Sunday waxing...

I’m waxing philosophical today.  Throwing some vague thoughts into the air.  It’s where I am today.  I hope after you read you will share your thoughts and we can have some interesting conversations…

In the last month I’ve been reading a lot of materials on community – what it means to be a community, how to form an authentic community, why community fails, etc.  The one common denominator seems to be the willingness of those inside the community to be open and true, and their willingness to be committed to each other.  No matter what your purpose is – spiritual, recreational, athletic, charity – if the people within the community are not committed to each other and committed to making the relationship work, the community will fail.  The goal of the community may succeed (raising money for a shelter, winning a sporting competition, etc), but the community itself is a failure.  I find that fascinating in some ways, and I’m sure we can all cite examples of it.

What’s your point, Nicole?  Well, we are at a very interesting place in history.  Times are a’ changing, but people are not.  One only has to look through the annals of history to see that we are making the same choices as a human race we have made for centuries, good and bad and in the middle.  I know we like to think of ourselves as more civilized, rational, and thoughtful people than our ancestors, but so did the ancient Romans and look what happened to them.  I don’t claim to be an expert on any particular area of life, except music perhaps, but I can speak with a fair amount of experiential authority on the Church.  I stress “experiential".  I don’t claim to know everything, but my lifetime of participation, study of, teaching about and being a part of the fabric of the institution makes me wonder if it is one of those communities that is bound to fail.  On the verge of failure, in fact.  Many, many, many books are being written on the subject, including one I am reading now – we can talk about that when I’m done with it.  It would seem that many of the mainline denominations are structured in such a way that their main goal is the survival of the institution, not the institution's ideals.  And the church is not alone in this – educational institutions are in a similar situation.  How many colleges and universities are still practicing the educational and altruistic ideals of their founders?  How many choices have they made over the years to keep the doors open that, in the long run, go against the mission of educating their students? 

The Church does this with alarming frequency, as do educational institutions, corporate America, the government…need I go on???  They create systems of governance and polity to protect “the integrity of the institution” while tying the hands of those doing the work inside it.  They create rules and regulations, such as how much each individual congregation should give to the larger parent organization, that are blatantly out of line with the teachings they profess to the world as being a pathway to greater spiritual oneness with their Creator as they understand that Presence to be.  And they do this in the name of the institution, which in truth has become their God.  And there lies the problem.

Once an institution becomes more important than the people inside it, the community as it was created and the purpose of that community has failed.  The original mission becomes hidden and the people inside fall prey to buying into the system to protect their livelihoods and futures, forgetting why there are there in the first place – to become one with each other.   Can anyone cite the reasons why The United States became a nation?  Are we still living into those ideals of freedom?  Do we even know why our churches exist?  If you examine their mission statements, do their ministries and programming live into that mission in ALL that they do?  What are the original purposes of our universities and colleges?  Do we see that purpose in the students?

In my life, it seems that the only community that has remained “true to its purpose” has been my community of friends and family.  This has not always been a smooth journey either, but I can honestly say that we know why we are together.  Because we love each other.  Don't always know why, but we do.  We know why sometimes we cannot stand each other and yet put up with it any way – because we’ve learned to forgive.  And that takes a lot of practice, but we are willing to do the work to make it happen.  For me, I believe that the successes of my “personal communities” come from the ideals we’ve learned in our shared faith, which includes learning how to be in community with those who are not in our community of faith.  I don’t believe in only being friends with people who believe the same things I do.  It’s a boring way to live, and you’ll never learn the truths of life if you only stick with the folks who know the same things you do.  What if you were all wrong?  We often are.

Where are you going with this, Nicole? Not quite sure, actually. A few days ago I wrote a Dr. Suessian poem on Facebook about leaving the Episcopal Church. Forever. Of course, the minute you say “forever” you realize that at some point in life you will have to eat those words, and they won’t be covered in chocolate when you do. But I am considering taking an extended sabbatical from the institutional church. This creates a myriad of issues because, duh, I’m an organist and that’s how I make my money. And in the end that’s where I my heart is and where I found a purpose. But I got issues, as they say on tv. I would love to say that I'm living for my art (!) but unfortunately for me, eating is one of my favorite activities, and art will buy me Ramen Noodles, not cassoulet wtih a nice bold red to accompany it. Life is to be enjoyed, not endured. As an artist and a person of faith I’ve committed to living a life dedicated to the truth of my art and the truth of my faith, and baby, it just ain’t there. For me. I am not bashing or trying to ruin the fulfilling world many of you have created for yourselves. I am happy for the people who have found true community and can proclaim it from the mountaintops. Do your thing. But for me, and perhaps a bunch of you…maybe that truth is just dead. For now. And that, friends, is something worth wrestling with.

Let’s wrestle together – it’s much more fun.  Tell me what you’re thinking.

Don’t look down!

I first heard the text below – don’t look yet! – and its accompanying tune from the ELW hymnal while listening to one of my most admired friends and colleagues play for a streamed chapel service online.  I first met him in the early days of grad school at Eastman – another of my newly found friends TOLD me that I was going to a service of Lessons and Carols at a Lutheran church in town.  I didn’t have a choice, I was going.  I said, well, ok.  I wasn’t really expecting much, but I was in for the surprise of my life.  I had never heard such hymn playing.  During the service I found myself singing as hard as I could, almost yelling the text at times, and I even found myself starting to belt out in chest voice so I could sing louder as I was encouraged to add fervor to the words by his improvisations.  It was a life changing experience, and my own hymn playing changed forever.  After that evening I never missed one Lessons and Carols service at that church, and after I graduated I made it a point to return for them when my schedule permitted, even through crazy snow storms.  It became a yearly pilgrimage for all of us who became close during those days.

Back to today’s music and text – don’t look!  I must admit that I did not know and could not hear the hymn text as I was first listening to it.  Nevertheless, I was completely taken by his rendition of it.  For a brief few moments, the world stopped and my mind quit running in its familiar, infuriating  circles.  There was nothing left but those few, heart-wrenching moments of musical pain.  Those of you who love Brahms will understand that statement. This particular colleague has the most incredible gift of improvisation coupled with a deep maturity and understanding of spiritual texts that I have never encountered again.   Before you read the text below, take a moment or two to listen for yourself – it begins around the 15:20 mark. 

Mystery Hymn

What did you think?  Maybe you weren’t moved by it all – that’s ok, too.  For myself, I listened to the hymn over and over again.  After I finally looked up the text, I was not surprised to see that my friend had once again conveyed the feeling and meaning of the text though the music.  I LOVE the deep, dark textures he coaxed out of the organ – VERY Brahmsy.  I did not have to see the words as I listened – I felt them. 

What went through my head?  Believe it or not, my thoughts immediately went to the importance of the sacrifices we make for the people we love.  The importance of completely pouring ourselves out for the sake of the ones around us, to the point of being completely empty ourselves.  Helping loved ones as they are held hostage in the prisons of their own grief and pain.  In my experience I have found that when I truly committed to this path, it was disturbingly easy.  And the emptiness that follows wasn’t apparent until there was no turning back from the path I had chosen.  I gave beyond my reserve, going deeper with every dark turn.  As painful as this was, and as large as a wound it created, if I had the opportunity I would not change the course I had chosen because I know this is why we’ve been given to each other.  This is why we have been given the gift of family, friendship, community and love.  I need not worry about what happens to me when I am blessed enough to have people around me who will do the same – that is the gift of God within all of us, and for me, the true definition of freedom.

And now, the text of the hymn, which was written by Susan Palo Cherwien.  I was amazed when I read the text and found how much it complemented the thoughts that were inspired by the music.  I owe that to my incredibly talented colleague. 

In deepest night, in darkest days, 

When harps are hung, no songs we raise,

when silence must suffice as praise, 

yet sounding in us quietly 

there is the song of God.

When friend was lost, when love deceived, 

dear Jesus wept, God was bereaved;

with us in our grief God grieves, 

and round about us mournfully 

there are the tears of God.

When through the waters winds our path, 

around us pain, around us death:

deep calls to deep, a saving breath, 

and found beside us faithfully 

there is the love of God.

Thanks be to God for the gift of music.

What I’m Giving Up For Lent

For the first time in 18 years I will not spend this particular day preparing for our entrance into Lent, which has always been my favorite season of the church year along with Advent.  Why do I love it?  Because it is full of symbolism, mystery and anticipation.  I love prophetic scriptures and the metaphorical stories and parables Jesus often tells to the disciples in the New Testament.  They rarely understand a word he says, which is always comical.  I can just imagine the exasperated look on his face after telling them something of dire importance which is met with the same blank stare I often saw on my students’ faces in class after asking them a question.  I’m sure there was more than one occasion where he said to God, “Really, Lord?  These are the chosen ones?  This is all I’ve got to work with???”  


Even though we think we know what we are anticipating – the coming of Easter and whatever that means for you – there is always the possibility of the unexpected if you set yourself up for it.  How Is that so, you ask?  By choosing whatever Lenten discipline is best for you.  Even if you are not a Christian, taking advantage of a 40 day period of reflection and discipline could lead to some meaningful changes or epiphanies in your life.  Other religions have similar practices and spiritual pilgrimages.  Ben and I had dinner with some new friends a few weeks ago and we had a fascinating conversation with a couple from India about some of their spiritual goals.  The different religions of the world have a lot to offer each other in their spiritual practices – why not explore them and see what’s there?  


My Christian friends (and no doubt my father, the retired AME minister) are probably raising their eyebrows right now and wondering what I’ve been smoking in Minnesota for the past 3 days.  Why nothing, of course – just that crisp, clean Midwestern air, with a little bit of Malt-O-Meal fumes mixed in.  If my Aunt were still alive she’d be on her way to my house right now, Bible in hand, doily on head, ready to cleanse my mind and soul from wayward thoughts (praise Him!), and there would surely be a lot of whooping and hollering going on.  


No, I’m not giving up Christianity, or delving into some vague, foggy new-age spiritual practice.   I’m just thinking.  Ruminating.  I’ve been blessed over the last 15 years or so to be immersed by the life-giving traditions of Lutheran and Anglican theology and liturgy, and I’m not giving them up for the world.  I’m just letting them simmer for a bit.  Putting the pot on the back burner of the stove – not forgotten by any means – but occasionally stirring, letting interesting aromas waft about in anticipation of some particularly yummy concoction.  No idea what it will be, but it will a meal I’ll feed off of for some time, I'm sure.  


This is all very vague, Nicole, you’re saying.  Maybe you need some more sleep (most definitely).  Maybe the cabin of that airplane you’re on isn’t quite pressurized right and you’re not getting enough oxygen (doubt it).  Maybe you actually need to start smoking something (I’ve thought about it…just kidding). I do think there are times when we can’t get what we’ve normally got from the places we normally get them from.  Then we just have to make it up as we go along for a while.  Wander around without having to make any real decisions until the moment is right.  There’s nothing wrong with that, as long as you don’t wander around for too long – then you just end up lost.  But I’m not too worried about that, with all those eyebrow-raising friends and family around.  I’m sure someone will smack me in the head with a Bible, a Prayer Book, or a Large Catechism eventually (the Small one just might not be enough).  


So, what am I giving up for Lent?  I’m giving up Lent – the Lent as I have known it for the bulk of my life.  Not because there is anything wrong with it – no bashing of Christian practices here.  As much as I had come to depend on and look forward to the familiar patterns of liturgy, worship, and observances, I find that I am even more looking forward to forging my own way through the season.  Every year I say to myself that I will read this or that book and I never do it, so I’m not even going to pretend this year.  What I am going to do is dabble.  Peruse the web for different materials.  Visit other people’s blogs and writing – a little Lenten voyeurism, if you will.  A good friend of mine has an excellent blog that I follow – visit his posting for Ash Wednesday here.  He has suggested a number of ideas and resources for exploring the season and exploring ourselves.  I’m going definitely going to check them out – don’t know if I’ll actually follow any of them.  I won’t commit to commit this year – just can’t do that right now.  But I’ll see what’s out there.  If you’ve found something good, please share it below – you never know what can be sparked from one good idea…


Happy Lenting!

“What a world, what a world…”

I am now on “the other side” of my Kansas recital, sitting in the airport in Detroit, completely exhausted from the experience, but pleased.  I’ve found myself thinking several times about how incredibly blessed I am to be able to do what I love for a living – make music.  You have to love it, because the pay scale is severely disproportionate to the amount of work involved, but who cares?  Well, we all care, of course, but the experience of meeting new people, new instruments and throwing yourself into the music make up for it.  Most of the time.  And it certainly did this time.  


The trip began as a typical (well, maybe not this year) morning in February does in Cleveland – with a snow storm.  I always say to people who are afraid of flying that your chances of dying on the way to the airport are probably much greater than your chances of going down on the plane.  That little factoid just doesn’t seem to help for some reason.  Thankfully, my flight was uneventful.  As I was sitting in the plane at the Akron-Canton airport, I marveled how bleak and unremarkable the landscape was.  It was a blustery, winter mess out there – no colors to be seen except white and gray and very few buildings or landmarks around.  We could have been sitting in any airport in Anytown, USA.  I said my usual prayer as we took off – Lord, please let the flight be safe but if you’re going to take me make it quick – and was thankful later on for a safe journey.  AND I was lucky enough NOT to be the person whose luggage fell apart.  I tried really hard not to laugh when the busted suitcase went riding around the belt with a pair of gray “tighty-whiteys” hanging of the side.  And even funnier (but not really, I know) to see their owner running around the belt trying to catch it.


During the flight I pondered what a blessing flying really was.  You are literally and figuratively removed from your life as you know it.  And there’s no point in worrying about anything while you’re in the air because you can’t do anything about whatever it is you’re worrying about.  A priceless opportunity to just sit back and enjoy the scenery and dream amidst the clouds.  A life without dreams is a life without a future.  Dreaming is so important – we all need something positive to look forward to, something or some experience we can share with the people who mean the most to us.  I don’t consider it a coincidence that some of the darkest times of my adult life I eventually came to the realization that I had stopped dreaming, stopped hoping for the future, and was just reacting to whatever was happening in the present.  Or just standing and staring at it in shock.  


I rented a car once I arrive in Kansas City, forgoing the extra insurance the nice young man tried to sell me because they were going to get an inch of snow on Monday.  I assured him I was an expert snow driver – I lived in upstate New York for 2 years for crying out loud, and now I live in Cleveland, which isn’t much better.  He said it wasn’t me he was worried about.  


I asked, “Do they do a good job with plowing here?”  
“No, not really.”  
“Oh.  Do you normally get a lot of snow?”  
“No, this will be the first time this season.”  
“Ah,”   
(brief pause)
“Are you sure you don’t want the insurance, ma’am?  It’s just mayhem here when it snows.  MAYHEM.”  


I almost laughed out loud at him – mayhem for an inch of snow?  Please.  I wish I could explain the look on his face – a mixture of horror and “lady you’re crazy if you don’t get the extra insurance.”  And you should have seen the sorry snow brush they left in the car - thin, untreated wood for a handle that almost broke while I was brushing the inch of the windshield.  Better than nothing!  In the end, I rolled out of the lot and got myself on to the highway without incident, happily going along once I realized that driving under 75 miles an hour was not acceptable no matter what the speed limit says.  I had a passing moment of panic when I thought I had chosen a car without a cup holder, but found it hidden in the dash.  If there’s no space for Joe, there’s no space for me – I’ve got priorities, you know.  I arrived at the hotel without incident.  The hotel was great, especially once that Christian Youth Conference group checked out.  Loud and obnoxious, and not because they love Jesus.  


I’d been looking forward to this recital so much because the organ is fantastic, the hall is fantastic, and the instrument is kept in damn near perfect condition compared to many.  There is no fun in any performance when you have to wrestle the instrument into submission in order to get an acceptable palate of sound.  Meeting an unfamiliar instrument always involves a bit of shock, a bit of temporary disorientation until your mind and ear finally adjust to what’s going on around you.  For me that happened about 6 hours before the recital when I finally said to myself, “there it is!”  The challenge with this instrument is the enormous scope of sound coming out of the organ and the lingering sonority as it swirls around the room.  It’s incredibly beautiful, but incredibly disorienting at first.  It’s a little crazy to put your hands on the keyboard and not be able to hear note #3 because note #2 is in the way, and so on.  You just have to trust that it’s there, and that every note after that will be exactly where you put it because that’s the way you practiced it.  As an organist, you must learn to do this – you are wielding so much sound around that room and if you don’t know how to handle it, you end up with a big, fat mess.  And THAT is not incredibly beautiful.  I am so accustomed to playing in the dry, useless acoustic that is so common in many American churches and concert halls where every note is almost too clear.  Finally, my approach to this particular instrument was, “stop trying so hard and just do what you know how to do”.   If only I could learn to live the rest of my life that way.  


After a couple of days of non-stop practice, score study, and rest, the recital was played, and I have to say that it wasn’t horrible!  On the Nicole Scale of Performances that’s pretty good.  I managed to stay focused and in control while enjoying the music and the experience at the same time – it’s a lot to juggle.  There is nothing more thrilling that the sound of an organ, especially in such a wonderful acoustic, and the feeling of power and control that comes with knowing that you are creating it.  Yeah, it’s a little narcissistic, but let me have my moment.  We have to enjoy every little guilty pleasure we get in life that is not illegal, immoral or supremely unhealthy.  I love what I do.  There may be a day that comes when I can no longer do it, so I’m going to squeeze all the life out of it I possibly can.  


Work hard, play hard – it’s the only way to live.

On the road again...

Tomorrow I leave for a recital at the University of Kansas in Lawrence.  Go Tigers – just kidding!!!!  I “won” the privilege of this performance last year at the first round of the Mikael Tariverdiev International Organ Competition – an interesting experience, to say the least.  And I do believe that playing recitals is a privilege.  I could be flipping burgers, mopping floors, or getting the brains slowly sucked out of my head doing boring office work.  So yes, it is a privilege and an adventure to be a musician.  Even though the most adventurous part of my day today was discovering that I could almost completely lay down the vacuum cleaner while using it, enabling me to get underneath low lying furniture.  Sweet, yet mundane. 

I love to travel, and I love flying in particular.  That is to say, I love to fly when the flights are relatively on time and uneventful.  Which is almost never.  I don’t mind a little lateness, but making a mad dash from one end of O’Hare to the other just to find out that the plane that is supposed to back away from the gate in 10 minutes has actually been delayed for almost an hour isn’t the type of exercise I enjoy.  How hard IS it to update those monitors, anyway?  I also love the adventure of driving up to an overseas airport that looks like it’s run by a Colombian drug cartel – no offense, Colombians, but I watched too many movies in the 80’s.  And who doesn’t love LaGuardia?

Anyhoo…going away for a recital has always been like taking a spiritual retreat.  It’s an escape from the craziness of everyday life and a chance to do what musicians live to do, which is to focus on the music.  But let’s not kid ourselves – it’s not a pleasure trip.  Performing at the top of your game takes an amazing amount of mental and physical discipline.  In all honesty, I can probably count on one hand the number of performances I’ve had in the past 2 or 3 years when I’ve felt I was performing at the top of my game.  There are any number of reasons for this, but I won’t list them as they just sound like excuses.  And they are.  There’s no excuse for not getting the work done.  Am I too hard on myself?  Sure.  But if you don’t keep pushing yourself to attain the level of excellence you’re shooting for, one day you’ll wake up and realize that you’re not playing well at all.  And if you’re lucky, you’ll have some true friends and colleagues around you to tell you the truth so you can get back on track.  

I read a quote a few weeks ago by a writer who said something like, “I don’t like writing, but I like having written.”  SPEAK THE TRUTH, BROTHER!  Over the years I’ve come to realize that the most fun and satisfaction I get out of performing is often the preparation process.  That’s when I am most creative – trying new musical ideas, experimenting with the different sounds you can get out of the instrument, discovering new truths about compositions that can only come from time on the bench.  Performing is a completely different animal, at least for me.  It’s all about discipline.  Control and focus is key.  I still try to make it as creative a process as possible, but I have to deal with nerves and all those extraneous thoughts running through my head.  That’s one of the reasons why I like having people to hang out with before the recital.  A little party time back stage to keep the blood going and the mind FOCUSED on why I love to do this – because it’s supposed to be fun.  And it is, most of the time. 

But sometimes life happens.  And when life happens you usually don’t feel very creative, and certainly not very artistic.  You are being paid to provide a transcendent experience for an eager audience and you really don’t have any stories to tell.  That’s when it’s work.  That’s when all the discipline pays off, if you've prepared properly.  And that’s when music works its magic.  But I have to believe it.  I cannot tell you a story and make you believe it if I don’t believe it myself.  That’s why choosing repertoire is oh-so important.  I agonize over my programs, often turning them in at the last possible second because I want the story and the flow to be perfect (sorry about that, recital hosts).  When the program is inspiring, I can usually overcome the happenings of life, at least for 90 minutes or so.  Getting lost in the music is both the escape and the reward. 

Here’s today’s truth - Art is trying to live an extraordinary life in the midst of the mundane.  Sometimes the mundane is extraordinary, and the extraordinary is overrated.  It all depends on your perspective and how life’s treating you that day. 

What’s today like for you?    

“Well, I bet you’re all wondering why your old Uncle Gerre brought you here today..."

Dr. Gerre Hancock (February 21, 1934 – January 21, 2012)
greets a church music improv class at Eastman

We all know people who changed the world as we know it because they were in it.  
I consider it an extraordinary gift to have been mentored by someone who changed the course of church music in this country by his talent and dedication – Dr. Gerre Hancock.  Today I remember dear Uncle Gerre, as we affectionately called him, whose Solemn Requiem is being celebrated at St. Thomas Church Fifth Avenue in New York City as I write.

I’m reminded of the first scene in the movie “The Iron Lady”: an older woman in a trench coat with a scarf covering her hair much like my grandmother covered hers maneuvers the busy streets of a crowded city into a little market store to buy milk at an ungodly price.  Just a normal person, seemingly no one of any consequence, being bumped around by impatient young people at the counter.  Of course that older woman isn’t just anyone, but the inimitable Lady Margaret Thatcher, former Prime Minster of the United Kingdom.  

I’m also reminded of a concert by Dave Brubeck a few years ago at the Baldwin-Wallace College Bach Festival – yes, jazz at a Bach Festival!  Mr. Brubeck had to be helped out onto the stage  - it took FOREVER for him to get to the piano for the performance.  If one did not know the man, surely they would have thought the concert would be a snooze.  But when he put his hands on that keyboard, the world was set on fire.  

And now I imagine Uncle Gerre: an unassuming, “regular” looking, older gentleman walking the streets of New York City with a slightly uneven gait (as I remember him), making his way towards that big church on the corner.  No fancy clothes, no expensive briefcase.  But little did those around him know that underneath the graying hair of that kind-looking man was one of the most gifted, talented musical minds that ever walked the streets of New York.  That the hands and feet of “that older guy over there” were capable of incredible dexterity, imagination and genius beyond what most of us could even fathom.  

That was Uncle Gerre.  He was by no means as feeble as Mr. Brubeck or as forgetful as Lady Thatcher is portrayed in the movie above.  But his humility is one of the things that made him so great, such a giant of a human being.  A friend wrote to me that it was strange to think of the world without Uncle Gerre in it.  It is amazing the comfort we find in knowing that someone else is present in some other part of the world.  The world makes more sense with that assurance.  When we lose them we feel as if we have lost a part of ourselves but in truth, their presence never really leaves us.  Uncle Gerre will always live in the unseen and unheard music that floats through the nave of St. Thomas Church and in the many churches and concert halls he played in throughout the world, and through the talents and minds of his students, family, friends and admirers.  No one ever truly leaves us, and that is a comfort.  

Life can be so surprising.  We often miss the presence of greatness in our midst – sometimes because of humility, sometimes because we refuse to see it or cannot see it through our own pain and struggles.  I've lost more than my share of people for whom it is strange to think of the world without.  There are times when nothing in life seems to make much sense, and I wonder if, even at an early age, I chose music as a way of creating meaning where there was none.  In reality, I believe music chose me.  Music is, after all, a living, breathing entity that captures us with its imagination and holds those in its grip in whom it sees the ability to tell its story – those whose soul cannot bear to do anything else except make music.  To deny that vocation is to slowly kill the soul over a lifetime.  I don’t think music can fill the big, empty holes that are created in the world when we lose the ones we love, but it can be a catalyst for the healing process needed for those holes to be slowly knit back together.  And  the love and support of our family and friends creates shadows around those holes so that they don't seem quite so big.  Love, in the end, does indeed conquer all.  

Peace to everyone today, and never lose an opportunity to tell the ones close to you how much you love them.  

Bring us, O Lord God, at our last awakening into the house and gate of heaven,

to enter into that gate and dwell in that house,

where there shall be no darkness nor dazzling, but one equal light;

no noise nor silence, but one equal music;

no fears nor hopes, but one equal possession;

no ends nor beginnings, but one equal eternity;

in the habitation of thy glory and dominion,

world without end. Amen.      
John Donne

First Thoughts

As if the world needs another blog.

People have been telling me for some time that I should write one.  About what, I ask?  The mundane details of my own life are far too boring and embarrassing to share (perhaps they would be entertaining to some of you).  I am blessed enough to get to do some exciting things on occasion, and I love sharing those.  But my main interests have always been music and The Church.  And music IN The Church.  Ah, The Church...on that subject I have MUCH to say.  But where on earth does one begin? 

Let’s begin with Brahms.  I cannot live without him.  And if you try and make me there will be violence.  Violence with lots of tertial chord relationships, harmony in sixths, and dark, haunting colors and melodies.  Yeah baby.  Last night I had a transcendent experience with the Cleveland Orchestra and one of my favorite pieces – Brahms’ First Piano Concerto.  Glorious.  It was Brahms’ first foray into the genre, and he had all the pressure of Schumann’s public pronouncements of his being Beethoven Reincarnate bearing down on him.  So, of course, being the young man trying to prove his musical worth, he threw everything he had into it.  Pianistic virtuosity of the grandest proportions.  Difficult passagework.  Thick, dark textures with melodies yearning to be heard in the middle.  More trills than you can shake a stick at.  And, of course, the random fugue in the middle of the last movement.  To say it is a bold piece is an understatement.  And the beauty of the middle movement is simply astonishing. 

I had the great pleasure of hearing Yefim Bronfman – an artist of gigantic proportions in the piano world.  He actually looked as I would imagine Brahms would as he played - a large, imposing figure just waiting to devour the instrument.  He thundered through the hall one moment and beckoned us into a world of pain and pleasure the next.  I will never forget that middle movement and how the piano and orchestra flowed in and out of each other with the gentleness and passion of first time lovers.  Good stuff. 

There is such a depth to that music, a depth that I can relate to at this particular time of my life.  Pain mixed with incredible sweetness and joy.  Storm and turbulence that eventually leads to a triumphant, heroic ending that makes you say, “Let’s do that again!”  I’ve just walked away from what has been thus far the most fulfilling job I have ever had in partnership with one of the most gifted priests I have ever encountered (yes, I said “partnership” and “priest” in the same sentence).  And I left for all the right reasons.  I know this, and yet it did not make it any easier.  Church work is not for the faint of heart.  The mountain tops are incredible – I've had the privilege of being a part of some truly transcendent liturgical experiences.  But the valleys will drain all the blood from your soul faster than leeches.  And when the leeches are done, the vultures will descend without hesitation to pick the dry meat from your bones.  Yum.  Beneath the beauty of all that glorious music, great preaching and God's Truth-revealed-through-liturgy lies a dirty, nasty place where the worst in humanity lays dormant, waiting for that one special occasion to be unleashed.  This is always a shock to people.  Many people assume that because it's "church", people are on their best behavior.  Go ahead and laugh, church musicians and clergy, because you know the truth.  Those who were called to the priesthood or ministry of some sort are still human beings, just like the parishioners.  It’s because we put them on such pedestals that their "fall from grace" is just so incredible.  

Here’s the truth: under all those chasubles, albs and cassocks we are just like the rest of you – beautiful and messed up, immovable and fragile, afraid of that one big thing you just know you can’t live through if it happens.  Until it does.  Then surprisingly, that cassock that provided so much protection and pride is nowhere to be found and we stand naked before the world, just like everybody else.  

That being said, I still think The Church has incredible potential and does, on occasion, manage to change the world for the better.  Is it hurtful and ugly at times?  Yes.  But anything that touches human hands has the potential to be that way.  None of us are perfect.  We all mess up.  And we all shine in unbelievable ways, ways that can even astonish ourselves.  That's the cool part.  That’s what gets me out of bed in the morning. 

So, those are my first thoughts.  Feel free to come back and read on occasion.  I have no idea what I’ll write about next or when I’ll write it.  Could be music one day, some random life experience the next.  Write a comment if you feel moved to do so – but I will insist on treating each other with respect.  If you can’t, then don’t write.  No personal wars on my blog.  But I do encourage passionate discourse.  Disagree and state your case.  Agree and preach to the choir.  Can’t wait to read it.  A short glance into someone else's life can sometimes be incredibly revealing - it's amazing what you can learn about yourself when you watch the people around you.  Frightening stuff, at times, but sharing our life experiences is what art/music/faith is all about.  I never play a piece of music in public unless I feel like it says something important that needs to be shared.

Which brings me back to Brahms – if you live in Cleveland, go get a ticket.  You won’t regret it.