Other Symbols of Smallness: The Small Choir

This week's Gospel reading revolves around small things (mustard seeds and yeast) and hidden things (treasure and pearls of rare price and fish that are worthy hidden around a net full of sea creatures).  I have preached on mustard seeds and weeds before.  I'm always on the lookout for new metaphors and symbols.  I've used symbols like mold in a bathroom as a synonym for yeast. 

This year, I thought of an experience during Music Week, where we went to a workshop for people who are in charge or are part of small choirs.  It quickly became clear that we (me, my spouse, my S. Florida church friend) have a very different definition of  "small":  one of the workshop leaders talked about his small Vespers choir, and then casually mentioned the 70 members of the small Vespers choir.

We looked at music that three workshop leaders would be good for "small" choirs.  Almost all of them relied on choirs that had sopranos, altos, and deeper voices of some variety.  Many of the pieces rely on some level of musical skill from those voices.

I am guessing that most truly small choirs don't even have these resources.  Here's how I put it in the rough draft of my sermon for Sunday:  

"My version of a small choir is the type you’d find at a church that only has 70 or so people, a choir of six or seven where one or two people might be able to carry a tune and play an instrument, where the other five choir members have enthusiasm but no ability to carry the non-soprano sections by themselves, the kind of choir where getting everyone to sing the melody is accomplishment enough."

Music Week Ends

A week ago, I'd be doing the last tasks to get ready for Music Week:  the cleaning, the final shopping, he laundry, some cooking.  I was grateful to have so much in place--food in the fridge, clean clothes--because the pace of Music Week feels more jam-packed every year.

Yesterday was a day of final rehearsals and then concerts and worship.  I went to the kid's concert--I am amazed at how the director is able to take a group of very young children, all under the age of 8, and get them focused and making good music.

I was able to record the Adult Choir during worship--they had 4 pieces for the prelude part of the service and 1 piece for the response to the Confession, 1 piece as a response to the Bible reading, and 1 piece for the Offertory.  If you'd like to hear them, I posted each one separately on my YouTube channel.

I was the Communion assistant, which went well for the most part.  Closing worship was held at the Chapel, which has no HVAC system, so we were all sweaty.  I was briefly worried about the chalices slipping out of my sweaty hands, but happily, that didn't happen.  As I walked back to the altar, some of the grape juice in the very full chalice sloshed and dripped on the floor.

The other team communed the choir, while the chaplain and I communed everyone else--including the bishop of the NC Synod.  I always find it profoundly moving to commune my mom and dad.  I'll get another chance to do that tomorrow--they're coming to Bristol on their way home.

We spent the afternoon helping our friends staying with us get on the road and then straightening a bit.  Mom and Dad came back in the late afternoon for dinner--delicious hamburgers, which we got cooked on the grill just before a thunderstorm came through.

After a week of late-ish nights, it was good to have an early bedtime.  Today we will head a different direction on I 26.  We're going down to Spartanburg to see our fixer-upper house and to see the campus of Spartanburg Methodist College.  We'll have some lunch at some point, and then we'll head back.

It's wonderful to have a slower ending to Music Week, otherwise yesterday afternoon could have been a crashing come down.

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.

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!

Summoning the Sunrise

Before we get too far away from it, I want to remember the October 11 morning prayer session at the Southeastern Synod Convocation.  We had morning prayer with a view of the sunrise:

It was so awe-inspiring to sing "Morning Has Broken" as the rays of the sun stretched above the horizon.  The picture above does not do the moment justice.

I thought of past times that communal morning prayer coincided with the precise moment of sunrise, and I could only think of a few others, all at Mepkin Abbey, when we started in darkness, and through the high windows, we could see the light change outside.  Even though I knew better, it really did feel like our prayers and singing summoned the sunrise. 

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?

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.

Concerts and Worship Opportunities

Yesterday, I knew that the rains would come eventually, rains and perhaps wind from the remnants of Hurricane Ian.  So I headed out to a more suburban Trader Joe's, 30 minutes away, a place that had a parking lot.  There are some things, like nuts, ravioli, eggs, and seeds, that are cheaper at Trader Joe's than any other area grocery store.  Plus, I had seen the Fall Flyer, and it seemed full of good things.

Of course, when I went to shop, I couldn't remember what some of those good things were.  I got the pumpkin ravioli, which I ate yesterday.  It didn't seem very different from the butternut squash ravioli--tasty.  I'm glad I went, but I probably won't make it a regular habit.

I took a longer walk because I expected it to rain later, and I went a bit further than I anticipated, which left me a bit worn out.  I had planned to go to an evening concert last night.  It was put together by Korean seminary students, and it would include Korean treats.  It was supposed to be an outdoor garden concert, but the rain meant it would move inside.  I thought about not going.

In fact, there was a moment around 4:30 or 5:00 where I thought about going to bed REALLY early.  My spouse and I texted--why do people love texting so much?  It was aggravating to me, so we switched to a Facebook video call.  He encouraged me to go to the concert.  

Since the concert was literally right in my back yard (or side yard), I decided he was right.  I changed into my favorite pair of jeans, the black pair, brushed my teeth, put on an additional layer, and headed over to the refectory.  I was impressed with the technology that was set up.  Somewhere, at some point, there will probably be a recording.

There was interesting food:  sushi rolls that were vegetarian but with tuna and fake crab--so really vegetarian?  No matter.  I'd have been fine with fish, raw or cooked, but the woman explaining choices to me assured me that nothing was raw.  It was tasty.  There were individually wrapped treats, and a pot of something that looked like pasta with red sauce that I avoided when I was told that it was very spicy.  

As advertised, the concert was a half hour long, about five songs, all worship oriented.  On two of them, we sang along, some of us in Korean, some of us in English:  "How Great Is Our God" and a more traditional hymn, the title of which I'll go back and insert when I remember what it was.  There was some sort of track, a karaoke like track, but we also had people playing instruments with us:  keyboard, guitar, and a drum on one track.  At the end, one of the singers offered up a prayer for all of us; I found myself moved.

We had a bit of chatting afterwards, lightened up with some toddlers doing their toddler thing.  The crowd was equally mixed between Korean seminary students, family of those students, a few of their friends in the area, and non-Korean seminary students.  I did feel like one of the oldest people there, but I'm determined not to let that stop me from doing seminary activities.  Plus, I realize that I might be wrong.  And even if I'm correct, so what?  Someone has to be the wise elder student.  Or if not the wise one, the one that students remember decades later and say, "Hey, I can remake my life too, just like that older woman at Wesley did, that year that she showed up to live on campus, even though she just bought her dream house at that church camp somewhere."

As I walked back to my seminary apartment, the wind was picking up, as was the rain.  I slept with my curtains open so that I could see and hear the rain pattering against the window.

I thought about the end of my Washington week, a week when I decided not to go to the Ada Limon reading, but I did go to the on campus concert by fellow students.  It was also a week when I finally got around to going to area libraries.  I will go to 4:00 Evensong tomorrow at the National Cathedral unless it's pouring rain.  

In so many ways, this seminary campus life is what I wanted.

Pronouns and Singing

Two weeks ago, as I listened to the Lutheridge Music Week rehearsals, the director mentioned how he had changed his use of pronouns.  No longer does he say, "The women will sing this part" or "The men come in here."

Now he says, "The higher voices will sing here" or "The lower voices should come in here."  And as he directed, he did indeed use that language for the most part.  He did this even though he had a fairly traditional choir in terms of gendered distribution.  He could have used the older designations:  there weren't any women singing bass or tenor, not any men singing in a higher register.  

I can't help but notice a certain fury about pronouns in certain parts of our national discourse and on social media.  Some of the fury is couched in outrage about precision and language, and yet, I'm guessing those people don't really care about that level of accuracy.

I was impressed with how the choir director quietly modeled inclusion and precision, and with how he reminded his choir, many of whom would go home to direct their own choirs, of the importance of that inclusion.  And in later conversations over meals, I heard about people who had been rejected from choirs because they didn't sing in a traditional way--their voices were too high or too low, and they weren't allowed to sing in choirs organized by gender.

It's hard for me to imagine that there are people out there who are still so deeply committed to a strict gender binary that they would be so exclusionary and hateful.  How naive of me--and how encouraging that there are directors out there, working to make the world a bit more inclusive and encouraging us all to do the same.

Fireflies and Choirs

 I don't have as much time to write this morning--I have last visits to the physical therapist today and Wednesday.  But I did want to make sure that I collected one last memory from camp.

We had several evening worship services in the chapel on the top of the highest point at Lutheridge.  It's got a vaulted ceiling and windows that have no glass.

The closing worship on Friday night started a bit later than our other evening worship services, and it was longer, because the choral group was presenting their five pieces of music.  Their last song came back to this line:  "Oh Love, that will not let me go."  It's a powerful idea of God, set to powerful music.

As they sang the line, I noticed several fireflies blinking above the choir.  It felt so magical, like a sign of something positive.  I knew I could never capture it with my camera, so I'm capturing it with words.

It was the perfect way to end a wonderful week at Lutheridge.

Music Week Retrospective

A week ago, we'd be at the start of our Music Week adventure.  Let me write a recap.

We realized we could be in Columbia, SC at the church where my spouse's brother would be preaching.  And so, we made it happen.  We met my father-in-law and stepmom-in-law just before the service started (the GPS took us on a circuitous route), and we enjoyed an excellent worship at St. Andrews Lutheran Church.  Afterwards, we had lunch together and caught up.

Then we were off to Lutheridge.  We drove through rain that wasn't in the weather forecast, and we arrived safely.  We were expecting to have lodging at Thornberg, but we found out we were assigned to Bacot, which was being used for staff housing for the week.  Luckily, there was extra room, and the staff assigned to Bacot was generous in sharing their space.

Being in Bacot meant I had no internet access in the early morning.  In a way, that was good because I had time to read; Jennifer Egan's latest book is very good.  But in a way, it was bad.  I am home now, with work I need to do for my online classes.  And those of you who have been following along know that I have lots of other work to do to get ready for this week's move.

I took my laptop to the Faith Center, where I was able to access the internet, while the choir rehearsed.  Almost every Music Week participant sang in the choir, but I didn't feel like I was too odd for not singing.  I enjoyed working while the choir rehearsed, and I enjoyed the fellowship the rest of the week.  We had a great Bible study of Philippians, and every worship experience was wonderful.

My spouse had grumbled about not having time to participate, but he did end up singing with the choir and having a good experience.  We tried to get some moving related tasks done:  we brought up 2 cars' worth of belongings, which we unloaded.  We bought a mailbox and a post, and my spouse got that put up.  We started the process of bringing internet access to our house that has never had it.

I knew that the food would be different from camp food during the rest of the year.  Wow--it was different.  For example, one day at lunch we had corn dogs.  I haven't had a corn dog since childhood, and it's a food best left in childhood.  But we also had a picnic at the lake, which was picturesque.  Otherwise, meals were served family style, which meant lots of passing of platters and then the passing of dishes to the head of the table.  And the level of noise in the dining hall meant that we couldn't have meaningful conversations at meals.

We went to a hymn sing/festival at a church in downtown Asheville, which had much better music than I expected--and it was a beautiful setting.  I look forward to returning to Asheville to explore; it has changed a lot since I was last there.

In short, we had a great week, despite a few bumps along the way.  I'd do it again.  And now, back to the tasks of moving.

I am trying not to feel anxious about this week, but my brain is getting out ahead of me.  We have 2 moves scheduled with the condo building.  On Tuesday, College Hunks Moving Junk take the items we haven't been able to get to Good Will:  the piano, the monstrous floor lamp, and the sideboard.  On Thursday is the big move.  This morning I'm worried that the office thought I was canceling the Thursday elevator reservation for the Tuesday reservation, even though I did say at least once that I wanted both dates.  I'll doublecheck tomorrow.  

But let me focus on what's going well.  It's taken awhile to get information about seminary housing, but on Friday I got an e-mail that says I'll be in a 2 bedroom.  Hurrah!  I had begun to fret that maybe I'd get no housing, even though I've been told that I'd be in a 1 bedroom at the very least.  See how my brain works?  

I wish I could say that my brain will learn to be less fretful, and in some ways, I am a bit better at calming my anxieties.  So, let me focus on the tasks that must be done: getting stuff packed.  My brain will feel better with stuff packed.

Choir as Metaphor

 I am writing this meditation at Music Week at Lutheridge. I'm in the back, writing on my computer, surrounded by the beautiful music of a choir rehearsing, and I've been thinking about that phrase that tells us we all have a space in God's choir. But which choir? And what do these choir experiences at camp have to do with life in church community?

At Music Week, we learn that there are many choirs. Yesterday I listened to the flute choir rehearse, and I thought about how many people experience church as flute choir: you have to have the right instrument, and you need to be able to read music. Many people feel as out of place at church as I would if I joined the flute choir, since I don't play flute. I would not even try to join the flute choir because I would assume I would not be welcome.

Well, then, what about a choir like handbells? Anyone can chime a bell, right? But I still need to have a sense of the music--I still need to count beats. And if I'm playing handbells, not handchimes, I need white gloves. It can be intimidating enough that many people wouldn't attempt handbells either. I was enchanted by handchimes for small children; they were made of plastic and metal and lightweight enough that I could ring them with my wounded wrist. But not all of us will have the good fortune of experiencing these instruments as children. How do we claim our place in the choir?

I'm intrigued by the Orcha-Band Choir--just bring the instrument you want to play. This year it's heavily brass and woodwinds: 3 flutes, 2 saxaphones, a french horn, a trumpet, and a violin, with a piccolo coming later in the week. In the past, it's been more strings. What will it be in future years? How do we plan for such a choir? How will it all come together? I don't know--and God's community (communities?) often feel the same way. Some people thrive in such a choir, while the possibility of uncontained chaos can drive others crazy.

What about a voice choir? We can all sing, right? And even if we can't, if we sit with others who are singing, our voices will sound better. And when the harmony works, it shows the beautiful physics of harmony in the most potent way, like the promise of the beloved community made incarnate, right here, right now. But some of us are so convinced that we can't sing that we won't even try.

I am partial to the drum choir. The leader keeps a persistent rhythm, and the rest of us can go with the rhythms that work, even if we've had no practice and no sense of music theory. We can make a percussion instrument out of the lowliest materials or the most elevated. People of all ages can play. People who have one hand out of commission can play. I find the drumming group most welcoming and inclusive, but I realize that the very openness I love would make it untenable for some musicians.

And all of it gets a bit too loud at times, if I'm truthful. Some hours at camp, the choir I crave is the one that holds silence. I'm lucky here--I can go for a walk. And if I'm perceptive, I hear other choirs during my walk, the ones usually drowned out by human music, like the tree frog choirs that sing through the night. And there are firefly choirs that need no music at all.

Jesus came to give us the good news that we have all sorts of communities we can create. There are many choirs for us, many ways to know God. We have spent centuries thinking that Jesus came to give us just one way to get closer to God. We have wasted precious time fighting as we tried to figure out what choirs would gain God's approval.

Jesus tells us there are many ways to know and understand God's love. The trick, of course, is finding the way that works best for us. We don't have to journey alone. Music Week reminds us that it is good to make music under any circumstance, but making music together can bring us joys we might not achieve by ourselves. Jesus, too, reminds us again and again that a loving community is worth the effort.

Singing and Saying The Lord's Prayer

Back when I had my full-time job, I told my pastor that I couldn't do sermons for our February online services because they take too much time for me to pull together, and I was having trouble staying on top of my seminary classes.  So my pastor asked me to do the Lord's Prayer for this Sunday. 

I said yes, because I knew I could get that done fairly quickly.  Then I was severed from my full-time job, so I thought about doing something more complicated than just reading the Lord's Prayer.  I asked my spouse if he wanted to play violin in the background.

He was less interested in that, but he did come up with a cool idea.  He would hum Malotte's version of The Lord's Prayer, while I read a newer version.  We have used the New Zealand Anglican version, so I chose that. I'll put that version at the end of this post.

Here's the video we made:

It's not exactly what I had in mind--I didn't think the plug would be so visible.  But in a way, it works as a symbol.  I'm not sure everyone will know what my spouse is humming, but that's OK too.

We thought about doing multiple takes, but we knew that we don't have to tools to create something that much better--we don't have a recording studio or soundproofing or the know how to edit and improve a clip of video.  Plus, the building where we rent our condo is conducting fire alarm testing all week, so I wanted to complete the recording before it got noisy.

At the end of the day, we went to the rooftop parking garage to see the sunset.  It was stunning, and we stood on the roof, singing the Malotte Lord's Prayer.  I watched people 6 stories below us, parking their cars for a night on the town, getting into their cars at the end of the work day.  Did they hear us?  No one looked up, so I'm guessing that they didn't.  But I liked the idea that they might.  I did wonder how our voices might transform as it moved through the air.  Would we sound more or less in tune?   Would people wonder who was singing?  We also sang "Angels We Have Heard on High" as the sunset shifted to drizzling twilight.  It was a great way to end the day.

We may do it again.  Maybe it will become our evensong practice.

The New Zealand Anglican Lord's Prayer

Eternal Spirit, Earth-maker, Pain-bearer, Life-giver,
Source of all that is and that shall be,
Father and Mother of us all,
Loving God, in whom is heaven:

The hallowing of your name echo through the universe!
The way of your justice be followed by the peoples of the world!
Your heavenly will be done by all created beings!
Your commonwealth of peace and freedom sustain our hope and come on earth.

With the bread we need for today, feed us.
In the hurts we absorb from one another, forgive us.
In times of temptation and test, strengthen us.
From trials too great to endure, spare us.
From the grip of all that is evil, free us.

For you reign in the glory of the power that is love, now and for ever.
Amen.

Singing, Spooning

My spouse and I are not a couple that prays our bedtime prayers together.    Sometimes we offer a quick prayer as one of us leaves the house in the morning, and we are inclined to say grace.  But the other night, I had a window into a different kind of prayer.

My spouse sings in the choir, and he's been practicing a sung version of The Lord's Prayer to lead in church.  Because we've been using it in church for a few weeks, I know it too.

The other night as we began to drift to sleep, we sang it together.  Because we were curled around each other, I could feel the vibrations of the song as we both sang.  It was surprisingly moving.

I'd like to say that we'll begin a new practice, but that's not likely.  We're just as likely to drift off to sleep while watching TV as we are to have a regular bedtime.

Still, it gave me a window into a new sense of incarnation and holiness, and I wanted to remember it for later.

Music for Mother's Day

 A year ago on Mother's Day, most of us were away from our mothers, separating Mother's Day (if we lived in the U.S.) from a distance.  This year, some of us might be fortunate enough to celebrate together, and I imagine that restaurants will do a booming business, as they usually do with these holidays.  Yesterday I was in the grocery store watching some people pick through bouquets of nice enough flowers, and I thought about all the mothers out there who would be getting flowers and chocolates and last minute gifts from the grocery store.  It's a better way of celebrating than many.

This year on Mother's Day, I could post a poem, but I'll post a link to the song that our church choir put together last year.  Go here to listen to our version of "Will the Circle Be Unbroken." 

We were lucky--we were standing much too close to each other, singing and recording, but happily, no one got sick.  We were not punished.

I am not crazy about my singing voice in the video. Happily, my spouse sang the verses, and he really carries us.

I remind myself that we only rehearsed the song for about 20 minutes before the worship service. After the service, we ran through it several times, and then we recorded.

In this version, as our pastor is close to us, you can hear our individual voices. I think we sound better as a chorus when you can't pick out our voices. I've been feeling bad about my singing voice since--well, forever--and I wonder if now is the time for voice lessons.

But what I love about this type of music is that it can accommodate a variety of voices. If you listen to various versions, you'll hear people who would never be successful opera singers or featured choir members. Some of those people, like the Carter family, have become musical icons.

And in the end, it's not about how wonderful we sound--it's about the joy of making music together while we can, doing our best, looking for ways to improve, knowing that the important part is to show up.

Easter Update

Yesterday morning, Easter morning, I had planned to write something, even if it was a rerun of a past post.  But I had no time.  I did morning watch, my televised morning matins from the liturgy of the hours that I do on my church's Facebook page.  Then it was off to church to set up and play for the sunrise service that started at 7 a.m.

My church had 3 services:  sunrise outside at 7 a.m., and 2 indoor services at 9 a.m. and 11 a.m.  My spouse did a lot of singing for all of them.  In past years, I played hand chimes, but this year, I played upright bass in the sunrise service:

photo by Keith Spencer

It went so well that I played the bass during the song "Now the Green Blade Rises" (ELW 379) for the 2 later services too.  It's an interesting Easter song, since the music is a French carol.  It was far from perfect, but it was better than I thought it would be.  If I had had another 2 weeks to practice . . . 

The other highlight of the day was my pastor's Easter sermon.  I think that Easter would be a tough sermon opportunity.  You know that the audience has been to Easter services before, and many of them have been to many services.  In short, it's tough to say something new.

My pastor talked about resurrection ferns, plants that can lose 97% of their water in the South Florida dry season and come back to life with the return of the rainy season.  He also gave us an interesting lesson about the passage of a caterpillar to a butterfly, how the caterpillar in the chrysalis collapses into ooze and from that protein goo emerges a butterfly.  I didn't know about the imaginal disks that develop into the separate parts of the butterfly or that the butterfly might retain some of the knowledge it had as a caterpillar.

In short, the imagery was unique and perfectly suited for Easter.  I was happy to be able to hear it 3 times.

After the 3 services, my spouse and I stayed to count the money and make the bank deposit.  Then we came home and watched the services several more times.  My spouse likes to watch the music and try to challenge himself to do better.  

Is it a good way to do this?  I don't know.  But I was intrigued to watch myself playing the bass, to know that I was actually doing a much better job of keeping time than I might have thought.  Hurrah.

And now, to nurse the blister on my bass picking finger.  Yes, I have a blister on my bass picking finger!  That may not ever happen again . . . or maybe it will!

Problem Solving and the Times We Can't

Last night, my spouse was complaining about our choir at church, where he sings, but often doesn't feel fully  included in these COVID days that have changed practices and procedures so profoundly.  The conversation expanded as he recalled all sorts of negative choir experiences of his, both in church and out of church, over the past 20 years.

I remember all the times that he's been praised for his musical talent.  He remembers every slight.

I am a fixer.  I would like to solve the current problems he's having with the church choir.  Or, to be more precise, I would like him to solve the problems he's having but to do it in a way that makes sense to me.  So, I want him to have conversations and bring songs to the choir and stand his ground in the way that he wants them sung.  He wants to sing in 4 part harmony, but several of the choir members like to assign a soloist to each verse and sing together on the chorus.

I don't understand why this impasse has become so difficult, why we must discuss it on the way to church, on the way home from church, and during week nights.  Meanwhile, I'm dealing with my own disappointments, but I'm trying to remind myself that my disappointments may disappear as more of us get vaccinated and in-person gatherings become possible.

I get frustrated when we discuss problems and disappointments, but we don't actually move towards solving them.  I've been trying to ask, "Is this mine to solve/do/fix?"  I've been trying to remember that some times we just need to blow off steam.  And some times, the blowing off of steam leads to problem solving--although it doesn't need to do that.

This morning, I saw this Henri Nouwen quote that someone used in a Facebook post, and it spoke to me.  I'm pasting it here because it speaks to me and speaks to both my own situation and the larger difficulties we're facing as we enter into a winter of pandemic.

"Ministry is entering with our human brokenness into communion with others and speaking a word of hope. This hope is not based on any power to solve the problems of those with whom we live, but on the love of God, which becomes visible when we let go of our fears of being out of control and enter into His presence in shared confession of weakness." —Henri Nouwen

The Violent Femmes Go to Church

I remember the first time I heard the Violent Femmes.  In 1984, I flew to Memphis to see the boyfriend who would later become my current spouse.  On our way back from the airport, he popped a cassette tape into the car's audio system saying, "You gotta hear this."

It was the Femmes' second album, Hallowed Ground, that intriguing mix of what we would come to call Americana and punk.  Lyrically it was a strange mix of songs that talked about throwing a beloved child in a deep, dark well and songs that could have come from Sunday School, songs about Jesus walking on the water and Noah building an ark.

It took me awhile to adjust, but I came to love the group as much as my spouse.  And yesterday, we brought our love of the Violent Femmes to church.  Our church choir agreed to do "Jesus Walking on the Water" (to see the group do the song more recently, see this video--you'll notice the guy playing the barbecue grill, a DIY/make a way with what you've got ethic that's been with the group from the beginning, albeit manifesting with different instruments through the years).

I joined them, even though my voice isn't the greatest.  That's one of the things I love about punk music--one's voice doesn't have to be the best.  And while I'm not crazy with how my voice sounds in the recording we made, I like the overall sound.

I love my pastor's approach to the music that's part of the recorded worship services he puts together.  We've got a wide variety of music, from solos with minimal instrumentation, to Christian rock, to groups of several variations.  On a typical Sunday, we might hear Christian Contemporary, classic hymns, bluegrass, or gospel--or punk Americana.

I realize I'm fortunate, how very fortunate.

Unbroken Circles

My church has been doing a variety of projects to celebrate Mother's Day.  Last week, a group of us got together to create a version of "Will the Circle Be Unbroken."  One of us had only been playing mandolin for 2 weeks, but you wouldn't know it from her skill when she played with us.  One of us has banjo skills that he doesn't often display at church.  We had organ, flute, percussion, tambourine, and of course, voices.

On Saturday, our pastor posted the first of our video projects, a collection of songs and photos.  My spouse was so crushed that our song didn't make the cut.  But happily, our song didn't make the cut because our project was released as a solo project.

Yesterday, I made this Facebook post:  "Something different from what I usually post: a group of us at my church put together a special song for Mother's Day. As I look at it now and think about the latest advice about singing in groups with a virus ravaging the planet, I realize we are much too close to each other. Still, I hope you enjoy."

You, too, can view the video here.

I am not crazy about my singing voice in the video.  Happily, my spouse sang the verses, and he really carries us.

I remind myself that we only rehearsed the song for about 20 minutes before the worship service.  After the service, we ran through it several times, and then we recorded.  There's a version that I don't have yet; for our first recording, the camera stayed steady, and I'm guessing that our voices sounded more unified.

In the version that's up now, our pastor walked among us as we sang.  And yes, let me just say that I am relieved that no one is sick at this point, and it's been 8 days, so I'm hoping that we aren't going to be punished for the risk that we took that we didn't really realize we were taking.

In this version, as our pastor is close to us, you can hear our individual voices. I think we sound better as a chorus when you can't pick out our voices.  I've been feeling bad about my singing voice since--well, forever--and I wonder if now is the time for voice lessons.

But what I love about this type of music is that it can accommodate a variety of voices.  If you listen to various versions, you'll hear people who would never be successful opera singers or featured choir members.  Some of those people, like the Carter family, have become musical icons.

After church service streaming yesterday, a group of us stayed to talk about our approach to choir in light of the news about the risks of COVID-19 transmission by way of singing.  We have a small choir now, only about 6 people.  Should we quit having live singing during the livestream?  Should we space the choir members out across the sanctuary? 

I'm not sure what we'll decide.

As we talked, I thought about a quote from Maria Popova's Figuring:  "One of the greatest betrayals of our illusion of permanence, one of the sharpest daggers of loss, is the retroactive recognition of lasts--the last time you sat across from a person you now know you will never see again, the last touch of a hand, the last carefree laugh over something spoken in the secret language that binds two people in intimacy--lasts the finality of which we can never comprehend in the moment, lasts we experience with sundering shock in hindsight" (p. 184).

I think we will be able to sing again, maybe even in close proximity.  But one of the things that makes our recording for Mother's Day so poignant is that we may not sing like that for a very long time.