-year chorister: We were rehearsing the preces and responses by William Byrd; he had the responses by William Smith, bound in the same book. Granted, the text is the same, but I should have caught his mistake more quickly. And (ideally) so should he. So, the first part of following the notes is Finding the Place -- the right anthem, the right page, the right part of the page. It helps when the director is consistent in his announcements: "page six, the second system, third measure." Or as those influenced by Gerre Hancock would say, "Six, two, three," expecting the choir to find it from that - they can, and many choristers seem to enjoy the challenge of moving so quickly.

To this end, I pair a new chorister with a more experienced singer, perhaps one or two years older, or even much older (e.g., middle school or high school). They share one music folder. At first, the new singer watches the older one follow the notes with his finger, then (perhaps on the second or third time through a passage) they trade; the new singer has the folder and follows the notes, with the older singer watching and helping when she gets off-track.

The new choristers invariably want their own choir folder; it is one of the marks of Belonging to the Choir. And I have too often given it to them too early; I did this last year with some of the new singers, and it was in the long run a setback for them. Perhaps a month or so of rehearsals is right for folder-sharing; enough time so that the new singer can confidently follow notes and find the place.

What is "Follow the Notes?" I learned this from watching James Litton work with his probationers at Trinity Church, Princeton many years ago. I tell the choir to follow the notes; they put their finger on the first one, I play a passage (a short passage, perhaps one or two measures at first), they go from one note to the next. I stop suddenly, go around the room, and see if they have it. If not, I help them find it. Over time, the passages get longer, up to several pages sometimes -- but the limit then becomes the practical rehearsal value, for part of what we are doing is having the choir hear a new passage so that they can sing it.

And that is what we do. We follow the notes for a large enough chunk to work on, then we immediately sing it. But (usually) not with words, not yet. For we have more to do.

Rhythm
Rhythm notation is easier to learn than pitch notation, so we start there. I use the Kodaly rhythmic syllables: "Tah" for a quarter note, "Ti" for an eighth note. Longer durations are multiple "Tahs" -- a dotted half note would be "Ta - ah - ah" with an emphasis on each of the three beats.

The very first stage is aural. Especially if there are a lot of new singers (like last year), I will clap a short rhythm, speaking the "Tah's and Ti's", they repeat it back to me. That way, they learn what the durations mean. Then we would work from an example on the whiteboard, speaking/clapping it as I point to the notes. Then we would do the same from an anthem score -- often, I have taken my example from an anthem that we are learning -- speaking it (and following notes as we do so), then singing it on the Tah's and Ti's.

My goal is for the choir (and especially the new singers) to get to where we can sight-read the rhythms directly from the printed music, using the tah's and ti's and speaking the rhythms. They usually catch on to this quickly, within a few weeks or a couple of months.

Even much later, and with an adult choir (if they have learned the Tah's and Ti's), we will use the rhythmic syllables for sight-singing and rehearsal. I use them myself when I work on the congregational hymns, and sing them to myself in the liturgy as I play, especially when it is a situation where the congregation's sound lags behind the organ.

Another advantage of this work is that it breaks the common pattern where a new singer is following the words and not the notes. She must somehow learn to do both at once, but it helps to ignore the words at first.

Pitch
This is harder. Much harder.

Again, I use the Kodaly/Curwen solfege syllables, with movable Do: Do-Re-Mi-Fa-Sol-La-Ti-Do.
These go much further into the past, back to Guido of Arezzo in the early middle ages. And they remain essential, in my opinion. Others differ -- there are other systems, such as singing by interval. But this is what I teach.

The foundation is in our warmups. We always do scales - a descending scale down from Do to the bottom, then a turnaround and back up to the top. This is because descending patterns are better vocally for developing ease with register shifts. And with the children, we use the hand-signs (depicted in this article on the Kodaly Method). It gives them a tactile experience to go with the singing, and gives me a way to "line out" melodies. After they become thoroughly comfortable with scales and the hand signs, I will change directions in the middle of the scale, go back and forth stepwise, and try to "trick" them. They enjoy this.

After that is comfortable, I introduce skips in the melody. I begin with something like this:
Do-Re-Mi -- Do-Mi
where they have just sung the target of the skip and it is fresh in their memory.

All of this is by sound, rote, and hand-signing. It must be transferred to the page.

The first step is to write a scale on the board, with the solfa names. We sing from the board as I point to the notes; we go back and forth up and down the scale, and maybe do skips. Later, I will write an example from the music we are learning on the board and we will do the same; I point, they sing. Immediately after, we look at the printed score and do the same passage. Often, this is a hymn tune, for they are excellent material for this sort of work.

If the choir gets far enough along with this, we will eventually try to sight-read hymn tunes or anthem material on the solfa syllables, or do a second reading on the solfas after we have read it with the rhythm syllables. Most years, we don't develop much skill with this, though we often reach the point where we can slowly puzzle out a new tune with solfas as a group, the most experienced singers obviously taking a lead and the younger ones following.

I wish we could get further.

Other Stuff

That is, everything else that a music score tells us:
- words (vital for a singer! And this includes the vast domain of diction, phrase shaping, etc.)
- dynamic and tempo markings
- articulations (e.g., accents, breath marks)
- background material (composer, author, etc.)

And much more.

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Reading Music is a lifelong journey, a path I continue to walk. I can do no more than help the young people start down the path. But I am obliged to do at least that much.

Many children's choirs (and adult choirs too) don't do this. It is slow, it takes rehearsal time (though not so much when you are using the songs and anthems they are working on as your teaching material). And most choirs are working toward a more immediate result -- that anthem next month, or the Christmas concert. I believe that this shortchanges the choristers.

Again, I wish we could do more. I feel badly when singers that I have trained audition for other groups -- for example, the voice trials at every summer's RSCM Course. I wish that they would be far superior to the singers from other choirs -- but that is Pride talking, and I must ignore it. And when the occasional person comes through the choir and goes on to be a professional musician, I wish that I could have given them a more thorough training. But at least they have the concepts, which may make their collegiate training a little easier.

One of my young people from years ago, now the principal flutist with a mid-level symphony in the southeast, came back from her first semester at college amazed that her flute teacher expected her and the other students to learn their parts in solfege. She thanked me for getting her started.

More broadly, and probably of more importance, I hope that I can help equip these young people to sing in church and community choirs throughout their life, and intelligently sing the Songs of Zion, the hymns of the church.

As a chalice cast of gold

Again, we sang one of the hymns by Thomas Troeger with tune by Carol Doran, “As a chalice cast of gold.”

The hymn was new to the congregation, so I used it for an improvised prelude at the choral service on the organ. It forms the A section of an A-B-A form, with the opening hymn, St. Denio (Immortal, invisible) as the B section. Here is the improvisation.

The artwork begins with a Salvador Dali painting. The second, “The Chalice” by Morris Graves (1910-2001), I found very striking – it is as if the chalice is filled with light, perhaps a galaxy. He was a painter in the Pacific Northwest, much influenced by Zen Buddhism and Asian art.

I will share with you also an example of how hymn playing and improvisation should be done: Healey Willan, at the church of St. Mary Magdalene, Toronto: Hymn (Ye watchers and ye holy ones) and concluding improvisation

He takes the hymn with a much slower tempo than any modern organist would dare attempt – that was apparently the style at his parish. There is another YouTube clip of Willan playing “Hail thee, festival day” as a processional, and it takes somewhat over twelve minutes. Most clergy would have a conniption.

But the improvisation... I would like to play like this when I grow up. Notice the intimate relation between the hymn tune and the improvisation, and the grandeur.

I gather from the comments to these clips that nowadays, hardly anyone attends St. Mary Magdalene. I wonder what has happened to them in the fifty years or so since Willan's time.

At a choir dinner on Saturday, one of the choristers said that she did not know any of the hymns we have sung over the past year. I hear similar comments frequently from people who move here from other churches, including Episcopal parishes – they don't know the hymns. It is a stark reminder that my musical work in this place is but a leaf in a windstorm, a storm that seems to be carrying away all that is worthwhile - including such things as these fine hymns by Troeger and Doran that I have sought to keep alive. I will soon be gone, and what will become of it all?

That is not my concern; I can only do my work, here and now.

I see that all things come to an end,
But your commandment has no bounds. (Psalm 119:96)

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.

Ye cannot serve the LORD

Choose you this day whom ye will serve... (Joshua 24:15)

The Old Testament Lesson for tomorrow's Holy Eucharist is Joshua 24:1-2a, 14-18 (that is, in the Revised Common Lectionary, the Gospel-related track). It would be better had the framers of the lectionary included verses 3 through 13, wherein Joshua rehearses how God had cared for the people ever since he first called Abraham “and led him throughout all the land of Canaan.” He sent Moses and Aaron, and brought the people out of Egypt and through the Red Sea and through the wilderness. God said:

And I have given you a land for which ye did not labour, and cities which ye built not, and ye dwell in them; of the vineyards and oliveyards which ye planted not do ye eat. Now therefore fear the LORD, and serve him in sincerity and in truth; and put away the gods which your fathers served on the other side of the flood, and in Egypt, and serve ye the LORD. And if it seem evil unto you to serve the LORD, choose you this day whom ye will serve... (v. 13-15a)

Joshua, by now an old man addressing the people for the last time, tells them that whatever they decide, “as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD.” The people answer that “we will also serve the LORD, for he is our God” (v. 18), and there the appointed passage ends.

By ending here, the lectionary entirely misses the point, which is in the next verse:

And Joshua said unto the people, Ye cannot serve the LORD: for he is an holy God; he is a jealous God; he will not forgive your transgressions nor your sins (v. 19).

This conundrum lies at the heart of the Old Testament; God calls a people to be his own, but we cannot live up to that vocation. All of the historical writings, from Exodus and Numbers right on through the Books of the Kings, and all of the prophets – from beginning to end they testify of this fact. We cannot serve the LORD. What are we to do? As St. Peter says in tomorrow's Gospel, “Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life.” (St. John 6:68).

The answer was foreseen throughout the Old Testament, right alongside the conundrum, for all of its writings speak of the anointed one who was to come, the Messiah. And we have it right here in chapter six of St. John:

Then said they unto him, What shall we do, that we might work the works of God? Jesus answered and said unto them, This is the work of God, that ye believe on him who he hath sent. (v. 28-29)

That's it. What could be simpler? A child can do this – and as Jesus implies elsewhere, a child can probably do it better than the adults.

The theology is more fully worked out in the Epistle of St. Paul to the Romans: we cannot be justified by our actions, even the best of them, but we are saved by faith, by the unmerited gift of God.

Through this grace, all is made right. The way is opened for us to be his people in truth, and for the cleansing of all things.

And he showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb. In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month: and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. And there shall be no more curse: but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it; and his servants shall serve him. (Revelation 22:1-3)

When in our music God is glorified

The hymns went very well today.

Here is our opening hymn: “When in our music God is glorified” to the tune Engelberg. I remind you that it is an “organist's ear” perspective; the microphone is so close the organ that it is louder than it would be out in the room, where the congregation was singing vigorously. I post it here as an illustration of some of what I try to do when playing hymns (Note that it is an “unlisted” video; please do not share this link).

Introduction and stanza 1: solo tune in RH, alto and tenor in LH, pedal. All of this is on the Great, with the tune an octave higher.

Stanza 2: Great, played as written. Even when there is a hymn where you are doing things to some of the stanzas, there should normally be some of the stanzas that are “normal,” with nothing beyond what is in the printed text. Otherwise, all of your other techniques will quickly become tiresome.

Stanza 3: Reduce stops, still played as written.

Stanza 4: Add the swell reed (box at one-half); drop out the melody (play alto, tenor, bass at first; gradually build up into a descant by the end, opening the swell box – essentially I played an ascending scale with the printed harmonies. I did this in an attempt to depict the text of this stanza.)

Stanza 5: Full organ; descanting: “Let every instrument be tuned for praise/Let all rejoice who have a voice to raise...” Some of this is simply the same as what I played in stanza 4, but an octave higher.

The artwork is a painting by Titian: “The Trinity in Glory,” 1554.


And here is the improvisation from the middle service. As I described in yesterday's post, it is based on the hymn by Thomas Troeger and Carol Doran, “With glad exuberant carolings,” which in turn follows closely today's Epistle, Ephesians 5:15-20. As a second tune, I used the psalter tune Rendez a Dieu, combining them more or less in a sonata form.

I have quoted Gerre Hancock to the effect that with improvisations, there are no wrong notes. That is not altogether true, and I committed at least two examples here, places that are obvious slips which break the melodic lines. But I have posted it nonetheless in hopes that there is some worthwhile music in it; I thought that on the whole it went well enough. The photo is of the night sky over Spruce Knob in West Virginia, a place I know well. It reminds me of the sky back on our farm – it is not such a “big” sky because of the surrounding hills, but like Spruce Knob, there are no towns of any size in the area and no light pollution.


What did not go so well was the Toccata on which I lavished so much work. And I played it twice; the first time was not good at all, so I told the people that I was going to give it a second try. It was better, but there were two measures near the end – the very spot that I identified as the most difficult and gave the most work – that were nowhere close to what RVW wrote.

Well, that is how it goes sometimes. With any of the performing arts, you work and prepare and pray, and it may go well – sometimes very well. But it may fall apart, too. In this case, it didn't – not quite, though it was very close to doing so.

Still, the week's musical work was not wasted; it has made me a little better as an organist, and perhaps as a person. And it may be that, in spite of its faults, it communicated with the people.

A week with RVW

The Lord's Day: August 9

I hope to play the Vaughan Williams prelude on Bryn Calfaria next Sunday, since we are singing that tune (“Lord, enthroned in heavenly splendor,” Hymn 307). With that, I have often played as postlude the setting of Hyfrydol from the same set of three preludes on Welsh tunes, but I did that not too many months ago, on a Sunday when we sang that tune. I check my handful of organ scores by RVW, and in “A Vaughan Williams Organ Album” (Oxford University Press) I light upon the “Toccata: St. David's Day.” I have wanted for many years to play it, but I had thought that I should save it for a Sunday close that Feast (March 1). But when that time comes every spring, I am unwilling to play the Toccata because it is too cheerful for Lent. I will not have many more opportunities, so now is the time. “Doesn't look too hard,” I muse. “But that metronome marking. It could be a problem.”

Since the choir room is occupied by a jazz drummer hammering away at patterns, I take the piece upstairs to the Steinway in the church and work out the fingering. That goes smoothly and is indeed not difficult at all; there is only one passage on the last page that is a head-scratcher. Next, I get out the metronome and set it at the printed marking, presumably from RVW himself: Allegro, half note equalling 112. I think through the piece at that speed; it is insane. Not only would I be unable to play it that fast, but I do not think that it would sound well. Everything would be too rushed.

So, I turn to YouTube, and find this recording by David Briggs: his tempo is half note at about 88, and is thoroughly convincing. That is good news; I am fairly confident that I can play it at that speed. But I wish I had more than one week to do it.

Tuesday: The Feast of St. Clare

I am determined to get some work done before staff meeting, and dig in on the First Workout, which I have described elsewhere. The danger with organ practice at this hour on Tuesdays is that I have to drag myself away from it for the meeting at 10 am, and sure enough, the hour finds me in the middle of things. “Just a few more minutes...” I mutter and work right up to the last moment.

I complete the first workout after the meeting. It is not going to be so easy as I had thought. No metronome work today, excepting the final playthrough at half tempo, quarter note equalling 88. I make many mistakes at what should be a tempo where I could play it cleanly after one workout.

Wednesday: The Feast of Florence Nightingale

One of my working principles is the “One Big Thing.” Each day after Matins and a second breakfast while I check email and the Net, I tackle the Big Thing, the one thing that is most important. Today it is most certainly the Toccata. I head upstairs and work at it until dinner, about three hours.

The second day's work is the time to use the metronome. I start with the half-page passage that will be the most difficult (about one page from the end), work through it with the modified rhythms. Some of this does not go well, so I work through the various rhythmic adjustments several times. Then at last, I try the half-page with the metronome: quarter note at about 120 (which would be half note at 60), then ratchet it up a click to 124, then 128. I continue playing the half-page until I reach a tempo where I cannot play it cleanly: quarter note at 152. I need 176, but it is not going to happen today. After what is always a mistake-filled playing (for, after all, I have pushed it to that point), I play it slowly to settle it in my mind: back to half tempo, quarter note at 88.

This half-page has taken a bit over one hour. I get off the bench, stretch, say a Little Office. Back to work: the next bit of music after that half page, and on to the end, working in the same manner. Each time after I have reached the stage of playing it with the metronome, I go back to that half page where I started and include it in the playthrough, adding each new section as I get to it. Once I have made it to the end, I work backwards, adding sections that come before the hard part – some of these are challenging, too. But all in all, it goes well enough for this stage in the week: I work almost all of it up to 168, just one marking short of my goal. To round off the day's work at the organ, I take my third break (with another Little Office. I love including these in my practice; why haven't I been doing this all these years?) and do the final playthrough at half tempo.

Friday: The Feast of Jonathan Daniels

He was a seminarian in the 1960's at the height of the Civil Rights Movement, attending the Episcopal Divinity School in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Answering a call for helpers from Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., he went to Selma, Alabama. While entering a store with three companions, they were approached by an angry white man with a gun; it became clear that he was going to shoot one of them, a sixteen-year old black girl. Daniels pushed her to the side in the scuffle and took the blast of the twelve-gauge shotgun himself, which killed him. He was twenty-six years old.


Crunch time. I work another four hours today on the Toccata. Parts of it are still not going well, but I have learned a lesson: this week I have pushed the tempo so hard that my rhythmic variations have become spastic in places, which is precisely what I should avoid. The point of the fingering, slow practice, and rhythmic practice is to avoid that very thing. Calm, controlled playing, no matter what the tempo might be.

Four hours is enough; I must work on other music for Sunday. I start the prelude on Bryn Calfaria, which I have played many times. A first workout takes about thirty minutes. It is good that there is no more, because I am pushing my physical limits; one of my fingers is beginning to hurt and my wrists are very tired. Mental limits, too – I am frazzled.

But it is good to spend this time with Mr. Vaughan Williams. The Bryn Calfaria is going well, and parts of it are profoundly moving. Sweat and tears are pouring down my face by the time I am done.

I hardly know how to thank him for what his music has meant to me. There is the Fantasia on a Theme of Tallis, which has brought me healing many times, and the Hodie, and the symphonic music. I cannot forget his work on the English Hymnal, bringing folk tunes such as Forest Green and Kingsfold into our hymnody, to say nothing of his own tunes, Sine nomine and King's Weston and the gentle Down Ampney. And there is the anthem “Lord, thou hast been our refuge.” Working with our choristers on this has been one of the chief events of my life in music; I tried to describe it here: October 23, 2011.

These organ pieces are on a smaller scale, but they too partake of the same vision. It is akin somewhat to what I sense in J. R. R. Tolkien, for both of them were rooted in an England that is no more. With JRRT, we see it in the Shire of the Hobbits and in characters such as old Bilbo, and Frodo and Sam, and Merry and Pippin; with RVW, we hear it in "The Lark Ascending," or indeed on almost every page of his music.

Saturday: The Feast of Saint Mary the Virgin

Mary, the Mother who cared for Jesus, now cares with maternal affection and pain for this wounded world. Just as her pierced heart mourned the death of Jesus, so now she grieves for the sufferings of the crucified poor and for the creatures of this world laid waste by human power. Completely transfigured, she now lives with Jesus, and all creatures sing of her fairness. She is the Woman, “clothed in the sun, with the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars” (Rev 12:1). Carried up into heaven, she is the Mother and Queen of all creation. In her glorified body, together with the Risen Christ, part of creation has reached the fullness of its beauty. She treasures the entire life of Jesus in her heart (cf. Lk 2:19,51), and now understands the meaning of all things. Hence, we can ask her to enable us to look at this world with eyes of wisdom. (Francis I: Encyclical Letter “Laudato si'”, paragraph 241)

Yesterday's work has borne fruit; the Toccata goes well this morning; ninety minutes and I am content to lay it aside for tomorrow. Bryn Calfaria is solid too, very secure after a second workout.

But there is much more: a middle service improvisation, songs and hymns. And not just any songs: tomorrow's Epistle includes the great mandate for music in the life of Holy Mother Church:

Wherefore be ye not unwise, but understanding what the will of the Lord is. And be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess, but be filled with the Spirit, speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord; giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. (Ephesians 5:17-20)

For this, we are singing Fred Pratt Green's hymn “When in our music God is glorified” with the tune Engelberg by RVW's teacher, C. V. Stanford; George Herbert's poem “Let all the world in every corner sing,” with the tune Augustine by my teacher Erik Routley; and a hymn by Thomas Troeger and Carol Doran, “With glad exuberant carolings,” which in some ways is the best of all. It is this last that I plan to use as the heart of my improvisation, paired with the Psalter tune Rendez a Dieu (“Father, we thank thee who hast planted”). I work on these tunes for a couple of hours, downstairs on the brown upright piano outside my office door.

It has been a full week, and I have neglected much else for the sake of tomorrow's music. In the middle, struggling with the rhythmic variations and metronome on the Toccata, I lost sight of why I am doing this: today's work on the hymns made it clear, and showed me why I had ended up with the Toccata in the first place, by “what some would call chance.”

How often, making music, we have found
a new dimension in the world of sound,
as worship moved us to a more profound
Alleluia!

So has the Church, in liturgy and song,
in faith and love, through centuries of wrong,
borne witness to the truth in every tongue,
Alleluia!

(Fred Pratt Green: copyright © 1972, Hope Publishing Co.)