Farewell, Dolly Parton

I'm as sad as everyone about the death of Dolly Parton.  Let me record a few thoughts:

--I'm glad that I was a child in the 70's, that my mom listened to A.M. radio, which meant I heard all kinds of music, including Dolly Parton's songs, both old and new.  The radio stations of my childhood played anything, so you could hear a Dolly Parton song, then a Beatles song, then an old Elvis song, sprinkled with modern pop by groups like Bread, the Carpenters, and so on.

Modern algorithms would not have sent Dolly Parton music my way.  But I must confess that it has taken me many decades to appreciate her music, and I still wouldn't choose her music for a long drive or an evening at home.

--I didn't see her acting during my childhood.  I didn't see 9 to 5 until a few years ago.  I did love Steel Magnolias.

--I've never been to Dollywood.  I would go, if I won tickets.

--I'm not an expert on business, but from my outsider view, she seemed to have business smarts that most of us will never possess.  She know how to capitalize on success while always seeming/being sincere in her enthusiasm.  That skill probably can't be taught in Business school.

--In terms of gender and presentation, she always intrigued me.  There have been years when I was frustrated and annoyed by her over the top femaleness.  Let me just be blunt:  the attention to her breasts was so offputting to me.  As I got older, her costumes intrigued me--the woman liked what she liked, and she loved sparkles.  

As I've gotten older, I've been in awe of all the ways she worked the system without losing her soul.  But I've also been sad about how hard it must have been for her, and about how many others did not survive, which wasn't her fault.

And I've been happy about how she blazed a trail for others--and then kept making sure the trail stayed clear (and to stretch the metaphor, she went back and made roads).

--Her songwriting skills -- wow.  I was amazed at how many songs she wrote.  I loved when she was interviewed and would talk about her creative process, about grabbing inspiration when it came and writing it down on scraps of paper, even the barf bag on an airplane.  

--Her musician skills -- wow.  She played with so many people through the years, and the fact that she could do so speaks to her singing skills, her skills on so many instruments, her expansive vision of what music could and should do.

--She didn't always talk openly about her faith.  Sure, she talked about the faith of her childhood.  I'd have liked to have known more about her grown up faith.

--Of course, she showed us that faith by all the people she helped, by the life she lived.

--Her philanthropy has always been what impressed me most about her.  She gave back, above and beyond, in so many ways, and much of what she did, we will never know about.

--And she continued to do good until the very end, in all the ways she was doing good:  music, support of other artists, business, philanthropy.  Her continued vibrance is why so many of us are feeling sad.  

Thursday Night Hymn Festival

Last night we all headed over to St. James Episcopal Church in Hendersonville, about 15 miles away.  We trooped over there for the Music Week Hymn Festival.

Why did we need to change location?  In part, because the organ is better.  In part, because more people could come.  In part, because we've always done it this way, at least for the past decade or two or three.

Last night, at times, the organ took center stage.  Even if you think your church has a magnificent organ, it's likely 2-5 times smaller than the organ at St. James.  I know this because my mom is an organist, and at her last church, she was the organist who helped do a capital campaign for a new organ.  I thought it might be the same size as last night's organ, but she said it's about a quarter of the size.

David Cherwien was the organist and director of the Hymn Choir last night.  He showed us all the ways the organ could perform, and I was happy with the way the music illuminated the hymn itself.  At times, I wanted less organ and more singing, but I am aware that my preferences don't reflect the whole of the attendees.

Many of the hymns were familiar, but some were not.  Almost all of them came from the ELCA hymnal, the ELW (which stands for Evangelical Lutheran Worship).  As always, I am struck by what a wonderful resource that hymnal is.  Like my brain, like a computer, I don't use nearly as much as is there.

Last night, with every hymn, the audience had verses to sing; some years, the hymnfest is more like a concert, but not this year.  I thought about how unusual it is for me to sing in a group where I cannot hear myself singing--what a delight!  I took the picture above before the pews filled, and because it's Music Week, everyone was singing.

It's been a week full of delights, and I'm sad to see it come to an end today.  Happily, we are likely to be able to come to Music Week again next year.  I feel very fortunate.

Notes from an Off-Season Beach

We are at the beach in a slightly off season, here in mid-May.  It's warm enough to work up a summer-like sweat in the late afternoon.  But my morning walk today had a chilly enough wind that it was almost unpleasant.  Let me record a few other observations.

--Being here in mid-May means that the only children who are here are younger than elementary school age, which translates into lots of cute toddlers.

--We are also here with lots of older people, the ones with either very flexible vacation times or retired people.

--I am likely in the same age category as many of these older women, yet I am working from a different jewelry sensibility:  a nice way of saying that I love colorful glass beads that aren't very valuable, and I'm surrounded by precious gems and metals that are.  I am not wearing jewelry on vacation, and I'm in the minority.

--I have started judging restaurants by their playlists.  High marks go to Poseidon for having 3 Queen songs, including the more obscure "Hammer to Fall," which I am listening to in my earbuds right now.  What a great song--and it still feels very relevant.

--I do realize that "Hammer to Fall" was released as a single and went up the charts.  When I say it's more obscure, I mean that it no longer gets much airplay.  We're much more likely to hear "Somebody to Love," when we're out and about.

--A different musician performs by the pool each day.  Yesterday the musician could play steel pan drums, guitar, and saxaphone, but he didn't always know the song lyrics.  Strange to hear his version of Sting's "Englishman in New York," which didn't sound very English-y, and we're far, far away from both England and New York.

--Yesterday was my last Lutheran Confessions class.  It was a good class, and I learned a lot, although I'm not sure that much of it will be useful in my future life.  I love the idea that the creeds are not like a pledge of allegiance, but more like a love song of the early Church, more like a hymn than a confession of faith.  It seems counterintuitive--we say we confess our faith using the words of the _____Creed.

--It's been a good week, both bittersweet and tiring and inspiring.

A Hymn Festival on a Sunday Afternoon

On Sunday afternoons, it's hard for me to want to do much else, but this past Sunday, we decided to make the effort to go to a hymnfest at the local Lutheran church in Arden, where we live:

It was a great event.  Mary Louise (Mel) Bringle, the hymn writer, was there, and it was interesting to hear her insights about how she wrote the hymns.  For example, she told us about writing a hymn for Christmas and trying to be aware of the fact that Christmas is not part of a cold season in the Southern hemisphere; in parts of Australia, Christmas is a holiday of picnics and sunbathing on the beach.  She talked about realizing how there aren't many hymns that talk about all of creation, the flora and the fauna (or "critters" as she called them).

She presented each hymn, telling us the way she came to be writing the song (someone sent her the music or she realized a lack), then she spoke about the composing process for a few minutes, and then we sang them.  It was a good mix of her insight, our singing, and special musical presentations.  There was a festival choir, a violinist, a guitar player, and handbells.

It was great to sing, great to explore new music, great to have something different on a Sunday.  We usually spend Sunday "visiting" other worship services or just watching a variety of programs and shows.

Even better, we had a chance to see friends we don't often see, because of my work schedule.  I worry that by the time I'm retired or working less, I won't have as many friends as I once did--we're none of us getting younger.  Sigh.

Let me focus on the good, though.  Let me rejoice that there are opportunities to gather and sing and learn about the process of writing a hymn.

Poems and Chocolates and U2 on a September Tuesday Morning

 It's been a strange morning, strange but satisfying.  I began it as I do most Tuesday mornings, by reading Dave Bonta's weekly Poetry Blog Digest and exploring some of the blog posts.  Rachel Barenblat's post includes an amazing poem, which made me weep.  It's the perfect poem for a week of shootings, and sadly, multiple shootings is a hallmark of almost every week these days. 

I also wanted to hear U2's "Shadow and Tall Trees," so I went to a YouTube site, and after each U2 song has come another.  But they've all been from the early years, The Joshua Tree and earlier--such powerful music!

Some of it I haven't heard in decades.  I'm getting deep cuts from the October album for example.  I remember it as an album that I bought and didn't really listen to much; I wanted to be listening to War, and so I did.  And yet, I remember the songs still.  I don't listen to music that way much anymore.

I am also struck by the way the lyrics twine together contemporary politics and ancient religious texts and concepts.  Wow.

As always, this music takes me back to earlier falls:  the autumn of 1983 when I first bought a lot of this music on vinyl (War and October and Boy), the autumn of 1984 when I had The Unforgettable Fire in constant rotation.  That music made me think of listening to my own recordings on cassette as I drove across South Carolina to see my grandmother in Greenwood, SC.

Those memories made me think of her Whitman's Sampler and the time I got one of my own, on sale, at a local drugstore, during the spring of my last year at Newberry College.  Finally I could eat as many of the chocolates as I wanted!  My grandmother only ate one at a time, spaced out across many days, making that box last as long as possible.  It will surprise no one that being able to eat as much of the box as I wanted in one sitting was not as satisfying as I always imagined.  Ah, the heartbreak of grown up life!

I've been trying to write a poem out of it all, and I'm a bit haunted by thinking that I've already used this material but I can't remember if I really have or if I thought that it would make a good poem.

I've continued with the poem composing, and I like this line:  Sugar soaked mouth unsatisfied

I've also done some sketching and noted the way a mostly dried up marker looks like tree bark on the page.  That, too, seems like it should be a metaphor for something, but in a different poem.

I woke up this morning thinking that I was going to blog about reading Mary Shelley's Frankenstein this past week, and being struck by how it speaks to our current conversation/argument about generative AI.  Frankenstein seems timeless in so many ways.  Last year I read it for a seminary class, and the isolation of all the characters was what grabbed me.

I feel so lucky to have this life, and I'm amazed that I managed to stumble into it, being able to teach undergraduates in a small, liberal arts college in South Carolina, just up the road from my the small, liberal arts college where I spent my youth listening to U2 and reading British lit and dreaming of being a poet myself.

The Boss and Me

I have noticed that I am standing up straighter as I make my rounds during the work day.  Sadly, I still have a fairly hunched over posture when I sit at the computer.  I also try to smile and project a peaceful presence throughout the day.  

On Thursday,  a much older man said to me, "You look like somebody who knows she's the boss."  I smiled, and he said, "No really, you look like the person who's in charge of this place."  I said, "I assure you, I am not the boss."  It was a kinder interchange than it sounds here on the page.

In some ways, it felt evolved--instead of being complimented on my looks or my smile, the man might have been complimenting me on something career related.  But it also made me think of that whole pre-Covid movement for women to claim their authority, to act more like men who were in charge, that whole Bosslady trend that spawned a billion TikToks and memes and merchandising.  I am not the Bosslady, nor was meant to be, to paraphrase Shakespeare or T. S. Eliot.

As I took my walk back to the elevator, I thought about other ways I could have responded.  I thought about Bruce Springsteen and all the song lyrics I could have offered in response:  "Tramps like us, baby we were born to run."  But I suspect that most people wouldn't get that reference.  I thought about how I would be happy to be more like Springsteen, a man who really is the boss in so many ways.  But his touring schedule would be exhausting.

I thought of Bruce Springsteen yesterday as I was taking a walk around camp.  Because I had the federal holiday off of work, I went later than usual.  I saw the campers gathering for Morning Watch, and I heard the blast of music, the opening chords to Springsteen's "Born in the U.S.A.," an interesting choice for Independence Day.  I thought of politicians who have tried to co-opt the song without listening to the lyrics.  It is such an amazing song, and it was my Springsteen entry drug.  I remember buying the record that contained the song (yes, on vinyl) in the early days of fall semester 1984, where I was at Wal-Mart buying a fan for my dorm room that had no air conditioning.  I have never loved another Springsteen album the way I LOVED that one:  all the songs are great, and there's a narrative arc (or maybe it's just a theme that connects them all) when one listens straight through.

The playlist for the campers' Morning Watch went to John Mellencamp's "R.O.C.K. in the U.S.A.," a much happier song lyrically.  And later, I heard them singing "The Star Spangled Banner," voices drifting down the hill to where I stood at the berry brambles, eating as many black raspberries as were ripe.  

It was a perfect start to Independence Day 2025, which included hamburgers AND hot dogs, a watching of Independence Day (which I had not seen again since I saw it in the theatre on the week-end it was released), and a neighborhood potluck.

A Great Teaching Day: Nuclear Apocalypses and Civil Rights Primers

Yesterday was a great teaching day, although I didn't fully savor it.  I had several seminary projects due last night, one of which was a presentation, so that stress was simmering in the background.  My commuting has gotten a bit nightmarish, with slow downs and stops that add an hour to my trip home.  By the time my seminary class started, I was more stressed than normal.

So let me savor the teaching day here.  In my Nonfiction Writing class on Tuesday, we sketched out the remaining class days--there are only 6 of them, or there were on Tuesday.  My students wanted to think about propaganda yesterday, so we began with the Daisy ad from LBJ's 1964 presidential campaign, the ad which combines a cute toddler pulling apart a daisy with a nuclear explosion.

I knew that we were going to discuss the ad, so I spent yesterday morning watching this video that compares The Day After to Threads.  It talks about The Day After as a form of propaganda/teaching.  We only watched the first part, because I didn't want to expose them to Threads, which is quite graphic and gruesome.  We had a good discussion.  The students had never seen either film, but the commentary was understandable (as we watched it, I wasn't sure that it would be).

Then I went to teach my American Lit survey class.  It was the day to discuss Martin Luther King's "Letter from a Birmingham Jail."  I wanted to use some music to set the mood as they came in, so I cued up this album (by the magic of YouTube):

I had the CD cover on the screen, and one of my students walked in and said, "That looks like they're having fun."  Hmmm.  So I used it as a later teaching moment.

I've actually seen the real photograph--there was a display of Civil Rights photo at the Ft. Lauderdale Museum of Art.  As I recall, it's part of a three part set.  I said to the class, "What you can't see on this side is the firehose of water being aimed at peaceful protestors."

We talked about protest, about the rights guaranteed by the Constitution, about the unjust situation that King described in his letter.  We talked about modern issues of injustice that need our attention and how we might affect change (write letters, protest, run for office, write a poem or a song).  I talked about how the Civil Rights protestors of the 50's and 60's came from a church background and what that meant.  And then to conclude class, I had them write about the best way to do that, while we listened to two songs from the album, "This Little Light of Mine" and "(Ain't Gonna Let Nobody) Turn Me Round."

It was a good mix of history, modern politics/issues of social injustice, civics reminders (your legislators will take notice if you write or call, and they may change their minds), literature, and song.  It was less a focus on literature than most class meetings, but it felt important.  And it will lead nicely to Claudia Rankine's Citizen:  A Lyric on Tuesday. 

New World Order

When I'm on the road by myself, I usually have NPR on, and when I travel on Friday, as I did yesterday, many of the NPR shows are doing news of the week retrospectives.  In the morning, all the commentators expected the afternoon meeting between Trump and Zelensky to end in a minerals deal and perhaps a vision for a path to a peace treaty.

By afternoon, it was not to be.  I first heard about the contentious meeting on a BBC show carried by an NPR station.  It was oddly comforting to hear the discussion in clipped, British accents, even as the subject of the discussion was so catastrophic.

As I listened to Trump and Vance shouting and Zelensky try to get a word in edgewise, I felt that careening disbelief that I've felt so often in the last few weeks.  Really?  Grown ups talk like this?  And then I wondered how we came to have audio.  I imagined some brave White House employee sneaking a recording to a British reporter.

Nope--it was all televised, and later, when I watched the footage, it seemed like a pre-planned spectacle.

It's an astonishing moment that I would never have imagined.  A Republican president embracing . . . Russia???  I came of age during the reign of Ronald Reagan, who must be spinning in his grave.  It's hard for me to imagine how any of this ends well.  I already miss the peace and prosperity slipping through our fingers.  I know, I know, it was peace and prosperity for Europe and the U.S., with proxy wars fought around the globe.

I can imagine any number of scenarios about where the world lurches from here, and none of them are good.  As I was driving, my apocalyptic brain kicked into overdrive yesterday, and I sang "Dona Nobis Pacem" to quiet it.  I'm amazed by how well that works.  This video offers a beautiful rendition, with footage from a cathedral.

I switched over from NPR to a classic rock station just as one song ended and the next started:  "Cult of Personality."  I smirked, but as the afternoon wore on, I did wonder if the d.j. was being deliberate.  I heard "Highway to Hell" and "Sunday Bloody Sunday" in short order.  Hmmm.  I realize that my English major brain makes all kinds of connections that might not have been intentional.

Last night we went outside to see if we could view the planetary alliance.  I think that we saw it, but as with the playlist that might be making a statement about political struggles, I wasn't sure.  Still, it was good to look up at the sky and to remember how brief our geopolitical struggles are in the long term--still not a comfort when I think of what those geopolitical struggles likely mean for the rest of my life and those who come after, but a cold, planetary comfort nonetheless.

A Wonderful Advent 4 Sunday

Yesterday was the kind of Sunday where I found myself wishing that I was already ordained, that I could stay at Faith Lutheran Church to be their pastor.  Of course, being their permanent pastor might change things, and it's important to remember that.  If they called me as their full-time pastor, I would need to move.  I would be held to different standards.

It doesn't really matter.  I am not ordained, and ordination is realistically years away.  But let me delight in the ways that yesterday was wonderful:

--Last year, Christmas Eve fell on the 4th Sunday of Advent, so we didn't do a morning service.  We did a 2 p.m. Christmas Eve service.  I was happy to have the 4th Sunday in Advent to luxuriate in the season a bit longer.

--I loved the music yesterday:  a chance to sing both "Oh Come, Oh Come Emmanuel" and "Soon and Very Soon."

--I felt like both my children's sermon and adult sermon went well.  What a treat to focus my message on Elizabeth and Mary and their babies in their wombs.

--We got home to find out that our tech person had figured out a way to record the sermon and posted it to the church's Facebook page.  I can't figure out a way to download it to my YouTube channel, but if you're on Facebook, you can view it here.

--I finally did figure out how to post it to my YouTube channel!  It's here.  And of course, if you'd prefer to read my sermon, I turned it into a blog post.

--We had more children in church yesterday:  2 toddlers home to visit Grandma and Great Grandma.  They were interested in everything we did, including communion.  Delightful!

--One of our members got a Christmas present for everyone, so we stayed seated after worship so that the older youth could assist in handing out Christmas gift bags.  

--Then we all did the final decorating for Christmas, which involved tall metal candleholders attached to every other pew and gold ribbons around them.

--On our way out of town, we took communion to a parishioner who is too unsteady to make it to church.  We will likely start doing this every Sunday.  I was really happy to be able to do this.  

I even discovered that the church had a kit stashed away in the sacristy, so transporting the wine was easier than I thought it might be.

--The drive across the mountains was so beautiful, with parts of the mountains frosted with snow.  In some spots, it reminded me of that flocking snow that people used to spray on indoor Christmas trees.

--We finished by watching Civil War, not a Christmas movie, and not as compelling as I thought it would be.  But it did make me think about what would happen if one paired it with Salvador, two movies about photojournalists.  I am not likely to have a class where I would have time to do that, but let me record it.

--It was an early night to bed--a good day can leave one worn out that way.

Music Week Snippets, with Quilting

My week is catching up with me.  I realize that my idea of a late night would make most people laugh--"We made it to 10:00!"  Still, I'm not feeling like I have a coherent blog post about a single topic in me right now.  Let me record some snippets from the week:

--It has worked well, having house guests who are participating in Music Week.  One is participating, and the other going on day trip hikes.  We've done a combination of eating meals in and eating meals out.  We've had time to catch up and time to do new stuff together.  At times, the house has seemed a little small for us all, but that's O.K.  Most important:  the plumbing can handle extra people.  I had no doubts about the HVAC system, but plumbing can be so problematic.

--I went to quilt group day Wednesday and assembled two back for Lutheran World Relief quilts.  One was for the fish top I assembled earlier this summer.  

I am loving the fancy sewing machine that allows me to zip work together.  I am loving all the fabric that we have.

--For the past few days, I've found myself singing my song, or more accurately, my lyrics to "Poor Wayfaring Stranger"--more accurately, I've been mixing my lyrics with the more traditional lyrics, which also works well.

--Because of bear season, we had taken down the birdfeeder with suction cups that we usually have on one of the back sliding glass doors.  We put it back up to get it out of the way.  I've been loving watching the birds come to the feeder.  Bear season or no, maybe we'll keep it up year round.

--I've been loving having numerous worship opportunities, all of them high quality.  It's what I imagined would happen year round, when I imagined living here.

Singing Together, Singing By Ourselves

I am happy to report that the second class meeting of my seminary class in protest music lived up to the promise of the first week.  Our professor does have a PowerPoint, but unlike some other professors, he does not read from the PowerPoint.  We cover the material that's in the book, but so far, it hasn't left me saying, "I could just read the book."  We listen to the music and discuss it, but not in the depth that a music appreciation class would offer.  The book offers a more in-depth dive into the history that prompted the creation of the music.

One thing that's different from other classes:  we sing together.  It's an online class meeting by way of a Zoom session, so it's not what you might imagine, a group of seminarians with a guitar and folk songs in a physical room.  The professor, who is also a professional musician, has a keyboard as part of his set up, so he sings the song and plays it.  We students keep ourselves muted and sing.  Well, some of us do.  I realize that not everyone knows these songs.  

Last night we sang "This Land Is Your Land," "We Shall Overcome," and "If I Had a Hammer."  We also talked about why some of us grew up singing these songs in elementary school, while others didn't.  My professor's theory is that there was once was a core group of songs that many of us knew, from singing them around campfires and such.  I thought about what a wide range of songs I knew and how I came to know them:  church choir, camp, parents who had music playing in the background throughout much of the day, radio stations that played a wide range of music.

I didn't offer my theory:  those of us who went to elementary school in the 70's had teachers who thought those songs were important and taught them to us.  I had music classes in school, taught by people who were once hippies, radicals, and organizers (or people who knew these types).

We talked about what children sing now, perhaps Disney songs, but it was late in the evening, and we didn't spend much time on the topic.  I did spend some time thinking about my childhood and music, thinking about elementary schools that once had music as a class period.

I've also been thinking about my classmates, some of whom are so much younger, who have never heard of this music, and perhaps this history.  I feel lucky to have been educated when I was, with such a wide variety of educational experiences.

One Summer Seminary Class: Protest Music!

This summer, I'm taking one seminary class, a class on protest music.  It only meets for 4 weeks, and Tuesday night was the first meeting.  The class is one quarter over, and I am already wishing we had more time.  I did not feel that way with last summer's class, which was 6 weeks.  The summer before, I decided not to take classes because we'd be moving, and that summer, there were lots of classes I wished that I could take.  This summer, the protest music class was the only one that looked interesting and could be done from a distance and didn't have an intensive section during Music Week.

Each week, we'll do a deep dive into four songs, and we'll have more general discussions about protest music, about the history of the times that birthed the songs, and about music theory (the very light version).  Our class book, 33 Revolutions Per Minute:  A History of Protest Songs from Billie Holiday to Green Day by Dorian Lynskey,  is great!  Last night we looked at "Strange Fruit," "Mississippi Goddamn," "A Change Is Gonna Come," and "Say It Loud -- I'm Black and I'm Proud."

This morning, I'm thinking about how it was such an appropriate choice for the day before Juneteenth.  

In the middle of the night, I woke up thinking about alternative lyrics to "Poor Wayfaring Stranger."  For the class, we have a choice of writing a short paper (750 words) or a protest song of our own.  I am thinking about a protest song about climate change.  I drifted off to sleep thinking about "This Land Is Your Land" as a song base, but woke up with "Poor Wayfaring Stranger" in my head.

My spouse pointed out the number of musicians who will be around Music Week, when the song is due.  We've got all sorts of instrument possibilities beyond my spouse's violin.  I'm glad I have a few weeks to come up with lyrics.  The structure and rhyme scheme aren't similar to ones that usually shape my poetry.

I'm so glad that I decided to take this class.  It's going to be a great 4 weeks!

Handbells as Wind Chimes: A Different Way to Play

Last week, I had an interesting experience during opening worship for Music Week at Lutheridge.  I wanted to make a record of it, because it could be useful for many churches.

When we arrived at the chapel, some handbells were sitting up, and others were on their side.  We were encourage to take a handbell that was sitting up and spread out across the worship space.  There weren't enough handbells for everyone, but that was O.K, because not everyone would want to play.  We were told to play randomly as we sang the first hymn, "In a Deep, Unbounded Darkness" (All Creation Sings hymnal supplement/worship resource manual, #1093).  The idea was to create a wind chime effect, which seemed to work.

I thought about how we didn't need to have musical ability to play handbells this way.  We didn't need to read music or keep time.  We didn't need to have a director.

I mention this because I've been a member of a church that had handchimes, with very few people who knew how to use them.  A few of us had some musical ability, which meant that we played the notes that got used more often--or we played versions that our director simplified so that we needed fewer people.  It was hard to find people to commit, even for the streamlined rehearsal schedule that we had.

It's not a stretch to think that there are churches with handbells or handchimes that can't use them.  Maybe no one can commit to rehearsing.  Maybe not enough people can read music.  Maybe people aren't brave--they know they'll hit a wrong note and everyone can hear it, so no thanks.

The beauty of the opening worship experience is that there was no wrong way to play.  No note would sound wrong, and if we happened to ring a handbell at the same time, no matter how many of us did that, it sounded fine.  I am guessing that the director chose the handbells that corresponded to the notes of the song--and maybe some complementary notes.

It seems like a great way to involve children too.  Again, the benefit would be that children don't need to know how to read music.  It's a great entry activity to the world of music, to involve children without the risks of so much that can go wrong that can convince children that they are not musical.

It's a great entry activity for us all.  And it can fit with a variety of approaches.  Handbells as wind chimes seems particularly wonderful for Pentecost.

The American Popular Song

Last night, my mom and dad took me to the Williamsburg Symphony Orchestra--what a treat!  They have season tickets, and I happened to be visiting during the time of the last concert of the season, so they got me a ticket, even though it meant they had to shift seats.  Luckily, it wasn't a huge shift, since it was from one side of the balcony to the other.  I'd have felt bad if they had to give up front row seats for me.

Michael Butterman, the conductor/music director, put together works that went together exceptionally well from composers Alberto Ginastera, Maurice Ravel, Aaron Copland, and George Gershwin.  The Ginastera and Copland pieces were from dances, with four pieces each.  The Gershwin piece was "Rhapsody in Blue," which I'm guessing is a popular choice this year, as the piece approaches its 100th birthday.  It's a piece that is so popular that some have called it the most famous piece of classical music ever (see this episode of the 1A show for more information on the piece and the composer).

Much of it is familiar, in part because it's used in advertising, from airlines to beef (one of the Copland pieces was "Hoe-Down" which made me think of the "It's what's for dinner" campaign, which always made my mouth water, even when I was a vegetarian).  I also realize that this kind of program is aimed at people like me, people who grew up hearing classical music from a variety of sources, from my parents' collection, in church, and the background music of TV shows (cheaper than hiring a team to write original music).  The house was packed in part because it was the last offering of the season, but in part because people like me have heard of these composers (except for Ginastera perhaps) and knew that we'd have an enjoyable evening.

As if to prove my point, when the guest pianist Jon Nakamatsu came out to play an encore, he played "The Entertainer" from the 1970's movie The Sting.  Almost everyone in the audience was old enough to recognize it, and there was a laugh as he began.  As he played, I remembered learning the piece in elementary school, where we would have contests to see who could play it faster.  When we did that at church, we got some strange looks for playing such secular music on church pianos or perhaps it's because we played it at such breakneck speed to show off.

It was a marvelous evening, full of great music and interesting instruments, in a space small enough to see what was happening on the stage, but modern enough to have great acoustics.  It was also the day after Tina Turner died, and it was interesting to read retrospectives and tributes on the same day that we went to the symphony, interesting to think about the American popular song, how we've expanded the idea of American and song and popular, interesting to think about what makes good music accessible to a wide variety of people.

A Different Destination from a Different Direction

 In some ways, it was a typical week, although this kind of week won't be typical much longer; yesterday I had a long car trip (by long, I mean over 4 hours).  It was a long car trip, but it was to a different destination from a different direction.

Yesterday I left our Lutheridge house to drive to Williamsburg, Virginia to spend some time with my parents before my summer schedule intensifies.  I wrote out the directions on a sticky note, which I stuck to my phone.  I am not one of those people who trusts that I will always be able to access GPS, and I've gotten lost enough times by relying on my memory of the directions I had read a few days ago to know that I must write out the directions in full enough sentences that they won't be confused for a grocery list/beginning of a poem.

I drove the parts of I 40 going east, the parts that I've only traveled twice before, once as a high school student going from Knoxville to do a college visit at Lenoir-Rhyne and once traveling with one of my best high school friends, going from Raleigh back to Knoxville for our 20 year high school reunion).  Then I got on I 85, an interstate I traveled back in college when I went from Newberry, South Carolina to my parents' house in northern Virginia.

I was surprised by the lack of development in this area which seems like it should be a major travel corridor as we go from North Carolina to Virginia.  Instead, I traveled through dappled forests, half expecting to see a soldier from a past century emerge from the shadows.

I took back roads to Williamsburg, a route which seemed so underdeveloped that I pulled over and plugged the address into my phone and let Google Maps direct me through the exact same directions in handwriting on the note stuck to my phone.  As I approached the James River, I thought, am I taking the route that will have me take a ferry?  Happily, there was a drawbridge, small by modern measurements, but sturdy.

On the way back, I'll enjoy the ride more--yesterday I felt a bit impatient to get there, and a bit anxious that I would end up in some strange part of Virginia, lost in a swampy coastline.  But happily, my directions yesterday got me to my parents' house.  

I went with them to be part of the group that goes to the memory care unit once a month to sing to the residents.  We start in front of a group that has no clue who we are or why we are there, but their faces are friendly.  We sing songs from the early part of the twentieth century, songs like "Bicycle Built for Two" and "Ain't She Sweet," and songs that celebrate the U.S., like "God Bless America," and we end with a service song from each branch of the military.  By the end, everyone is singing, mouthing words, and/or tapping their fingers.

I knew all of the songs--years of elementary school choir classes taught me all sorts of songs.  The experience did make me think about today's children who will likely grow up with a base of fewer communal songs to sing.  What will make them tap their fingers when they're in the memory care unit?  And the younger generation who comes to sing for/with them--how will they learn the songs?

Live Blogging the Coronation

As I write, I am flipping back and forth to the coronation coverage.  Right now, it's the slow process of a very lovely carriage pulled along by horses.  And now they've arrived at Westminster Cathedral--back in a minute!

Ah the church bells!  Ah, the elderly king and queen, gingerly exiting the carriage, with their long trains that must be carried by children.  What do those children make of it?  Ah, the next generation, looking so young by comparison, the son and wife, and their little children.  How long before we watch his coronation?

It's hard not to think back to the wedding of Diana and Charles, which I might have watched in real time.  We were on vacation at Myrtle Beach with extended family, and we had a very small black and white TV, which we would have only used to watch the wedding.  I remember being mildly interested; it was a real life fairy tale, after all.  But I do remember thinking about the difference in their ages, the fact that Diana was not much older than me, and shuddering a bit.  Could they really love each other?

No, as it turns out, they did not.

I am watching this coverage on npr.com, which doesn't have commentary.  In fact, I can hear what some of the ordinary people are saying.  I'm not sure who is saying these things about Harry and whether or not he'll be here.  Hmm.  These official looking people?  Someone standing near the person with the video camera?  At this point, 6:04 a.m., we're still seeing shots of the outside of Westminster.

At 6:08, I have switched to a different site.  It was clear that something was going on inside.  I am thinking of the first King Charles, beheaded in a time of civil war.  May this King Charles have a more peaceful reign.

It is interesting to watch this coronation, these oaths that Charles III is taking, just a day after finishing my Church History II class.  We are seeing not only a king being sworn in, but the head of the Church of England.

I think of Charles, now so much older than he might have imagined he would be when he thought of what it would be like to take this throne, to rule in the ways that his ancestors did.  In some ways, these days, his age might not matter.  It's not like he's going to need to ride a horse to lead troops to battle.  It's not like he gets to make the kinds of decisions upon which economies and empires turn.

I will not comment on the fact that the Gospel reading is from Luke, where Jesus returns to Nazareth and preaches out of the book of Isaiah (Luke 4).  We end at the part where Jesus says the Gospel is fulfilled.  I didn't think we would cover the part where the hometown crowd wants to throw Jesus over a cliff--and we did not. 

I do like this sermon, about service, about the "regalia" that Jesus wore--well done, Archbishop.

I am now watching the various regalia being presented, spurs and a sword, along with words about what the king must do, protecting the kingdom, and the poor.  Very interesting to hear these words surrounded by all these treasures, with so much expense going to this coronation, this upkeep of the royal family.

I am now watching the oldest son assisting with the re-robing process.  Is it strange to be any of the other family members?  It's weird to think about how little in our society depends on birth order anymore.  But line of succession does.

This is a very long ceremony.  I'm a bit bored.  I have packing to do.  And yet, at the same time, I'm impressed by the symbolism of it all.  I'm trying to avoid the voice of my inner 19 year old who is screaming about hypocrisy--yes, yes, we know.

Finally a crown for the man's head!

I do like these closing benedictions from a variety of religious traditions, all Christian.  They even let a woman deliver one of them.  It would have been cool to have benedictions from other faiths, but I am not in charge of this service.

I don't like the Archbishop of Canterbury swearing allegiance.  My hope, of course, is that if the demands of empire conflict with the demands of God, the Archbishop would choose wisely.  I will not be swearing homage.  I am a member of the break away colonies, after all.  

And now the queen has a crown.  She has smoothed hair out of her eyes, a refreshingly human touch.  As she moves to the throne and sits, she's got a shocked look, and every so often she smiles.  As far as I can tell, King Charles has yet to smile.  It's hard not to think of hostage videos.  It's hard not to think of Shakespeare quotes about heads and crowns.

The music has been glorious, as I expected.  There is congregational singing, and as the camera scans the assembly, I'm interested to see who is singing and who is not.  As with most congregations, the choir carries the day.

The king and queen come back out, with no crowns.  I imagine those crowns have been whisked back to wherever they are kept safe.  Poor crowns, which so rarely see the light of day.

They aren't going to try to commune everyone, are they?  Or maybe this service has no eucharist?  I've lost track of what I'm seeing.  Boy, I change internet tabs for one minute . . . 

And we're singing, and singing, and singing.  It really is beautiful music, though.  Just not sure where we are in terms of this ceremony.  Almost done?  The concert portion?  Is this the gift that the choristers bring?  The way they pledge allegiance to their newly crowned king?

It looks like we may finally be at the point of a recessional.  People are lined up, robes resplendent.  I must look for ways to use the word "resplendent" more often.  And they're singing "God Save the King," and heading down an aisle.  The crown (a newscaster tells us it is a different crown, an imperial state crown) is on his head; women are curtsying, some of them but not all.  King Charles looks tired, unimpressed, still no smiles.

I, too, am tired.  So much pomp and spectacle.  I have been thinking it was my only chance to see a coronation of an English monarch, but Charles III is in his mid-70's.  It's possible I might have another chance. 

I wonder what will be happening at that point in history?

Gloomy Skies: Goodbye to Gordon Lightfoot

 I am listening to "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald," which I only usually do "when the skies of November turn gloomy" (to borrow a phrase from the song).  But Gordon Lightfoot has died, and it's a gloomy May day, so the song fits my mood.

Of course, Lightfoot was 84 years old, and from what I can tell from the various news stories, he seemed to have lived a good life.  He wrote amazing songs and had a good run as a performer.  Lots of people will be reflecting on his life and appreciating him today, and plenty of us have been doing this for over 50 years.

His music is the background of my childhood, along with Neil Diamond, Simon and Garfunkle, and John Denver.  Yesterday on my drive back to my seminary apartment, I heard John Denver's live version of "Thank God I'm a Country Boy"--what a great song.

He also wrote songs that other people made more famous, like "Early Morning Rain."  I've been listening to some of those songs this morning.  At some point, when I don't have seminary papers to finish, I might do more reflecting on how this folk music formed my perception of what it would be like to be an adult--not because I listened to it as a child, but because I continued to listen to it in adolescence.

Well, we do have an early morning rain, but today is not a travel day for me.  I need to do my last revisions on my Queer Theology paper which is due at 5 p.m.; when I went to bed last night, I thought it was mostly finished.

And then it's on to my paper for my class on the Gospel of Luke:  looking at the Annunciation as a kind of call story, thinking about different kinds of call stories.  If you're like me, you think that a call means that you're leaving your home, going out with very little, and converting the ones you find along the way.  But what if Jesus has a different call?  One that has to do with hospitality?  

Dem Bones and Sunday Percussion

On Friday night at the Women's Retreat at St. Stephens Lutheran Church in Williamsburg, we worked on the offertory anthem for Sunday morning.  The Old Testament reading was from Ezekias--time to get out the songs about bones!  We did not do "Dem Bones Gonna Rise Again"; we did "Dem Bones, Dem Bones, Dem Dry Bones."  It had opportunities for 3 percussion instruments:  the guiro, the sticks, and a shaker.  

The people playing the instruments on Friday night weren't going to be at the 8:30 service.  I thought my mom planned to go, so I volunteered to play the instruments.  Even though it made for a long Sunday morning, I was glad I did.

When we did the quick rehearsal Sunday morning before the 8:30 service, I learned I had mixed up the instruments, but I regrouped.  I spent much of church looking at the music and visualizing myself doing it correctly.  And I did!

Someone commented afterward that I looked like I was concentrating on getting those instruments right.  Indeed I was.  I was playing with 2 of the best musicians I know, my mom and Karen Ives, and I didn't want to let them down, even though it's a volunteer choir.

The song has been in my head for days now, and if you'd like it to be in yours, the early service was recorded.  You can see me playing to the far right of the screen.  My mom stands beside me, and Karen is at the piano.  Go here and go to minute 53.40.

Or watch the whole service--it's worth your time.

Harmonies

Yesterday, when I heard about the death of David Crosby, I thought about my dad and I on Saturday, listening to the Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young album Deja Vu, pulling out the LP as we listened to the music on an old cassette tape, the kind that came in a pack of blank tapes so that a person could record whatever they wanted.  My dad used to record music shows on public radio channels, and listening to those again had this charm, perhaps a lo-fidelity charm, perhaps an artifact from the not-so-distant-but-very-gone past charm.

This morning, I thought about a conversation I had with a college friend, long ago, maybe 1985 or so.  It was that late night kind of conversation, the kind that seemed so essential then, like we were uncovering the secrets of the universe.  We talked about which groups did harmony the best.  I stayed solidly committed to Simon and Garfunkle.  My friend argued for much older folk groups like the Kingston Trio, and he shocked me by claiming those earlier groups were better than Peter, Paul, and Mary, better in every way.  

We didn't discuss any of the music that I now remember as important to me in the 1980's:  U2 or the Alarm or Bruce Springsteen.  There was interesting harmony in those groups, but it was between singer and instruments, not individuals singing to create a harmonic sound.

This morning, I'm thinking of how rare it is, still, to hear groups that can sing in harmony, to have groups that sing in harmony come to prominence.  Lately, when I shop in stores that have music in the background or scan the radio dial, I'm struck by how much modern music seems to be composed/created/collaged with the opposite effect in mind, to have components mash in ways that are not harmonic.

It's easy to have that kind of mashing, but much harder to achieve harmony.

This morning, I am also thinking of the death of Jeff Beck, who did so much to prepare the musical ground for the work I would love.  I am thinking of the deaths of Charles Simic and Russell Banks, authors I have not yet read.  Well, I tried to read a Russell Banks novel once, after seeing a movie made out of one of his books (which one?  can't remember), so I likely won't return to his work--life is short, and my reading time ever more in short supply.

I am wishing I had more conversations like the kind I had in college.  That may be one reason why I'm loving seminary so much.  We're not talking about the best harmonies of the 1960's, but we are talking about stuff that feels vital, but overlooked by much of the population.

Holiday Choirs

Yesterday morning, I hopped in the car and headed south to Williamsburg, Virginia, where my parents live.  Their chorale had an afternoon concert, and I wanted to see them.  And since I was heading down, and they would be at both church services, why not join them for the 11:00 service at St. Stephen Lutheran Church?

My mom warned me that there would be no sermon, that it would be something the children of the congregation put together.  Even better!  It's been years since I've been at a church that had enough children to do something in place of the sermon.

It was both a children's choir concert, and parts of a Christmas pageant--think cute children in simple costumes coming down the aisle to stand with the choir.  It was all of that, plus percussion.  I am convinced, now, that if we want more children's involvement in church, and easy way to do that is to put drums around the worship space.  The children continued to migrate to them, even as the service progressed.

It was a delightful service, and I'm glad I made the effort to go.  My mom played piano for part of the service, which I didn't know about beforehand.  I'm always happy to have a chance to hear her play.

The concert by the Chorale was delightful too.  My mom asked me if I'd ever heard The Messiah, and I assume she meant the whole thing, not just parts.  In fact, one of my earliest memories of choral music is from childhood, when she and my dad would sing The Messiah with a local group every year, and my sister and I would hang out in the childcare area while they practiced.  And through the years, I've been to hear many groups sing or play it.  

I do realize that most people don't hang out with classical musicians in the way that I have done.  Yesterday the conductor asked how many of us in the audience were hearing the music for the first time, and a substantial number of people raised their hands.  I continue to see it as a good sign for the future of humanity, that people are still willing to come out to hear their friends and relatives sing music they've never heard of.

In DC, I could have gone to hear The Messiah in any number of settings--but I'm so glad I made the effort to come down to Williamsburg to see my parents sing.  I am aware that we won't always have these kinds of opportunities.  Perhaps they will make it into their 90's, still singing The Messiah every year, and perhaps I'll be able to make the trip to see them more regularly.  But if not, I'm glad that I got the chance to do it this year, so many years after first hearing them sing The Messiah when I was in elementary school.