RSCM Report, Part Six: The Sabbath

(Friday evening, July 9)
I sit in the grape arbor at the south end of Todd Hall as evening falls, gentle and cool after a hot day. I have (quietly) sung Evensong here on my own, eaten a one-ounce piece of dark chocolate, and watched the sun set.

The older adults have gone out to an upscale restaurant; I ate pizza and leftover sandwiches with the choristers, sitting at table with the proctors and their friends. Two of them had brought in for their friends some "Polar Pops," a local treat which is a 42-oz. soft drink with lots of ice in a styrofoam cup, and the whole table was having a fine time. These young people are the best of friends, and they comfortably welcomed me into their fellowship for the dinner. I count myself blessed.

The Course always includes some free time on Friday evening and Saturday. This year, the dress rehearsal at the Basilica was on Friday rather than Saturday, so almost the entire Saturday is free. I used to chafe at this waste of time, as Judas chafed at the waste of expensive ointment. I would fill the free Saturday afternoon with activity, most often planning hymns for the next season back home. I brought a briefcase of materials for that very task, but earlier this evening I firmly packed it into the car, hardly touched, for this is, God be praised, the Sabbath.

On Saturday, there will be one last Matins with Judith and Brother Vincent, time perhaps for another visit to the grape arbor, where I have written most of these RSCM Reports, a brief rehearsal of an hour or so, a free afternoon, and the Holy Eucharist after that. Then, a dinner of pasta and the talent show. It is a full, relaxed day with these fellow-choristers, young and old, whom I love.

"O what their joy and their glory must be,
Those endless Sabbaths the blessed ones see. . . ."

I have had to learn that one need not wait for that joy, that glory. It is here, now, one day of every seven. By gracious commandment of the LORD our God, the gift is given. We need only receive it.

(Saturday midday)
At the morning rehearsal, the choristers had prepared a surprise for Mr. Lole. At the first downbeat after warmup, instead of the appointed piece, they launched into "You'll never walk alone," arms across one another's shoulders and swaying as if they were on the football terraces. That was well done. After much laughter, he tried to start again. They had another song, the football song for Arsenal, the rivals of Mr. Lole's beloved Liverpool. That really "got" him.

Afer that, the entire rehearsal was lighthearted. To duplicate the spacing issues at the Basilica, he had the Decani basses go out by the doorway of our little chapel,and the Cantoris basses behind the altar at the far end of the room. This was to synchronize an entrance in the Vierne. He did the same with the tenors for another entrance.

He "got" me with his imitation of the (imaginary) crabby old lady in the back row of the Basilica -- "there is always one of them in a big place like that." We were to sing big consonants so that she could hear them. We did some of this, with comments from the "crabby old lady." A bit later, precisely as we inhaled for a fortissimo chord, he said in his old lady voice "I'm listening." I lost it, doubled over with laughter.

It was a Good Day, a holy Sabbath.