The Pilcher at work

I have written much about playing the organ; it is high time I give an example.

In November, I am to be the proctor for an AGO examination in our chapter. I had the choice of having the exam professionally recorded (at my personal expense) or learning to do it myself. For this, my 1980's Radio Shack portable cassette tape recorder, which I have used for thirty years to evaluate my practice of improvisation and hymn accompaniment, would not be suitable.

Last week, I went to the local music store and purchased an MP3 recorder. I gather that such devices used to be expensive; not so much nowadays. This one, a “Zoom H-1,” was $100, with another $30 for the accessory kit. This week, I have experimented with it, and am amazed with its capabilities. I need to work with it a lot over the next month so that I can reliably record the exam and burn it to CD.

Today, I used it to record the beginning of our 11:00 church service, and have posted it on YouTube – my first attempt at such a project. That part of it was not so easy and took me about two hours, mostly in downloading the Windows Movie Maker software and figuring out how to change the WAV file that I recorded into an MP4 file that can go on YouTube. I patched on a photo of our choirs from last spring, which gives you an idea of what the interior of our church looks like, with the organ to the left in the background.

Better, you can now hear what it sounds like. The file includes the following:

Variations on a Shape Note Tune (Wondrous Love) by Samuel Barber
Hymn: All hail the power of Jesus' Name, to the tune Coronation
Salutation and Collect for Purity
Gloria in excelsis: setting by Robert Powell (S-280 in the H-1982)

The aural point of view is that of the Organist – I set the recording device beside the bench, pointed away from the instrument into the room, but it nonetheless is heavier on the organ during the hymn than it actually would sound in the room. And during part of the Barber, you might note the “Vox humana” on the tune – that would be one of the choir altos, who hummed along with me as I played. I am fine with this, for it shows that the music engaged at least one of the listeners.

The Barber is one of the classics of the twentieth century American organ repertoire, and I think that I played it pretty well today. The hymn is typical of what we do in our parish. One stanza is sung by the women, another by the men (and, in review, I was too loud for both of these), one unaccompanied by the congregation, and the descant from the hymnal on the final stanza.

Here is the link.

Scottish Independence

The Scottish vote on the question of independence is this Thursday, September 18. I am among the many Americans whose ancestry is more Scottish than otherwise, so I look on this with interest. And I am a Son of the South, where we were not given an opportunity to vote on secession. Our wishes were clear, but they could not prevail against Sherman, Grant, Lincoln, and their armies [I spare a thought for the men in the trenches around Richmond and Petersburg one hundred fifty years ago, and in the Shenandoah Valley, where Gen. Sheridan was to defeat the Confederate forces there in battles on Sept. 19 and Sept. 21-22, freeing the Yankees to burn the Valley from end to end, destroying all the season's crops and turning it into a wasteland going into winter...]

If it were me, my vote would be a resounding YES, remembering Wallace, the Jacobite risings, the highland clearances, and noting the manner in which the financiers of the City of London currently suck all the life out of the realm (as Wall Street does in this country), leaving little but dregs for the likes of Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland.

But I would not want to stray very far; I would remember fighting alongside the English in three centuries of wars. And I would still want to be a subject of the Queen and her successors. That is not directly at question tomorrow, and will take considerable sorting out, should the Yes vote prevail. So will many other things.

On Thursday, it is up to the Scottish people. I wish my Scottish friends – those in our companion diocese of Brechen, and elsewhere in that great Land – the very best, however it turns out.

----
I have been away from the Music Box for too long, and should not be taking the time this evening to write these words. I do not know when I can return more regularly, but you, my readers, are in my thoughts. May God's blessings be with you.

A New Start: Choir, Church, Guild

In recent years, I have come to depend on Mike as (in effect) assistant director and head proctor of the youth choir; now he is gone to college. He was, in a sense, the last of a “generation” in the choir, a group that began with Jennifer and Meredith, and included Mark and Edgar as well as Mike. They all sang in the choir right through high school, and all of them were strong choristers who led by example.

The mantle of leadership falls now to Tom, Ken, and Max among the boys; Lucy, Caleigh, and Elise among the girls, with Ted and Michael as the leaders for a large group of new treble boys. Of this group, Tom is the only one in high school; the others are all younger.
We do have new singers, eleven of them at Wednesday’s rehearsal: six girls and five boys. They were enthusiastic, and the overall sound was good. It will be a young choir this year, very different from last year’s group.

I can see that these new choristers, along with an excellent group of second and third year choristers, are the foundation for the future. In a few years, I hope that they will be wearing the red ribbons, going to the RSCM courses, leading by example in the choir and in life. It may be that I can see them through; I will be seventy when these first-year choristers graduate from high school. I hope I can make it that far.


Our parish is entering a new generation, too. On Candlemas this past winter, we received a new Rector. Nora joined us a few weeks ago as director of Christian Formation. Carol and Ellyn are retiring from the office staff. Of the “old-timers,” only three of us remain: John, Raisin, and me. I have learned that Nora is just as good at her work as Meg (who preceded Nora in her position). I love working with most of these people. With the rector, time will tell.


Yesterday, as the new secretary of the local chapter of the American Guild of Organists, I recorded the minutes of the executive board. The dean, sub-dean, treasurer, and secretary are new to their positions. I commented to the dean at the end of the meeting: “I have no idea what I am supposed to do.” “Neither do I,” she said. She had just conducted a well-organized and productive meeting, which seems to me a good start. All of us will need to figure it out as we go.

There was a time when I was active in the AGO; I served as chapter dean for three or four terms back in the 1980’s and 90’s; I was on this chapter’s executive board for one term about ten years ago. But since then, I have shied away from Guild work; I have hardly attended any meetings, after they moved them to Sunday evenings some years ago. I agreed to be secretary largely out of regard for the past-dean, Melanie, who has done much to hold things together these recent years.

I saw yesterday that I have been wrong to stay on the sidelines. There is much to do, and it will be good to work again with my fellow organists. As we discussed at the meeting, many organists look at the Guild and ask “What’s in it for me?” The AGO does offer help at all levels of training and ability, for those who seek it. But the proper question would be “What can I do to help?” The Guild is probably the only group that stands up for the organ and its music. It is the only place I know where I have found consistent support in my work, through good times and bad -- friends who have listened to me, advised me, helped me. And there is more...

When I was getting started, there was a man, Ralph M., dean of the local chapter there in West Virginia, whose license plate was for many years “MrAGO.” If anyone ever deserved such a term, Ralph was the guy. His cordial welcome to me as a scruffy twenty-something from out in the sticks (I had driven about two hours to get to a meeting) was part of what made me an organist. He helped steer me toward the Guild’s certification exams, and I was able to complete the Associate’s Exam before applying for graduate school. That was part of what got me in, because my credentials were lacking. I remember meeting with the dean of graduate studies during my interview and audition: “So... who have you studied with on organ?” “No one. I have taught myself.” [I did have a bachelor's degree in piano, as he could see from my papers.] Long silence ensued as he frowned at me. “Now, you know that Westminster Choir College is an important school. We accept only the most qualified applicants. And you think you can get in without any prior study?” I shrugged my shoulders and gave no answer; what could I say?

The AGO had given direction to my organ study by means of the certification exams. Because of that, I was able to go into my audition, the dean’s words still in my ears, knowing that I had already passed an examination generally considered equivalent to a master’s degree in organ. The organ faculty certainly knew what that “A.A.G.O.” meant on my application. They were willing to overlook my serious deficiencies in pedal technique, listen to my playing with an open mind, and accept me into their school.

“What can I do to help?” I can carve out time in my schedule -- even as I attempt to cut back on other things -- to try and be “Mr. AGO” for someone else. I can do my small part to keep this chapter going.

“The harvest is plenteous, but the laborers are few.”

what next?

I am this day sixty years old.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, what next?

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

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

RSCM Report: Final Thoughts

Evensong, and a technical note on Psalmody

From last year:

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

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


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

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

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


The Chaplain and the Director

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

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

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

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

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


That they may be one...

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

It came even to pass, as the trumpeters and singers were as one, to make one sound to be heard in praising and thanking the LORD... that then the house was filled with a cloud, even the house of the LORD... (II Chronicles 5:13)

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

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

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

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

RSCM Report: Advice to Young Musicians

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

The old books are best

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

[See also this.]

RSCM Report: Part II

Two Ladies from Memphis (and one from Indianapolis)

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

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

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

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

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

The Big House

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RSCM Report: Generations

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

on Intercessory Prayer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


A second problem:

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

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

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


A final problem: What to pray for?

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

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

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

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

Prayer and the Sanctification of Time

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

It is for this that I became an Anglican.



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


A few other details:

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

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

Invitatory:

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

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

Psalm 100:

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

Scripture: Hebrews 12:1-3

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

Kyrie eleison.
Christe eleison.
Kyrie eleison.

The Lord's Prayer

A Collect for Grace (BCP p. 57)

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

Dismissal:

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

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

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


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

(revised from my LiveJournal: April 16, 2008)