At any RSCM course there are several social strata, which are most clearly visible at mealtimes. At this course, there were four: the children, the young-and-mid teenagers, the older-teens-and-folks-in-their-twenties, and the old people (like me).
In front of me during the full rehearsals were two little girls, Bryn and Lauren. Both were irrepressible, with answers for every question, including quite a few that had not been asked. They were terrific. Across the way in Decani were Tom and Killian, whom I had the privilege of driving around St. Louis when we went offsite to the Basilica and the Science Center. They made me feel young again with their boundless energy, jokes, and non-stop chatter. There were many others, including not only the outgoing ones I have described, but the quiet ones who said little, but saw and experienced much. In a sense, the whole Course is for these children. It is for the moment when they hear That Sound for the first time in rehearsals, the sound I vainly tried to describe a few days ago. It is for the confidence they gain when they realize that they can do the job, as overwhelming as it always seems at first; they can hold their own with the teens and adults and be part of a top-notch choir. It is for the moment when they walk into the Cathedral Basilica for the first time and look up at the mosaics (Here are more photos, over a hundred of them).
And it is for the moment when they sing in that space, which is even better acoustically than it is visually.
Mr. Lole did a fine thing to begin our rehearsal in the Basilica: he started with the Stanley Vann treble anthem, and before he began that, he had the trebles sing a simple three-note arpeggio, stop, and listen. Above the voices of the tour guides, they (and we) could hear the three notes blending into a triad out in the room, going on and on in the vast space. Young or old, one can hardly remain unmoved by such as this.
At the other extreme, there are the Old People. This includes me, Mr. B., Brother Vincent, Miz Deb, Debra, and others. It has included for several years Eric and Judith from our parish. Others come and go, including the Music Directors and Organists. Mr. Simon Lole, our director this year, was personable and a distinct pleasure to be with at table and in conversation, besides his consummate skill in his musical duties and exquisite sense of fun. I am very glad that our young singers had the opportunity to work with him for a week; I hope he returns someday.
I asked this question the other day: what I can offer to support such choristers as we had at the Course? They sing with beauty, accuracy, and spirit; I miss notes, sing flat or sharp, crackle like an old witch on low notes, and for all I try, I can in no wise match the spirit of these young singers.
What can I offer? What can we Old People offer?
For one thing, Judith, Miz Deb, and I were the Cantoris Altos. Eric was one-third of the Decani Tenor section through the week. Debra is always a mainstay of the Decani Altos. Tom O., a friend from the old Belmont Abbey courses for boys and men back in the '90's, was a strong lead in the Decani Bass. Our presence serves as a foundation on which the younger choirmen can build to provide tenor and bass lines. As I said the other day, they are increasingly able to do this without us, but I think that our presence is still of use musically. Combined with us altos, the tenors and basses make it possible for the choir to sing four-part music. Crucially, it creates a context in which young men can grow from trebles into adult tenors and basses (and, Lord willing, an occasional alto). Without something like the RSCM Course, most of these young men would drift off, out of the choir and very often out of the church. By making the Course possible, we give them reason to stay around, and that is no small thing.
We show by example that it is possible for an Old Person to keep singing. This, I think, is most important to the girls. I have often wondered what happens to all of these confident, intelligent choir girls. Once they are adults, why are they not singing in parish choirs?
-- they get jobs that have limited (or no) time off on Sundays or choir nights, or keep them on the road for weeks at a time.
-- they get married, or otherwise committed into a long-term relationship. Their spouse or partner takes a dim view of them heading off for a week to an RSCM course, or going out for choir rehearsal instead of staying home, fixing dinner, and doing laundry.
-- they have babies. This irrevocably transforms life, and often allows little or no space for participation in a parish choir, especially if they are trying to work a job or continue schooling while raising children.
-- if they do venture into a parish choir, they are usually the only Young Person around, and the choir might well be singing at a very low standard and torn by interpersonal conflict. There is, at first blush, little enjoyment in this and little reason to make sacrifices to continue.
Babies grow up. Jobs come and go, and may eventually allow space for choral singing. Sometimes spouses and partners come and go. Because these girls (the guys, too) have the foundation of choral singing, they can always come back -- even once they become Old People like us. Perhaps they, like Eric and others, might bring their children to an RSCM Course and stay to sing with them. We have demonstrated how it is done, and we will welcome them with open arms. Hopefully, we can show them by example that one must keep on singing, no matter what, even after the years pile on and we no longer sing as we once could. If the standard is low, make it better. If there is conflict, "blessed are the peacemakers." And if one perseveres with most adult parish choirs, one eventually discovers the same special bonds of fellowship as are evident at the RSCM Courses; one discovers Family in a way that is hard to find anywhere else. Hopefully, we Old People are planting these seeds among the young folk with whom we sing at the Course.
A word must be said about the core group of adults of the St. Louis Course, whom I have mentioned: Mr. B., Br. V., Miz Deb, and Debra -- and, I suppose, me. Increasingly, Weezer and Lindsey must be counted in this group, for they are taking up much of the behind-the-scenes work that used to fall to Mr. B. There are sometimes thorny problems that arise, problems that threaten to undo the Course. Finances are high on the list; Mr. B. has been forced to be creative to keep the course fees affordable in the face of repeated cost increases on the part of Todd Hall and declining enrollments compared to, say, five or six years ago. Brother Vincent is much involved on the national level of RSCM America in keeping the whole array of Courses going along. Miz Deb and Debra have been with the Course from its beginnings; through thick and thin, they do their parts to keep the Course strong. Mr. B., Debra and I, and others, work all year to train choristers and make it possible for them to come to the Course. We often scrounge for scholarship money. We beg and cajole. We speak up for the RSCM at budget time, and to our clergy. Again, these are no small things.
Yes, we Old People are part of the choir. It is our duty, in many cases; it is also, and most distinctly, our delight. Most of us would say that it is the high point of the year.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Friday, July 16, 2010
RSCM Report, Part Two: Brothers in Song
To the young choirmen of the St. Louis Course (especially those from our parish): an open letter
Most often, I sing tenor, or sometimes bass. This year, it was evident that I am no longer needed on either part. And it is unlikely that I will be needed for a long time to come, for you have grown into strong, confident singers, fully capable of carrying your parts, and I expect that you will be coming to the St. Louis Course for as long as you are able, as will I. My work with you is almost done, for this is the musical end that I desired as your choirmaster -- that you be granted a "voice for life," the ability to sing as an adult with skill, musicianship, and pleasure.
You have learned what it is to be one of two or three people on your side and voice part, undergirding the work of a large and enthusiastic group of trebles. This is the norm for choirmen, even in the great cathedral and collegiate choirs of our tradition. In Mr. Lole's last church position at Salisbury, there were six lay clerks. Six. This is one each of A, T, and B on each side of the choir, supporting sixteen trebles in daily Evensong plus Sunday Matins, Eucharist, and Evensong. In such a situation, it is up to you to get it right. Even in parish choirs such as ours, there are never enough tenors and basses. So long as you continue singing, much will depend on you. And you got a taste of that at the Course.
As well, you got a taste of what it would be like to live such a life, for Mr. Lole rehearsed us in a manner typical of the tradition. One rehearses for several hours a day as we did at the Course, culminating in the day's Evensong, with Sunday always in the background. Much of the rehearsing is what Mr. Lole calls "tweaking," as we did later in the week at the Course -- taking music that we have already learned, and improving details to make it better. It is easy to understand how after a year or two of this, the choir would become very good indeed, as the Salisbury choir was and is.
In our own way, our Youth Choir has become pretty good. We rehearse only once a week, hardly over an hour; we sing services only about once a month. This limits our musical results, but allows you to have a life outside of music, as all of you do, and as you should. One thing is the same; much depends on you.
What we do in choir is of great importance. Our singing is an intensive offering of prayer before the Lord, in a time when much else is wrong. Through our voices, the Church sings its love for its Bridegroom:
"Hear what our Lord Jesus Christ saith:
Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it: Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets." (BCP p. 324)
I want you to "love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind." The only way that I can influence you in that direction is by inviting you to follow the path which I have walked, and that is the path of music. When one sings something like the "Hymn to St. Cecilia," or the Kyrie from the Vierne Mass, how can one not love God? As one sings such music over the years, along with steady attention to the disciplines of Scripture and prayer, one's love for God grows like a tree by a stream of water. May it be so for you.
And I want you to "love thy neighbor as thyself." One gets a taste of this at the St. Louis Course, too. Perhaps it is because we work so hard together in the rehearsals. Perhaps it is the example of people like Weezer and H.J. and Michael, and many among the girls. Perhaps it is the water fights, or the Gentleman's Game. Whatever it is, there is a special bond between people who have been in the Course for more than a couple of years. You have experienced this, and I think especially this year.
I expect that you will see evil days in your lifetime, darker than any I have experienced. I may live long enough to see them with you. When such days come, remember these days of light and song at Todd Hall, these people. Remember the sounds we made together. Remember the games, the talent shows, the Evensongs in the little chapel, the Basilica, the church in Kirkwood, the laughter, and the tears. Above all, remember the Lord before whom we sing. He alone is the Rock, the sure refuge when all others fail.
Your servant in Christ,
Castanea_d
Most often, I sing tenor, or sometimes bass. This year, it was evident that I am no longer needed on either part. And it is unlikely that I will be needed for a long time to come, for you have grown into strong, confident singers, fully capable of carrying your parts, and I expect that you will be coming to the St. Louis Course for as long as you are able, as will I. My work with you is almost done, for this is the musical end that I desired as your choirmaster -- that you be granted a "voice for life," the ability to sing as an adult with skill, musicianship, and pleasure.
You have learned what it is to be one of two or three people on your side and voice part, undergirding the work of a large and enthusiastic group of trebles. This is the norm for choirmen, even in the great cathedral and collegiate choirs of our tradition. In Mr. Lole's last church position at Salisbury, there were six lay clerks. Six. This is one each of A, T, and B on each side of the choir, supporting sixteen trebles in daily Evensong plus Sunday Matins, Eucharist, and Evensong. In such a situation, it is up to you to get it right. Even in parish choirs such as ours, there are never enough tenors and basses. So long as you continue singing, much will depend on you. And you got a taste of that at the Course.
As well, you got a taste of what it would be like to live such a life, for Mr. Lole rehearsed us in a manner typical of the tradition. One rehearses for several hours a day as we did at the Course, culminating in the day's Evensong, with Sunday always in the background. Much of the rehearsing is what Mr. Lole calls "tweaking," as we did later in the week at the Course -- taking music that we have already learned, and improving details to make it better. It is easy to understand how after a year or two of this, the choir would become very good indeed, as the Salisbury choir was and is.
In our own way, our Youth Choir has become pretty good. We rehearse only once a week, hardly over an hour; we sing services only about once a month. This limits our musical results, but allows you to have a life outside of music, as all of you do, and as you should. One thing is the same; much depends on you.
What we do in choir is of great importance. Our singing is an intensive offering of prayer before the Lord, in a time when much else is wrong. Through our voices, the Church sings its love for its Bridegroom:
"Hear what our Lord Jesus Christ saith:
Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it: Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets." (BCP p. 324)
I want you to "love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind." The only way that I can influence you in that direction is by inviting you to follow the path which I have walked, and that is the path of music. When one sings something like the "Hymn to St. Cecilia," or the Kyrie from the Vierne Mass, how can one not love God? As one sings such music over the years, along with steady attention to the disciplines of Scripture and prayer, one's love for God grows like a tree by a stream of water. May it be so for you.
And I want you to "love thy neighbor as thyself." One gets a taste of this at the St. Louis Course, too. Perhaps it is because we work so hard together in the rehearsals. Perhaps it is the example of people like Weezer and H.J. and Michael, and many among the girls. Perhaps it is the water fights, or the Gentleman's Game. Whatever it is, there is a special bond between people who have been in the Course for more than a couple of years. You have experienced this, and I think especially this year.
I expect that you will see evil days in your lifetime, darker than any I have experienced. I may live long enough to see them with you. When such days come, remember these days of light and song at Todd Hall, these people. Remember the sounds we made together. Remember the games, the talent shows, the Evensongs in the little chapel, the Basilica, the church in Kirkwood, the laughter, and the tears. Above all, remember the Lord before whom we sing. He alone is the Rock, the sure refuge when all others fail.
Your servant in Christ,
Castanea_d
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
RSCM Report, Part One: Cecilia and her Sisters
"Sing for the morning' joy, Cecilia, sing,
In words of youth and phrases of the Spring;
Walk the bright colonnades by fountains' spray,
And sing as sunlight fills the waking day;
Till angels, voyaging in upper air
Pause on a wing and gather the clear sound
Into celestial joy, wound and unwound,
A silver chain, or golden as your hair."
(from "A Hymn to St. Cecilia" by Herbert Howells: text by Ursula Vaughan Williams)
I have written of St. Cecilia elsewhere in connection with her Feast, and that of C.S. Lewis:
Link
"... it once seemed odd to me that the Patron of Music was a young woman . . . Why not some grave and distinguished (and probably male) musician [such as J. S. Bach]?"
------
At the Cathedral Basilica of Saint Louis on Sunday morning near the conclusion of our RSCM Course, the choral disposition was such that I was beside a group of three girls in their mid-teens, all of them experienced red-ribboned choristers. I sought, with mixed results, to live up to their example. Their strong, clean, intelligent voices were a delight, and singing the "Hymn to St. Cecilia" alongside them was joy unbounded. The treble anthem "Hail, true Body" by Stanley Vann was even better, for I could listen without needing to attend to my own part. The girls (and the other trebles, boys as well as girls) sailed above the staff to G and A flat as if they were larks on a spring morning. One of them, Jenna, was singing directly in my ear. I can attest that she sang the Howells, the Stanley Vann, and the Vierne Messe Solenelle and other choral music appointed for the liturgy without a single error of rhythm or pitch, and with spirit, excellent diction, musical phrasing, and tone so beautiful as to melt my heart. Blessings be upon her! I would estimate that there were at least a half-dozen other girls in the room who probably sang every bit as well.
The tables were turned at Evensong, where I was behind these three girls, singing into their ears. I gave them plenty of bad singing, and I question what I can offer to support such choristers: more on that another day.
I have worked in choirs with other girls like these over the years; one of them (Meredith) was across from us in the Decani, and another (Jennifer) was in the congregation. One cannot understand St. Cecilia, or Music, without hearing them and seeing the light in their eyes as they sing something to which they are committed.
They are not the whole story. Their brothers in the choir, including a group of three teenage boys doing some excellent singing behind me on tenor and bass (Mike, Mark, and Spencer), were equally inspiring. And there is a place in the choir for old people like me. But, I repeat, one cannot understand Music without taking into account the singing of these girls and those like them in choirs of every generation.
"Through the cold aftermath of centuries
Cecilia' music dances in the skies:
Lend us a fragment of the immortal air,
that with your choiring angels we may share
a word to light us thro' time-fettered night..."
I dare not think of the "cold aftermath of centuries." All I ask is that the memory of these sounds and these choristers light my way through "time-fettered night" until next year's Course.
In words of youth and phrases of the Spring;
Walk the bright colonnades by fountains' spray,
And sing as sunlight fills the waking day;
Till angels, voyaging in upper air
Pause on a wing and gather the clear sound
Into celestial joy, wound and unwound,
A silver chain, or golden as your hair."
(from "A Hymn to St. Cecilia" by Herbert Howells: text by Ursula Vaughan Williams)
I have written of St. Cecilia elsewhere in connection with her Feast, and that of C.S. Lewis:
Link
"... it once seemed odd to me that the Patron of Music was a young woman . . . Why not some grave and distinguished (and probably male) musician [such as J. S. Bach]?"
------
At the Cathedral Basilica of Saint Louis on Sunday morning near the conclusion of our RSCM Course, the choral disposition was such that I was beside a group of three girls in their mid-teens, all of them experienced red-ribboned choristers. I sought, with mixed results, to live up to their example. Their strong, clean, intelligent voices were a delight, and singing the "Hymn to St. Cecilia" alongside them was joy unbounded. The treble anthem "Hail, true Body" by Stanley Vann was even better, for I could listen without needing to attend to my own part. The girls (and the other trebles, boys as well as girls) sailed above the staff to G and A flat as if they were larks on a spring morning. One of them, Jenna, was singing directly in my ear. I can attest that she sang the Howells, the Stanley Vann, and the Vierne Messe Solenelle and other choral music appointed for the liturgy without a single error of rhythm or pitch, and with spirit, excellent diction, musical phrasing, and tone so beautiful as to melt my heart. Blessings be upon her! I would estimate that there were at least a half-dozen other girls in the room who probably sang every bit as well.
The tables were turned at Evensong, where I was behind these three girls, singing into their ears. I gave them plenty of bad singing, and I question what I can offer to support such choristers: more on that another day.
I have worked in choirs with other girls like these over the years; one of them (Meredith) was across from us in the Decani, and another (Jennifer) was in the congregation. One cannot understand St. Cecilia, or Music, without hearing them and seeing the light in their eyes as they sing something to which they are committed.
They are not the whole story. Their brothers in the choir, including a group of three teenage boys doing some excellent singing behind me on tenor and bass (Mike, Mark, and Spencer), were equally inspiring. And there is a place in the choir for old people like me. But, I repeat, one cannot understand Music without taking into account the singing of these girls and those like them in choirs of every generation.
"Through the cold aftermath of centuries
Cecilia' music dances in the skies:
Lend us a fragment of the immortal air,
that with your choiring angels we may share
a word to light us thro' time-fettered night..."
I dare not think of the "cold aftermath of centuries." All I ask is that the memory of these sounds and these choristers light my way through "time-fettered night" until next year's Course.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Time, the Christian Hope, and Independence Day
Despite my brave words last week, I have hardly practiced at all this week, and have made no progress whatsoever with my Gradus ad Parnassum, and next week (though good in other ways) will be no better. One would think that, in the summer, I would have all sorts of time for such endeavors. Not this week.
"I don't have time" is, however, not a valid excuse, though I say it often enough to myself and others. The limits to our time are one of God's more subtle gifts; they force us to make choices. That, in turn, demonstrates what is important to us. If you will, God "puts us to the test" in this manner, to see how we will use the time He gives us.
Were our time unlimited, we would fritter it away. Look at the people who have large amounts of leisure; they are rarely the people who make a difference in the world. Instead of doing worthwhile acts of charity and service, they spend the day at the golf course, or the spa, or the shopping mall, or the coffee shop, or the casino, or they head out on a Caribbean cruise, or trip to China. Once there, they find it no different than the place from which they came.
If we cannot do much in an active way, we can still brighten the lives of those around us. I see this in the assisted living center where my Mother lives, and in the prison where I volunteer; some people make other's lives a little better, others don't. Or we can devote ourselves to holy contemplation. This makes a difference not only in the immediate surroundings, but in the universe, aligning it more perfectly with its Maker and Redeemer. If, through infirmity of body or mind, we cannot do even this, "they also serve who only stand and wait."
We do not have unlimited time, and that is a good thing: "Lord, teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts to wisdom." There is an intimate connection between our finitude and our blessed hope of everlasting life. Not an infinite amount of time as we have it here; that would be a curse, not a blessing. Rather, it is something entirely different, something we can hardly yet imagine. The Holy Father, Benedict XVI, explores this at length in his fine encyclical letter Spe Salvi, "On Christian Hope."
But my time is limited (!!!!) and I can say no more for now.
------
Two old fellows sang the National Anthem at Matins this morning, a song which is unimaginable in any larger setting in this parish. But we sang it anyway, in the only venue where we could, and added some prayers for the nation. And downstairs in the larger church service, we sang the other National Anthem, "Lift Every Voice and Sing." That was well-done, and entirely fitting.
Nations, like individuals, do not have unlimited time. Ours has been given a large and good land, strong and noble leadership in our early days -- compare the early history of the United States with that of Haiti -- and a diverse and intelligent people. At the Day of Doom, we will be called to account for what we have done with these things in the time allotted to us.
May God grant us repentance and amendment of life, and may He bless and preserve the United States of America.
"I don't have time" is, however, not a valid excuse, though I say it often enough to myself and others. The limits to our time are one of God's more subtle gifts; they force us to make choices. That, in turn, demonstrates what is important to us. If you will, God "puts us to the test" in this manner, to see how we will use the time He gives us.
Were our time unlimited, we would fritter it away. Look at the people who have large amounts of leisure; they are rarely the people who make a difference in the world. Instead of doing worthwhile acts of charity and service, they spend the day at the golf course, or the spa, or the shopping mall, or the coffee shop, or the casino, or they head out on a Caribbean cruise, or trip to China. Once there, they find it no different than the place from which they came.
If we cannot do much in an active way, we can still brighten the lives of those around us. I see this in the assisted living center where my Mother lives, and in the prison where I volunteer; some people make other's lives a little better, others don't. Or we can devote ourselves to holy contemplation. This makes a difference not only in the immediate surroundings, but in the universe, aligning it more perfectly with its Maker and Redeemer. If, through infirmity of body or mind, we cannot do even this, "they also serve who only stand and wait."
We do not have unlimited time, and that is a good thing: "Lord, teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts to wisdom." There is an intimate connection between our finitude and our blessed hope of everlasting life. Not an infinite amount of time as we have it here; that would be a curse, not a blessing. Rather, it is something entirely different, something we can hardly yet imagine. The Holy Father, Benedict XVI, explores this at length in his fine encyclical letter Spe Salvi, "On Christian Hope."
But my time is limited (!!!!) and I can say no more for now.
------
Two old fellows sang the National Anthem at Matins this morning, a song which is unimaginable in any larger setting in this parish. But we sang it anyway, in the only venue where we could, and added some prayers for the nation. And downstairs in the larger church service, we sang the other National Anthem, "Lift Every Voice and Sing." That was well-done, and entirely fitting.
Nations, like individuals, do not have unlimited time. Ours has been given a large and good land, strong and noble leadership in our early days -- compare the early history of the United States with that of Haiti -- and a diverse and intelligent people. At the Day of Doom, we will be called to account for what we have done with these things in the time allotted to us.
May God grant us repentance and amendment of life, and may He bless and preserve the United States of America.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Gradus ad Parnassum, or The Old Books are Best
This summer, I seek to improve my skills at improvisation. To that end, I have gone back to one of the basic tasks of the musician: Modal Counterpoint. This is the third time (at least) that I have sought to climb this mountain, at roughly fifteen-year intervals. It was a required course as an undergraduate, and I returned to it in preparation for the F.A.G.O. examinations in the 1990's. Here I stand again, in the Year of our Lord 2010, at the foot of the slope.
I began with the text I used in the 1990's. After three days, I tossed it on the discard pile. Instead, I returned to the source: Johann Joseph Fux (1660-1741), and his Gradus ad Parnassum, in a translation from the Latin by Alfred Mann. It is superior in every way to any modern text that I have encountered on the subject.
Needless to say, my opinion is not shared by the authors of said modern texts. An example of their views:
"The teaching of Counterpoint has for centuries past been confined to the system called Academic Counterpoint, embodied in the Five Species, first organized by Fux in his Gradus ad Parnassum (published 1725). . . . [T]he rigid adherence to a cantus firmus in even notes (already obsolete in the sixteenth century), and the exclusion, both of the ecclesiastical modes and of the rhythmic diversity of voice leading in the vocal polyphony, gives a highly artificial and stylistically misleading picture of the contrapuntal practice of the sixteenth century." [from the Preface to Direct Approach to Counterpoint in 16th Century Style (Gustave Fredric Soderlund), 1947, pg. vii]
Soderlund's book is useful, much better than the 1990's text that I discarded, and I have it alongside Fux for my work. But Soderlund misses the point; Fux wishes to teach his students about the contrapuntal practice of the sixteenth century, but not by directly imitating it, as Soderlund and the other modern theorists would do. Instead, he created an artificial method, the "Species Counterpoint" (or "Academic" Counterpoint as Soderlund called it).
"My object is to help young persons who want to learn. I knew and still know many who have fine talents and are most anxious to study; however, lacking means and a teacher, they cannot realize their ambition . . . Seeking a solution to this problem, I began, therefore, many years ago, to work out a method similar to that by which children learn first letters, then syllables, then combinations of syllables, and finally how to read and write." [from the Author's Foreward, Gradus ad Parnassum, p. 17-18]
I am no longer young, but I want to learn. And, unlike the imitative methods of the modern texts, the Five Species teach the student to manipulate the notes in such a way that the skills can be applied to one's own musical time and place.
Standing at the foot of the mountain, with the intent this time to work through the subject at the organ rather than on paper, and seeking to apply it to my own "compositions," I am daunted. It seems, at times, like a pathless wilderness. But it is not, and others have walked this path ahead of me, mighty men of old.
Joseph Haydn had sung under Fux's direction as a choirboy. After his voice change, when he and brother Michael were living in dire poverty in Vienna, Joseph taught himself to compose from the Gradus. "Haydn took infinite pains to assimilate the theory of Fux; he went through the whole work laboriously, writing out the exercises, then laying them aside for a few weeks, to look them over again later and polish them until he was satisfied he had done everything exactly right." (G. A. Griesinger, Biographical Notes on Joseph Haydn, p. 10; quoted in Alfred Mann's Introduction to his edition of Gradus ad Parnassum, p. xi). Wolfgang Mozart worked through Fux at his father's knee, and again under Padre Martini in 1770. As a teacher in his own right, Mozart continued to use Fux with his students. Some years later, Ludwig van Beethoven sought lessons from Joseph Haydn, and, finding him uncongenial as a teacher, turned to Johann Schenk, and finally Johann Georg Albrechtsberger. All three of these teachers based their instruction of this unruly young man on Fux.
Other students who learned from Fux's treatise include these, as listed in Mann's introduction (p. xiv): Cherubini, Berlioz, Chopin, Paganini, Hummel, Liszt, Schubert, Bruckner, Brahms, Richard Strauss, Hindemith.
There is one other Old Book that I should mention: the Essay on the True Art of Playing Keyboard Instruments, by Carl Philipp Emmanuel Bach, 1753. This spring, I worked through part of it, especially the section on Fingering (about a quarter of the book). I have seen many presentations of that subject, and Bach's Essay surpasses them all. Indeed, most later authors on this subject simply borrow from Bach, and present the material with less clarity.
My college and graduate textbooks and teachers mentioned these Old Books; they could hardly avoid it. But they did not use them, nor did they assign readings or exercises from them. I wish they had. Perhaps we are so fallen from the level of past generations that we are incapable of learning as they did. But the path is still there for those who want to attempt it.
I began with the text I used in the 1990's. After three days, I tossed it on the discard pile. Instead, I returned to the source: Johann Joseph Fux (1660-1741), and his Gradus ad Parnassum, in a translation from the Latin by Alfred Mann. It is superior in every way to any modern text that I have encountered on the subject.
Needless to say, my opinion is not shared by the authors of said modern texts. An example of their views:
"The teaching of Counterpoint has for centuries past been confined to the system called Academic Counterpoint, embodied in the Five Species, first organized by Fux in his Gradus ad Parnassum (published 1725). . . . [T]he rigid adherence to a cantus firmus in even notes (already obsolete in the sixteenth century), and the exclusion, both of the ecclesiastical modes and of the rhythmic diversity of voice leading in the vocal polyphony, gives a highly artificial and stylistically misleading picture of the contrapuntal practice of the sixteenth century." [from the Preface to Direct Approach to Counterpoint in 16th Century Style (Gustave Fredric Soderlund), 1947, pg. vii]
Soderlund's book is useful, much better than the 1990's text that I discarded, and I have it alongside Fux for my work. But Soderlund misses the point; Fux wishes to teach his students about the contrapuntal practice of the sixteenth century, but not by directly imitating it, as Soderlund and the other modern theorists would do. Instead, he created an artificial method, the "Species Counterpoint" (or "Academic" Counterpoint as Soderlund called it).
"My object is to help young persons who want to learn. I knew and still know many who have fine talents and are most anxious to study; however, lacking means and a teacher, they cannot realize their ambition . . . Seeking a solution to this problem, I began, therefore, many years ago, to work out a method similar to that by which children learn first letters, then syllables, then combinations of syllables, and finally how to read and write." [from the Author's Foreward, Gradus ad Parnassum, p. 17-18]
I am no longer young, but I want to learn. And, unlike the imitative methods of the modern texts, the Five Species teach the student to manipulate the notes in such a way that the skills can be applied to one's own musical time and place.
Standing at the foot of the mountain, with the intent this time to work through the subject at the organ rather than on paper, and seeking to apply it to my own "compositions," I am daunted. It seems, at times, like a pathless wilderness. But it is not, and others have walked this path ahead of me, mighty men of old.
Joseph Haydn had sung under Fux's direction as a choirboy. After his voice change, when he and brother Michael were living in dire poverty in Vienna, Joseph taught himself to compose from the Gradus. "Haydn took infinite pains to assimilate the theory of Fux; he went through the whole work laboriously, writing out the exercises, then laying them aside for a few weeks, to look them over again later and polish them until he was satisfied he had done everything exactly right." (G. A. Griesinger, Biographical Notes on Joseph Haydn, p. 10; quoted in Alfred Mann's Introduction to his edition of Gradus ad Parnassum, p. xi). Wolfgang Mozart worked through Fux at his father's knee, and again under Padre Martini in 1770. As a teacher in his own right, Mozart continued to use Fux with his students. Some years later, Ludwig van Beethoven sought lessons from Joseph Haydn, and, finding him uncongenial as a teacher, turned to Johann Schenk, and finally Johann Georg Albrechtsberger. All three of these teachers based their instruction of this unruly young man on Fux.
Other students who learned from Fux's treatise include these, as listed in Mann's introduction (p. xiv): Cherubini, Berlioz, Chopin, Paganini, Hummel, Liszt, Schubert, Bruckner, Brahms, Richard Strauss, Hindemith.
There is one other Old Book that I should mention: the Essay on the True Art of Playing Keyboard Instruments, by Carl Philipp Emmanuel Bach, 1753. This spring, I worked through part of it, especially the section on Fingering (about a quarter of the book). I have seen many presentations of that subject, and Bach's Essay surpasses them all. Indeed, most later authors on this subject simply borrow from Bach, and present the material with less clarity.
My college and graduate textbooks and teachers mentioned these Old Books; they could hardly avoid it. But they did not use them, nor did they assign readings or exercises from them. I wish they had. Perhaps we are so fallen from the level of past generations that we are incapable of learning as they did. But the path is still there for those who want to attempt it.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Sunday best
The following is what I have written as a draft for my monthly column in the church newsletter. I am posting it here first because I am not at all certain that I should submit it, not least because I am the least likely person to talk about clothing. I have no eye for it, no sense of style or appropriateness. Most of all, I do not wish to pass judgment on anyone. Nonetheless, I think I have a point worth making.
Comments?
----
The days when church attendance meant suit, white shirt and tie, or dress with hat and gloves, are long gone. "Come as you are" is the modern watchword, along with "Casual" and "Comfortable." On the whole, these changes are probably for the best; no one should be excluded from worship, treated with disrespect, or caused to feel unwelcome because of their attire (James 2:1-9). But in our zeal to make church comfortable and welcoming, something has been lost.
Sunday, the Lord's Day, is special. For generations, people have put on their "Sunday best" to go to church. Even in times of hardship such as the Great Depression, when clothing was hard to come by, mothers tried to lay aside something nicer than "everyday" for their families to wear on Sunday. It is an aspect of the Christian observance of the commandment to "remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy" -- that is, set aside from the rest of the week (Exodus 20:8).
One need not spend much money in order to "dress up" for church; it can be done with thrift store purchases. And one must diligently avoid comparing people on the basis of their clothing. This includes comparing oneself to others, either positively or negatively. The point, rather, is that we are fellow-citizens with the saints and the household of God (Ephesians 2:19), and we should dress accordingly.
I am not calling for a return to the old days of shoehorning unwilling children into stiff and uncomfortable clothing that they dare not get dirty or torn. But for those not in the habit of "dressing up" for church, I suggest an experiment: next Sunday, wear something that is special, something that makes this day different from other days. It may be a single article of clothing, or a necklace, or a bracelet, so long as it is something with meaning. See what happens.
Comments?
----
The days when church attendance meant suit, white shirt and tie, or dress with hat and gloves, are long gone. "Come as you are" is the modern watchword, along with "Casual" and "Comfortable." On the whole, these changes are probably for the best; no one should be excluded from worship, treated with disrespect, or caused to feel unwelcome because of their attire (James 2:1-9). But in our zeal to make church comfortable and welcoming, something has been lost.
Sunday, the Lord's Day, is special. For generations, people have put on their "Sunday best" to go to church. Even in times of hardship such as the Great Depression, when clothing was hard to come by, mothers tried to lay aside something nicer than "everyday" for their families to wear on Sunday. It is an aspect of the Christian observance of the commandment to "remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy" -- that is, set aside from the rest of the week (Exodus 20:8).
One need not spend much money in order to "dress up" for church; it can be done with thrift store purchases. And one must diligently avoid comparing people on the basis of their clothing. This includes comparing oneself to others, either positively or negatively. The point, rather, is that we are fellow-citizens with the saints and the household of God (Ephesians 2:19), and we should dress accordingly.
I am not calling for a return to the old days of shoehorning unwilling children into stiff and uncomfortable clothing that they dare not get dirty or torn. But for those not in the habit of "dressing up" for church, I suggest an experiment: next Sunday, wear something that is special, something that makes this day different from other days. It may be a single article of clothing, or a necklace, or a bracelet, so long as it is something with meaning. See what happens.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Purcell presents a dilemma
(read the entry posted earlier today; this one will make little sense if you don't)
I got the one necessary task done today: the annual choral music order, which is about half of the annual music budget. One dilemma was involved: the Purcell anthem mentioned in the previous post. I had two choices, which are indicative of a larger dilemma:
- order printed copies in the excellent edition by Novello: about $200
- download and Xerox the good public-domain edition on CPDL: free
Of course, it is not really free. But in budgetary terms it is; the Xeroxing does not come from the music budget. Such choices, multiplied manyfold, have made it almost impossible for traditional music publishers and vendors to deal with "classical" music. The market for it is already vanishingly small, and these days much of the repertoire is freely (and legally) available from CPDL or similar sources.
Music publishing is dying, and this is part of it. A larger factor is the widespread practice of illegal duplication. The most frequent excuses for this are that it saves time, and it is the "only" way to keep the ensemble going when there is little or no money to buy music. The time issue is genuine; most choral directors seem to live on the edge, selecting music for their groups at the last possible minute. When rehearsal is tomorrow evening, there is no time to order printed copies and wait for them to arrive; one is sorely tempted to take the single copy (perhaps itself a Xerox handed on from others) and run it through the Xerox machine.
We don't do that here, and it is one of many reasons that I obsessively plan ahead, far ahead. But, assuming legal sources, is it better stewardship of the church's money (and of our tiny music budget) to go with the least expensive method? Or is it better to support the continued publication of good music, and to support the excellent retail music store right around the corner from our parish, where several of our parishioners work?
This is a part of a still-larger dilemma. The "grocery store" nearest our apartment, within easy walking distance, is Wal-Mart. Should I shop there, being ecologically responsible by walking there and back? Or do I hop in the car, burn fossil fuel, and go to an employee-owned (and much better) traditional grocery store several miles away where the people know me by name, and pay more? (I do; I almost never go to Wal-Mart. Almost.) Or do I pay even more at the food cooperative or the farmer's market for locally grown produce? I bought a bag of locally grown organic spinach a few weeks ago when it was in season: $7 and change. A similarly sized bag of Dole spinach, probably from California, was at the grocery store on sale that week for 99 cents. I vacillate; sometimes I pay more, sometimes I think that paying more is not congruent with a life of simplicity, and that I ought to eat the cheapest possible foods in solidarity with the poor. Ultimately, that would mean Ramen noodles, white rice, and beans at Wal-Mart, driving the traditional grocer -- and local farmers -- out of business.
I ordered the Novello edition, part of what is probably a thousand-dollar order at that music shop around the corner. But to stay within budget, I am taking several other pieces, such as the Byrd Mass, from CPDL.
I got the one necessary task done today: the annual choral music order, which is about half of the annual music budget. One dilemma was involved: the Purcell anthem mentioned in the previous post. I had two choices, which are indicative of a larger dilemma:
- order printed copies in the excellent edition by Novello: about $200
- download and Xerox the good public-domain edition on CPDL: free
Of course, it is not really free. But in budgetary terms it is; the Xeroxing does not come from the music budget. Such choices, multiplied manyfold, have made it almost impossible for traditional music publishers and vendors to deal with "classical" music. The market for it is already vanishingly small, and these days much of the repertoire is freely (and legally) available from CPDL or similar sources.
Music publishing is dying, and this is part of it. A larger factor is the widespread practice of illegal duplication. The most frequent excuses for this are that it saves time, and it is the "only" way to keep the ensemble going when there is little or no money to buy music. The time issue is genuine; most choral directors seem to live on the edge, selecting music for their groups at the last possible minute. When rehearsal is tomorrow evening, there is no time to order printed copies and wait for them to arrive; one is sorely tempted to take the single copy (perhaps itself a Xerox handed on from others) and run it through the Xerox machine.
We don't do that here, and it is one of many reasons that I obsessively plan ahead, far ahead. But, assuming legal sources, is it better stewardship of the church's money (and of our tiny music budget) to go with the least expensive method? Or is it better to support the continued publication of good music, and to support the excellent retail music store right around the corner from our parish, where several of our parishioners work?
This is a part of a still-larger dilemma. The "grocery store" nearest our apartment, within easy walking distance, is Wal-Mart. Should I shop there, being ecologically responsible by walking there and back? Or do I hop in the car, burn fossil fuel, and go to an employee-owned (and much better) traditional grocery store several miles away where the people know me by name, and pay more? (I do; I almost never go to Wal-Mart. Almost.) Or do I pay even more at the food cooperative or the farmer's market for locally grown produce? I bought a bag of locally grown organic spinach a few weeks ago when it was in season: $7 and change. A similarly sized bag of Dole spinach, probably from California, was at the grocery store on sale that week for 99 cents. I vacillate; sometimes I pay more, sometimes I think that paying more is not congruent with a life of simplicity, and that I ought to eat the cheapest possible foods in solidarity with the poor. Ultimately, that would mean Ramen noodles, white rice, and beans at Wal-Mart, driving the traditional grocer -- and local farmers -- out of business.
I ordered the Novello edition, part of what is probably a thousand-dollar order at that music shop around the corner. But to stay within budget, I am taking several other pieces, such as the Byrd Mass, from CPDL.
porch swings, a wedding, Howells, and Byrd
Because of concerts and rehearsals for them, I was at the church late on Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, and did not get enough sleep. Monday was a day off, but it was filled with errands -- though I did manage to get a nap in the afternoon. Tuesday was election day, which meant I was working at the polling place. This is Good Work, both a pleasure and a civic duty, but it is a long day: appear at the polling place by 6 a.m., finish the day around 11 p.m. After four and a half hours of sleep, I was up early again this morning to cycle in for Matins.
I am tired, which has slowed me down this morning. Still, it is now afternoon, and I have done very little. Greeting me in the e-mail was information about my niece's wedding later this summer in Nashville. I decided that I do not want to pay $115 a night (plus tax, tips, etc.) to stay in the hotel (a discount from the regular rate of $250, but still far out of my league), so I sought other options, poring over motel reviews on the internet. I found a very good place for my first night, when I will be driving in from the midwest: a well-reviewed motel in Clarksville that caters to military families for just over $40 (including tax). But that is still about an hour from the wedding site; I needed something closer for the next two nights. I found it: a well-regarded family campground not far north of Nashville. It is mostly an RV site, but they have some little and modestly priced rustic cabins. I would be happier in my tent, but it is a wedding, and I should make an effort to appear halfway civilized and clean. It is possible to do that while living in a tent, but not easy.
It was a delight to talk on the phone with the young lady at the RV park. Her cheerful Tennessee drawl made me ache with homesickness for the South and the hill country. She told me of the free bluegrass music at the pavilion the first night of my stay; no, I will be at the rehearsal dinner. I saw the pictures of the rustic little cabins, complete with porch swing out front. I want to just go and sit on such a swing, with bluegrass music not far away, in a Tennessee summer evening. Maybe they will still be pickin' when I get back after the dinner.
Or there are other options: they run a shuttle on Saturday evening to the Grand Ol' Opry, which (since the flood) is back in their historic venue, the Ryman Auditorium, with discounted tickets for campground guests. I would love to take in a show, but it is at the same time as the wedding reception. "Duty, Cassie. Duty." I would not be going to Nashville at all were it not for the wedding. This time belongs to my family, not me.
Luxury hotels are not for me. Lavish weddings are not for me, not even when it is the wedding of the young lady whom I love as a daughter, my only niece. Porch swings in a Tennessee summer evening? Yes, that is more like it.
But so is Music. Having lots of hours at the church last week -- it was the second-most hours on duty in one week this year, almost as many as Holy Week -- I dove into the selection of Anthems for the year. This is work which benefits from concentrated attention, and almost impossible for me during the program year, so I was grateful for the opportunity to get it done in one week. It is as close as I ever come to grasping the whole Story -- the year's liturgical cycle, all at once.
There are some moments that should be good. We will make another try at Lynn Trapp's setting of "In the cycle of the seasons" for Christ the King, Nov. 21, where it is a perfect fit to the propers. One of our own parish composers is writing a new set of Preces & Responses for Evensong, and we are going to attempt the Howells "St. John's, Cambridge" evening canticles. I was pleasantly surprised to see that, almost without realizing it, we have eight settings of the evening canticles in our repertoire; Howells will make it nine, if we can manage it. We are going to repeat Bruckner's "Virga Jesse floruit" on Advent II, Dec. 5. I am going to make another try for the Canonic Variations of JSB in alternation with the singing of "Vom Himmel hoch" at Evensong on January 2 -- it was scheduled for last January's Evensong, but the organ was still in storage. On Last Epiphany, March 6, we will attempt Purcell's "O God, thou art my God," with its Alleluias that were later arranged into the tune "Westminster Abbey." We will do RVW's "Easter Hymn" at the Great Vigil.
In some respects, selecting music is like looking closely at a little wildflower in the grass, beautiful and perfect -- and then looking up to see a meadow filled with them. I wanted a setting of the Agnus Dei for Epiphany II, January 16 (St. John the Baptist says "Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.") The Choral Public Domain Library has about six hundred settings of the Mass. Six hundred! How can anyone choose just one? (oh, for a parish where the Ordinary of the Mass is sung by choir every Sunday!) I settled on the Agnus Dei from Wm. Byrd's Mass for Three Voices, which will require quite a bit of rehearsal through the fall. Worthwhile rehearsal, that will be; the setting is as perfect as anything I know.
At the furthest reach of my plans: Oct. 23, 2011 - "Lord, thou hast been our refuge" (RVW), with the Youth Choir doing the semichorus part. This will be unorthodox, but I believe that RVW, practical musician that he was, would approve. The young people will sing the lines "The years of our life are threescore years and ten..." to the adults; I get chills imagining it, and contemplating a whole semester of living with Psalm 90 and this magnificent music alongside the young people. Singing it will teach them the Psalm more thoroughly than any words could do.
That is followed the next week with "At the round earth's imagin'd corners" (Lee Hoiby), and the following Sunday with the spiritual "Ain'-a that good news" in William Dawson's arrangement, and for Nov. 13, the old Friends song "How can I keep from singing?" I cannot find an arrangement of this that I like, so we will sing it from a hymnal version and I will probably improvise a piano accompaniment.
It was with this that I finished the planning work, for now:
"My life flows on in endless song;
Above earth's lamentation,
I hear the sweet, though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation.
Through all the tumult and the strife,
I hear the music ringing;
It finds an echo in my soul,
How can I keep from singing?"
I am tired, which has slowed me down this morning. Still, it is now afternoon, and I have done very little. Greeting me in the e-mail was information about my niece's wedding later this summer in Nashville. I decided that I do not want to pay $115 a night (plus tax, tips, etc.) to stay in the hotel (a discount from the regular rate of $250, but still far out of my league), so I sought other options, poring over motel reviews on the internet. I found a very good place for my first night, when I will be driving in from the midwest: a well-reviewed motel in Clarksville that caters to military families for just over $40 (including tax). But that is still about an hour from the wedding site; I needed something closer for the next two nights. I found it: a well-regarded family campground not far north of Nashville. It is mostly an RV site, but they have some little and modestly priced rustic cabins. I would be happier in my tent, but it is a wedding, and I should make an effort to appear halfway civilized and clean. It is possible to do that while living in a tent, but not easy.
It was a delight to talk on the phone with the young lady at the RV park. Her cheerful Tennessee drawl made me ache with homesickness for the South and the hill country. She told me of the free bluegrass music at the pavilion the first night of my stay; no, I will be at the rehearsal dinner. I saw the pictures of the rustic little cabins, complete with porch swing out front. I want to just go and sit on such a swing, with bluegrass music not far away, in a Tennessee summer evening. Maybe they will still be pickin' when I get back after the dinner.
Or there are other options: they run a shuttle on Saturday evening to the Grand Ol' Opry, which (since the flood) is back in their historic venue, the Ryman Auditorium, with discounted tickets for campground guests. I would love to take in a show, but it is at the same time as the wedding reception. "Duty, Cassie. Duty." I would not be going to Nashville at all were it not for the wedding. This time belongs to my family, not me.
Luxury hotels are not for me. Lavish weddings are not for me, not even when it is the wedding of the young lady whom I love as a daughter, my only niece. Porch swings in a Tennessee summer evening? Yes, that is more like it.
But so is Music. Having lots of hours at the church last week -- it was the second-most hours on duty in one week this year, almost as many as Holy Week -- I dove into the selection of Anthems for the year. This is work which benefits from concentrated attention, and almost impossible for me during the program year, so I was grateful for the opportunity to get it done in one week. It is as close as I ever come to grasping the whole Story -- the year's liturgical cycle, all at once.
There are some moments that should be good. We will make another try at Lynn Trapp's setting of "In the cycle of the seasons" for Christ the King, Nov. 21, where it is a perfect fit to the propers. One of our own parish composers is writing a new set of Preces & Responses for Evensong, and we are going to attempt the Howells "St. John's, Cambridge" evening canticles. I was pleasantly surprised to see that, almost without realizing it, we have eight settings of the evening canticles in our repertoire; Howells will make it nine, if we can manage it. We are going to repeat Bruckner's "Virga Jesse floruit" on Advent II, Dec. 5. I am going to make another try for the Canonic Variations of JSB in alternation with the singing of "Vom Himmel hoch" at Evensong on January 2 -- it was scheduled for last January's Evensong, but the organ was still in storage. On Last Epiphany, March 6, we will attempt Purcell's "O God, thou art my God," with its Alleluias that were later arranged into the tune "Westminster Abbey." We will do RVW's "Easter Hymn" at the Great Vigil.
In some respects, selecting music is like looking closely at a little wildflower in the grass, beautiful and perfect -- and then looking up to see a meadow filled with them. I wanted a setting of the Agnus Dei for Epiphany II, January 16 (St. John the Baptist says "Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.") The Choral Public Domain Library has about six hundred settings of the Mass. Six hundred! How can anyone choose just one? (oh, for a parish where the Ordinary of the Mass is sung by choir every Sunday!) I settled on the Agnus Dei from Wm. Byrd's Mass for Three Voices, which will require quite a bit of rehearsal through the fall. Worthwhile rehearsal, that will be; the setting is as perfect as anything I know.
At the furthest reach of my plans: Oct. 23, 2011 - "Lord, thou hast been our refuge" (RVW), with the Youth Choir doing the semichorus part. This will be unorthodox, but I believe that RVW, practical musician that he was, would approve. The young people will sing the lines "The years of our life are threescore years and ten..." to the adults; I get chills imagining it, and contemplating a whole semester of living with Psalm 90 and this magnificent music alongside the young people. Singing it will teach them the Psalm more thoroughly than any words could do.
That is followed the next week with "At the round earth's imagin'd corners" (Lee Hoiby), and the following Sunday with the spiritual "Ain'-a that good news" in William Dawson's arrangement, and for Nov. 13, the old Friends song "How can I keep from singing?" I cannot find an arrangement of this that I like, so we will sing it from a hymnal version and I will probably improvise a piano accompaniment.
It was with this that I finished the planning work, for now:
"My life flows on in endless song;
Above earth's lamentation,
I hear the sweet, though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation.
Through all the tumult and the strife,
I hear the music ringing;
It finds an echo in my soul,
How can I keep from singing?"
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
The Proverbs
The Lectionary gave us a taste of the Proverbs last week before moving on to Ecclesiastes. Both are attributed (more or less) to Solomon, son of David, to whom I Kings 4:32 attributes three thousand proverbs. Linguistic reasons make it virtually certain that both books received their final form centuries later. Prov. 25:1, while specifically referring to only a portion of the book, is a likely indicator of how most or all of these two books were written: "These are also proverbs of Solomon which the men of Hezekiah king of Judah copied out." Some of Solomon is likely in the background of the Proverbs, and perhaps much more that got attached to his name in the same way as did the "Psalms of David," or the repertoire of "Gregorian Chant." Many of the proverbs are far too earthy for someone who spent his life in royal luxury. I suspect that they were the folk wisdom, the "old wives' sayings" of the people. It could well be that Solomon had enough sense to recognize this wisdom and collect such sayings, to which collection other sayings accreted in succeeding generations and later editors assembled into what we have; if so, he is to be blessed for it. In any event, both Proverbs and Ecclesiastes are treasures.
It is hard to imagine these two books coming from the same person. As if that is not enough, there is the Song of Solomon as well, which seems utterly unlikely for the polygamous king -- more likely is that the first verse "The song of songs, which is Solomon's" is in the sense that it is written/sung for Solomon, not by him. But making the assumption for a moment that Solomon is the source of all three books, what a complex person he must have been! No wonder he fascinated the Queen of Sheba (I Kings 10:1-10, c.f. Matt. 12:42). It is out of fashion to do so, but I readily accept the idea of Solomon as a wise, subtle, complex, and very great individual. And flawed, as Scripture makes abundantly clear.
I wrote elsewhere about Ecclesiastes, in the context of local events of two years ago. As I said there, my personal theory of authorship, completely unsupported by any scholarship, is Hezekiah, also a "son of David, king in Jerusalem" (Eccles. 1:1).
But for now, Proverbs:
The first time that I dipped into the Analects of Confucius, I said to myself "This is like Proverbs!" It is not especially religious; it is much more interested in practical life. It seems to be a jumbled mass of unconnected sayings. And both the Analects and the Proverbs remind us that these little kernals of wisdom are gifts from God, and an indispensable part of the foundation of civil society.
As with the rest of Scripture, application is fraught with peril. How many children have been physically abused because of 23:13-14? "Withhold not correction from the child: for if thou beatest him with the rod, he shall not die. Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his soul from hell." On another front, the Proverbs have much that is negative to say about women -- these passages are fascinating if one tries to imagine Solomon writing them. But the "loud and stubborn" woman (7:11), and the "strange" woman (5:3), and the "contentious and angry" woman (21:19) must be balanced against Hagia Sophia: "Wisdom hath builded her house, she hath hewn out her seven pillars..." (chapter 9). The contrast of the two is doubtless intentional in chapters seven through nine. Finally, there is the crowning glory and conclusion of the book, 31:10-31.
I do not often speak of my wife in these pages, for she would not have it so, but I must record here that when I read of this "virtuous woman" whose "price is far above rubies," I think of my wife, who is all of the things described in this passage. "Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all" (31:29).
It is hard to imagine these two books coming from the same person. As if that is not enough, there is the Song of Solomon as well, which seems utterly unlikely for the polygamous king -- more likely is that the first verse "The song of songs, which is Solomon's" is in the sense that it is written/sung for Solomon, not by him. But making the assumption for a moment that Solomon is the source of all three books, what a complex person he must have been! No wonder he fascinated the Queen of Sheba (I Kings 10:1-10, c.f. Matt. 12:42). It is out of fashion to do so, but I readily accept the idea of Solomon as a wise, subtle, complex, and very great individual. And flawed, as Scripture makes abundantly clear.
I wrote elsewhere about Ecclesiastes, in the context of local events of two years ago. As I said there, my personal theory of authorship, completely unsupported by any scholarship, is Hezekiah, also a "son of David, king in Jerusalem" (Eccles. 1:1).
But for now, Proverbs:
The first time that I dipped into the Analects of Confucius, I said to myself "This is like Proverbs!" It is not especially religious; it is much more interested in practical life. It seems to be a jumbled mass of unconnected sayings. And both the Analects and the Proverbs remind us that these little kernals of wisdom are gifts from God, and an indispensable part of the foundation of civil society.
As with the rest of Scripture, application is fraught with peril. How many children have been physically abused because of 23:13-14? "Withhold not correction from the child: for if thou beatest him with the rod, he shall not die. Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his soul from hell." On another front, the Proverbs have much that is negative to say about women -- these passages are fascinating if one tries to imagine Solomon writing them. But the "loud and stubborn" woman (7:11), and the "strange" woman (5:3), and the "contentious and angry" woman (21:19) must be balanced against Hagia Sophia: "Wisdom hath builded her house, she hath hewn out her seven pillars..." (chapter 9). The contrast of the two is doubtless intentional in chapters seven through nine. Finally, there is the crowning glory and conclusion of the book, 31:10-31.
I do not often speak of my wife in these pages, for she would not have it so, but I must record here that when I read of this "virtuous woman" whose "price is far above rubies," I think of my wife, who is all of the things described in this passage. "Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all" (31:29).
Sunday, May 30, 2010
communio sanctorum
"I believe in . . . the communion of saints" (BCP p. 54)
Four persons received the sacrament of Confirmation this morning. As one of them, B., knelt before the bishop, his grandmother at his side as sponsor, I thought of the little choirboy who joined about the time that I came to this parish; his two big sisters were choristers and he had no choice. His eldest sister, in fact, was confirmed today along with him. She was a teenager when I arrived; along with all of the other teenagers in what had been a good choir, she quit, leaving me with the little kids to start over. But I accompanied her for a solo or two while she was in high school; she was a fine singer.
B. is now full-grown, taller than I am, and a fine young man. And he has this day, with the others, assumed his place as an adult in the faith community.
P., one of the jazzmen, arrived with a large group of family, who had driven all the way from Chicago. The bishop related how some are "cradle Episcopalians," others are "playpen Episcopalians" who weren't quite there from birth, but arrived at a young age, still others are "singing Episcopalians" who encounter a good children's choir at the right time. P. leaned over and told me he is a "trumpet Episcopalian." His participation in the jazz evensong combo has, over the course of a couple of years, brought him to this day of confirmation.
As I reset the hymnboards after the contemporary service, a young woman and handsome young man whom she identified as her husband-to-be wandered around the church arm in arm, looking at the windows, the new chancel, the altar and its accouterments. She was, as she told me, an acolyte in this parish as a child; she wanted her beloved to see this place which meant much to her.
At the traditional service, we opened with "Holy, Holy, Holy," to the great J. B. Dykes tune Nicaea. Before we started, I estimated the sparse congregation, and reduced my registration by a couple of stops. Would we be up to it?
I should never have doubted. It went sufficiently well that I dropped out for an unaccompanied stanza, tears in my eyes at the sound of their voices in beautiful harmony. Like no other group in my experience, these people embody the dictum that "the congregation is the true choir" of the parish. Afterwards, a distinguished elder of the congregation told me that the hymn "took [him] back seventy years" to his days as a choirboy in Wales.
J., an organist in the congregation, came up to the choir afterwards with her children. Both of them have been immersed in singing and church music from their pre-natal beginnings; I remember J. attending organ recitals while very pregnant, and herself playing in at least one while in that condition. I have little doubt that if the Lord grants these children long lives, they will one day take their place as choristers, and beside B. and his sister as confirmed adult members of the Church (whether this communion or another). They may come back for visits and show their future husband and wife this parish church, and all the places in it that they love and remember. If the Lord wills, they may one day sing hymns that take them back seventy or eighty years to their childhood in this parish. And they may stand as sponsors for their grandchildren at confirmation. May the Lord grant them all of these blessings and many more.
It was a Good Day. The bishop preached a splendid sermon despite forgetting to bring his notes; he is an excellent preacher and it is always good to hear him. The choir sang well: "As truly as God is our Father" by William Mathias, an anthem on texts by the Lady Julian of Norwich which they sang from the heart, finishing with the line "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well." The organ music -- Bach, the hymnody, and the service music -- was good, complete with that low "E" in the pedal at a couple of crucial points.
It will not be the last Good Day:
"I believe in the Holy Ghost,
the holy catholic Church,
the communion of saints,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body,
and the life everlasting. Amen."
Four persons received the sacrament of Confirmation this morning. As one of them, B., knelt before the bishop, his grandmother at his side as sponsor, I thought of the little choirboy who joined about the time that I came to this parish; his two big sisters were choristers and he had no choice. His eldest sister, in fact, was confirmed today along with him. She was a teenager when I arrived; along with all of the other teenagers in what had been a good choir, she quit, leaving me with the little kids to start over. But I accompanied her for a solo or two while she was in high school; she was a fine singer.
B. is now full-grown, taller than I am, and a fine young man. And he has this day, with the others, assumed his place as an adult in the faith community.
P., one of the jazzmen, arrived with a large group of family, who had driven all the way from Chicago. The bishop related how some are "cradle Episcopalians," others are "playpen Episcopalians" who weren't quite there from birth, but arrived at a young age, still others are "singing Episcopalians" who encounter a good children's choir at the right time. P. leaned over and told me he is a "trumpet Episcopalian." His participation in the jazz evensong combo has, over the course of a couple of years, brought him to this day of confirmation.
As I reset the hymnboards after the contemporary service, a young woman and handsome young man whom she identified as her husband-to-be wandered around the church arm in arm, looking at the windows, the new chancel, the altar and its accouterments. She was, as she told me, an acolyte in this parish as a child; she wanted her beloved to see this place which meant much to her.
At the traditional service, we opened with "Holy, Holy, Holy," to the great J. B. Dykes tune Nicaea. Before we started, I estimated the sparse congregation, and reduced my registration by a couple of stops. Would we be up to it?
I should never have doubted. It went sufficiently well that I dropped out for an unaccompanied stanza, tears in my eyes at the sound of their voices in beautiful harmony. Like no other group in my experience, these people embody the dictum that "the congregation is the true choir" of the parish. Afterwards, a distinguished elder of the congregation told me that the hymn "took [him] back seventy years" to his days as a choirboy in Wales.
J., an organist in the congregation, came up to the choir afterwards with her children. Both of them have been immersed in singing and church music from their pre-natal beginnings; I remember J. attending organ recitals while very pregnant, and herself playing in at least one while in that condition. I have little doubt that if the Lord grants these children long lives, they will one day take their place as choristers, and beside B. and his sister as confirmed adult members of the Church (whether this communion or another). They may come back for visits and show their future husband and wife this parish church, and all the places in it that they love and remember. If the Lord wills, they may one day sing hymns that take them back seventy or eighty years to their childhood in this parish. And they may stand as sponsors for their grandchildren at confirmation. May the Lord grant them all of these blessings and many more.
It was a Good Day. The bishop preached a splendid sermon despite forgetting to bring his notes; he is an excellent preacher and it is always good to hear him. The choir sang well: "As truly as God is our Father" by William Mathias, an anthem on texts by the Lady Julian of Norwich which they sang from the heart, finishing with the line "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well." The organ music -- Bach, the hymnody, and the service music -- was good, complete with that low "E" in the pedal at a couple of crucial points.
It will not be the last Good Day:
"I believe in the Holy Ghost,
the holy catholic Church,
the communion of saints,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body,
and the life everlasting. Amen."
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