A lot of Americans probably are hoping to sleep in this weekend. Sometimes it seems as though the church is designed to help.
I've been having a lot of pointed fun lately pointing out the difference between the story of Pentecost and the low tolerance level many of us church folks have for anything that isn't eminently predictable and repetitive. Still, our church's creative team has managed to come up with ways that dramatize the events of this unusual story, and though there have been internal disagreements about how much chaos is a good thing (the choices this year seem to be between very little and considerably less) we have actually taken the congregation out of its routine for the last four or five years now. Now the question is whether that breakout is itself becoming routine.
Back when it looked like this year's disruptiveness was going to be at an all time minimum, I found what might actually turn out to be an effective offertory. It is a piece by Max Reger, a prolific composer who had not had the privilege of a Faith UMC performance during my tenure (or very likely that of any of my predecessors). It is called simply, "Pentecost." (or Pfingsten in German)
Reger's Pentecost is an essay on a standard Pentecost hymn, "Come Holy Spirit." That is, it would be standard if you were Lutheran or lived at least a hundred years ago. We're Methodists in 2015 so the only time the congregation hears this hymn is when I play an organ piece based on it; I wish we could sing it as well. It would help to make it more alive and more immediate, and more experiential.
The piece begins softly, and remains that way for much of its length. But a couple of minutes into the piece some strange stirrings cause the music to rush and to suddenly grow louder. A climactic and awesome, or earsplitting, chord--depending on your appreciation of harmony--ends this wild passage and we return to the depths of quietude, though without the sense of repose we had before.
I have to confess some worries about keeping listener attention at this point. Loud and vigorous are also easier to sell that soft and slow, just as foods with more fat and sugar go over better than those with mere nutrients. I am reminded grotesquely of the beer commercial with the bored audience snoozing through a piece of deathly slow, basement registered "classical" music, until the guy opens the beer and cool rock music breaks out; people start dancing and enjoying themselves.
I wonder--who will notice that as the piece rolls on, something is stirring; at first, ominously, vaguely, then, after the music resets itself to the halcyon opening of the hymn and starts again, it begins to grow in majesty, until, by the end, the organ is blasting out the final phrases, and, if you've fallen asleep (our pastor would say "come back to me to hear this....") you awake to find that, whether in the dark or in secret, the hymn has grown to a mighty statement that can no longer be ignored. The question is will we be looking for it? Helping it to happen? Or ready to hop on board once it is a demonstrable success?
I meant the music--at first. But I see my subject, like Reger's has swollen. It is no longer a hymn to soporificism. It is a hymn of praise. It is the church--triumphant?
Reger: Pentecost (op. 145, no. 6)
Showing posts with label Pentecost. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pentecost. Show all posts
Friday, May 22, 2015
Friday, May 15, 2015
Welcome to this year's Pentecost program
"Hello. Good morning, everyone. Nice to see all of you. It is a pleasure to be here. [feedback from microphone] woops! Pete, would you turn down the gain in the back? Thanks. Well, it is really great to be here. Now I just want to acquaint you with this year's program. We are going to really wake up this little church! Are you excited? [scattered applause] My name is the Holy Spirit. In a few moments, you are going to hear the sound of a rushing wind, and little tongues of flame are going to descend on each of your heads. Then you are going to be able to preach the gospel in all kinds of different languages. Does that sound like fun? And don't forget, when it's over, we have a nice potluck supper for you, so y'all come back. Now, there have been some concerns about the tongues of flame. Just let me assure you that they are purely symbolic. You will barely notice they are there. And the rushing wind is really going to be more of a zephyr. We discussed this at our meeting last week and decided that 5 miles an hour was good enough to get the point across. So use your imaginations. Besides, we don't want to knock over any of that delicious punch and cookies the ladies of the church worked so hard to prepare. So, are there any questions? Oh, yes, I nearly forgot. Pete is going to make a speech afterward. Have you decided what language you are going to address the crowd in yet, Pete? I'm sure we'll have lots of interpreters. Well, let's have at it, then!"
If you are familiar with the story of Pentecost as told in the 2nd chapter of the book of Acts, you know that isn't exactly the way it happened. I've adapted it for the Methodist church in the 21st century, or maybe the 19th, or the 20th. Even if you aren't Methodist, you might recognize it as what would happen if Pentecost were to come to a little church near you.
I find some amusement writing about our local Pentecost celebration each year. Our church has a committee that plans our traditional worship services, and every year for Pentecost they try to do something special. For the past five years or so, it is generally been close to the same thing, involving a kind of recreation of the original story, with different languages being spoken, and flame colored streamers, or banners, or persons being asked to wear flame colored clothing to church. One year we processed into the church to a really jazzy rendition of "Come, Creator Spirit" composed by a Dutch organist a couple of years ago that I found online. Sometimes we even try to get the sound of the wind in there--not always convincingly.
This usually occurs at the start of the service, and often leads into, or comes out of, the opening voluntary. Last year it happened during the handshaking that occurs before the service, and the idea was to just suddenly have all of these languages pop out of nowhere and unexpectedly take over. Our pastor, being Methodist, pretty much told everybody what was going to happen ahead of time, but it still took some people by surprise, including a woman on our committee, who expressed concern at this year's meeting that it hadn't been sufficiently prepared last year. I tried to explain that that had actually been the point, but...you know. Surprises are exactly what we are trying to avoid when we go to church.
When I got home I looked up the Pentecost story again, just to make sure I remembered it right, and sure enough, the people at the original "happening" were "amazed" and "perplexed" and asked one another "what does this mean?" Apparently they did not think to be annoyed at the event planner for insufficiently explaining to everyone what was happening ahead of time.
And, of course, surprise is relative. If you know the story, and if you've been around the church for a while, and you know it is Pentecost, and you suddenly hear people speaking in different languages, how much of a shock is that, really? It depends, I suppose, if you are one of those kids in Sunday school who didn't remember that the answer to every question was "Jesus" or you only go to church once or twice a year and don't know much about this Pentecost thing. I mean, it does only happen once a year, so I'll give you that.
And Pentecost is a largely unknown holiday among the general population. It is the birthday of the Christian church, which makes it a pretty major event within the church, but in the world at large it isn't recognized. That's probably because it is a Christian takeover of a Jewish holiday, rather than a pagan one, which would give it more name recognition. The merchants haven't picked up on it yet, either, and unlike Christmas or Easter, with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, there is no Pentecost Pete giving away candy or toys to our children, so, shorn of anything not church-related, a lot of people have no idea it happens at all. It doesn't happen during any major change of the seasons, either, like solstice or the spring or autumn equinox (Easter and Halloween get those, more or less), marking the transitions of the climate and the ends of the growing season, and changes in our behavior as a result of living on this mercurial planet. In short, it's just itself, which isn't enough if you want to get the attention of the vast masses of humanity, who aren't going to pay attention to something unless it is on fire, blinking, or promises a lot for virtually nothing. An abstract holiday with no presents or silly customs you can do with your kids? It's a wonder it's still around. Even if few of us make much of it.
But Pentecost is getting fairly predictable around here, so, when another committee member offered this year that we've been concentrating on the "chaotic" elements of Pentecost for the last several years and maybe it was time to dial it back a little, I didn't protest. We've had a pretty good run, after all. Last year, I think we even managed to get people to speak in the different languages ALL AT ONCE! instead of politely waiting their turn so that languages were spoken one at a time in an otherwise silent room. It was pretty crazy, man! It took a while (as in a few years) to get people to realize that the Holy Spirit isn't just a gentle dove (that's how He appears at Christ's baptism, but not at Pentecost) and to overcome the natural inclination to make every event in the Christian calendar seem nice and pretty and gentle and soothing and predictable and calm. But we did it. The door may be closing on that, but, for a group of church folks, that was a stretch. And it happened. So I guess we can go back to doing things "decently and in order."
So if the Holy Spirit reads our blogs: please try not to do anything unexpected at our church this year. We've been stretched enough for one decade. No new songs, or new plans, or re-visioning for us for a while. We're just going to enjoy things the way they are.
But I can't speak for the folks down the street. They're Lutheran, so I probably wouldn't get too wild with them, either, but you never know....
If you are familiar with the story of Pentecost as told in the 2nd chapter of the book of Acts, you know that isn't exactly the way it happened. I've adapted it for the Methodist church in the 21st century, or maybe the 19th, or the 20th. Even if you aren't Methodist, you might recognize it as what would happen if Pentecost were to come to a little church near you.
I find some amusement writing about our local Pentecost celebration each year. Our church has a committee that plans our traditional worship services, and every year for Pentecost they try to do something special. For the past five years or so, it is generally been close to the same thing, involving a kind of recreation of the original story, with different languages being spoken, and flame colored streamers, or banners, or persons being asked to wear flame colored clothing to church. One year we processed into the church to a really jazzy rendition of "Come, Creator Spirit" composed by a Dutch organist a couple of years ago that I found online. Sometimes we even try to get the sound of the wind in there--not always convincingly.
This usually occurs at the start of the service, and often leads into, or comes out of, the opening voluntary. Last year it happened during the handshaking that occurs before the service, and the idea was to just suddenly have all of these languages pop out of nowhere and unexpectedly take over. Our pastor, being Methodist, pretty much told everybody what was going to happen ahead of time, but it still took some people by surprise, including a woman on our committee, who expressed concern at this year's meeting that it hadn't been sufficiently prepared last year. I tried to explain that that had actually been the point, but...you know. Surprises are exactly what we are trying to avoid when we go to church.
When I got home I looked up the Pentecost story again, just to make sure I remembered it right, and sure enough, the people at the original "happening" were "amazed" and "perplexed" and asked one another "what does this mean?" Apparently they did not think to be annoyed at the event planner for insufficiently explaining to everyone what was happening ahead of time.
And, of course, surprise is relative. If you know the story, and if you've been around the church for a while, and you know it is Pentecost, and you suddenly hear people speaking in different languages, how much of a shock is that, really? It depends, I suppose, if you are one of those kids in Sunday school who didn't remember that the answer to every question was "Jesus" or you only go to church once or twice a year and don't know much about this Pentecost thing. I mean, it does only happen once a year, so I'll give you that.
And Pentecost is a largely unknown holiday among the general population. It is the birthday of the Christian church, which makes it a pretty major event within the church, but in the world at large it isn't recognized. That's probably because it is a Christian takeover of a Jewish holiday, rather than a pagan one, which would give it more name recognition. The merchants haven't picked up on it yet, either, and unlike Christmas or Easter, with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, there is no Pentecost Pete giving away candy or toys to our children, so, shorn of anything not church-related, a lot of people have no idea it happens at all. It doesn't happen during any major change of the seasons, either, like solstice or the spring or autumn equinox (Easter and Halloween get those, more or less), marking the transitions of the climate and the ends of the growing season, and changes in our behavior as a result of living on this mercurial planet. In short, it's just itself, which isn't enough if you want to get the attention of the vast masses of humanity, who aren't going to pay attention to something unless it is on fire, blinking, or promises a lot for virtually nothing. An abstract holiday with no presents or silly customs you can do with your kids? It's a wonder it's still around. Even if few of us make much of it.
But Pentecost is getting fairly predictable around here, so, when another committee member offered this year that we've been concentrating on the "chaotic" elements of Pentecost for the last several years and maybe it was time to dial it back a little, I didn't protest. We've had a pretty good run, after all. Last year, I think we even managed to get people to speak in the different languages ALL AT ONCE! instead of politely waiting their turn so that languages were spoken one at a time in an otherwise silent room. It was pretty crazy, man! It took a while (as in a few years) to get people to realize that the Holy Spirit isn't just a gentle dove (that's how He appears at Christ's baptism, but not at Pentecost) and to overcome the natural inclination to make every event in the Christian calendar seem nice and pretty and gentle and soothing and predictable and calm. But we did it. The door may be closing on that, but, for a group of church folks, that was a stretch. And it happened. So I guess we can go back to doing things "decently and in order."
So if the Holy Spirit reads our blogs: please try not to do anything unexpected at our church this year. We've been stretched enough for one decade. No new songs, or new plans, or re-visioning for us for a while. We're just going to enjoy things the way they are.
But I can't speak for the folks down the street. They're Lutheran, so I probably wouldn't get too wild with them, either, but you never know....
Friday, May 1, 2015
I wish I hadn't thought of that earlier
We all sat around the table, brainstorming about this year's Pentecost service. It was my second meeting of the day; I think I had already reached my quota. Now like any good Methodist church, we have committees. But, as we are better than your average Methodist church in so many ways, we don't just have committees, we have sub-committees of committees. And this was one of those.
Ruach, we call it. From the Hebrew for "Breath." It is our "creativity-in-traditional-worship" group. As we were determining what to do about our classic Pentecost opening, which usually features people speaking in different languages and occasional wind noises, one word took center stage for a moment. It was the very name of our committee. Breath. Wind. And I had one of those 'doh moments, because I knew an offertory by that very title, a very windy contribution by our very own Marteau, a piano piece that had stirred many positive comments, in fact. And that just recently. Because I had just played the piece not three weeks ago. Nuts. Can't do it again, now, can I? Would have gone with the theme too, but I didn't know that three weeks ago...
And you could say that on that occasion I wasted it on a very off-label interpretation of the morning scripture passage.
I sometimes have little to no idea what our pastor is going to do with a passage of scripture--it depends on the pastor and their schedule and whether we are planning ahead very far that month or not, but I should have known better because I have never heard a sermon on the 3rd chapter of John that had anything to do with the wind of the spirit.
That chapter is much better known as the "born again" passage. Nicodemus comes to Jesus in the night and asks what he needs to do to receive eternal life, and Jesus tells him to be "born again." Then, he explains what being born of the spirit means, and uses the wind as a metaphor. Nobody knows, he says, where it comes from or where it is going.
For those few who have noticed, the Bible is a very contrapuntal book. There are verses which appeal to particular minds, and verses which appeal to very opposite minds. This often leads not simply to different emphases but to very different interpretations. This can lead to fights. But the easiest thing to do with the less popular options is simply to ignore them altogether.
In the John passage, it is the "born again" part that receives the emphasis. And not in the curiously amorphous way that Jesus defines it. People often long for solidity, definition, and certainty. So naturally, being "born again" has to mean something very specific. There is now a procedure for being born again, a sect you can join of persons who consider themselves born again (and other Christian groups not, of course), and you are supposed to know the date and time of your second birth, and be absolutely sure of your eternal salvation because any ephemeralness on any of these points means it doesn't count. It is a sort of copyright, owned by the people who have staked out this territory and made it the most important thing that Jesus said. Apparently loving God and your neighbor (Jesus said those were the most important in the synoptic gospels, which do not include John) doesn't lend itself to creating a religious trademark the way being born again does.
Then there is the wind, that strange image (not that the wind has an image--that is sort of the point) that Jesus uses to describe the workings of the spirit. Nobody knows where it comes from. You can't bottle it and sell it. You can't hang onto it. You don't get to decide who gets it. Praying a particular prayer is not guaranteed to cause it to blow. You can't own the wind and pass pieces of it out to your disciples. The wind, said Jesus, "blows where it chooses"--not where you choose, or when your choose. You can see why this has never been very institutionally popular. It is not something you can control, or determine. It is not a very good metaphor for those who want power, or control; in fact, that was probably the very point that Jesus was making.
How do I get saved? someone asks. Here, say this prayer. Read this tract. Take these pills and call me in the morning. Or, just wait and watch and hope the wind blows. I don't know about you, but I've never had anybody try to sell me any version of Christianity by the second method. They are always peddling a formula that works on demand--at least, we think it does.
Next week our pastor will be preaching a sermon about "leaving control." I wonder what it will be about. I don't think he really knows yet, though I've heard him talk about it a little. But control is an interesting thing. It dominates religion--rules, formulas, the way to get saved. It dominates even in charismatic churches, where the spirit is supposed to catch you and cause you to speak in tongues. If you don't speak in tongues, people look at you funny. Something's wrong. As if it is not acceptable that the wind is simply not blowing that day, or at least not in your direction.
We can't seem to stop making a bargain with life, and wanting it to be on our terms. But the wind won't do what we want, usually. And Pentecost...is about that wind.
Ruach, we call it. From the Hebrew for "Breath." It is our "creativity-in-traditional-worship" group. As we were determining what to do about our classic Pentecost opening, which usually features people speaking in different languages and occasional wind noises, one word took center stage for a moment. It was the very name of our committee. Breath. Wind. And I had one of those 'doh moments, because I knew an offertory by that very title, a very windy contribution by our very own Marteau, a piano piece that had stirred many positive comments, in fact. And that just recently. Because I had just played the piece not three weeks ago. Nuts. Can't do it again, now, can I? Would have gone with the theme too, but I didn't know that three weeks ago...
And you could say that on that occasion I wasted it on a very off-label interpretation of the morning scripture passage.
I sometimes have little to no idea what our pastor is going to do with a passage of scripture--it depends on the pastor and their schedule and whether we are planning ahead very far that month or not, but I should have known better because I have never heard a sermon on the 3rd chapter of John that had anything to do with the wind of the spirit.
That chapter is much better known as the "born again" passage. Nicodemus comes to Jesus in the night and asks what he needs to do to receive eternal life, and Jesus tells him to be "born again." Then, he explains what being born of the spirit means, and uses the wind as a metaphor. Nobody knows, he says, where it comes from or where it is going.
For those few who have noticed, the Bible is a very contrapuntal book. There are verses which appeal to particular minds, and verses which appeal to very opposite minds. This often leads not simply to different emphases but to very different interpretations. This can lead to fights. But the easiest thing to do with the less popular options is simply to ignore them altogether.
In the John passage, it is the "born again" part that receives the emphasis. And not in the curiously amorphous way that Jesus defines it. People often long for solidity, definition, and certainty. So naturally, being "born again" has to mean something very specific. There is now a procedure for being born again, a sect you can join of persons who consider themselves born again (and other Christian groups not, of course), and you are supposed to know the date and time of your second birth, and be absolutely sure of your eternal salvation because any ephemeralness on any of these points means it doesn't count. It is a sort of copyright, owned by the people who have staked out this territory and made it the most important thing that Jesus said. Apparently loving God and your neighbor (Jesus said those were the most important in the synoptic gospels, which do not include John) doesn't lend itself to creating a religious trademark the way being born again does.
Then there is the wind, that strange image (not that the wind has an image--that is sort of the point) that Jesus uses to describe the workings of the spirit. Nobody knows where it comes from. You can't bottle it and sell it. You can't hang onto it. You don't get to decide who gets it. Praying a particular prayer is not guaranteed to cause it to blow. You can't own the wind and pass pieces of it out to your disciples. The wind, said Jesus, "blows where it chooses"--not where you choose, or when your choose. You can see why this has never been very institutionally popular. It is not something you can control, or determine. It is not a very good metaphor for those who want power, or control; in fact, that was probably the very point that Jesus was making.
How do I get saved? someone asks. Here, say this prayer. Read this tract. Take these pills and call me in the morning. Or, just wait and watch and hope the wind blows. I don't know about you, but I've never had anybody try to sell me any version of Christianity by the second method. They are always peddling a formula that works on demand--at least, we think it does.
Next week our pastor will be preaching a sermon about "leaving control." I wonder what it will be about. I don't think he really knows yet, though I've heard him talk about it a little. But control is an interesting thing. It dominates religion--rules, formulas, the way to get saved. It dominates even in charismatic churches, where the spirit is supposed to catch you and cause you to speak in tongues. If you don't speak in tongues, people look at you funny. Something's wrong. As if it is not acceptable that the wind is simply not blowing that day, or at least not in your direction.
We can't seem to stop making a bargain with life, and wanting it to be on our terms. But the wind won't do what we want, usually. And Pentecost...is about that wind.
Friday, May 23, 2014
Have you met my friend Hieronymus?
June 8th is Pentecost Sunday and while I'll be playing something different in church I couldn't help pay a visit to a familiar friend from years past.
It was Pentecost 2004 when I first made the acquaintance of one Hieronymus Praetorius and his jovial setting of "Veni Creator Spiritus," based on the standard plainchant for the day. It sparked an interest in Renaissance organ music, which I have noticed a lot of my fellow organists do not share (!) and which has caused me to look into the organ music of also Michael and Jacob Praetorius (not necessarily all related to each other).
So this may be new for you, but I have the pleasure of renewing acquaintance with an old friend whenever I play it. It was originally part of the mono catalog from 2004-2011--in fact, I made two recordings, five years apart. Both of these went down with the old catalog when I started over in stereo in 2011, and I've been trying to fill in old literature ever since when time permits.
There are three verses--the tune is in slow motion in the pedals, for which I've used trumpets. Enjoy!
Praetorius, Hieronymus: Veni Creator Spiritus
verse 1 verse 2 verse 3
It was Pentecost 2004 when I first made the acquaintance of one Hieronymus Praetorius and his jovial setting of "Veni Creator Spiritus," based on the standard plainchant for the day. It sparked an interest in Renaissance organ music, which I have noticed a lot of my fellow organists do not share (!) and which has caused me to look into the organ music of also Michael and Jacob Praetorius (not necessarily all related to each other).
So this may be new for you, but I have the pleasure of renewing acquaintance with an old friend whenever I play it. It was originally part of the mono catalog from 2004-2011--in fact, I made two recordings, five years apart. Both of these went down with the old catalog when I started over in stereo in 2011, and I've been trying to fill in old literature ever since when time permits.
There are three verses--the tune is in slow motion in the pedals, for which I've used trumpets. Enjoy!
Praetorius, Hieronymus: Veni Creator Spiritus
verse 1 verse 2 verse 3
Friday, May 24, 2013
Methodist Flash Mobs and other theoretical impossibilities
This past Sunday something truly unusual, revolutionary, perhaps unique in the history of humankind occurred at a Methodist church in Illinois. Think I'm overselling a bit?
It was this: planned...Methodist....chaos.
Methodists don't do planned chaos very well. Unplanned chaos, sure, we're great at that. We can make chit-chat loud and long and fail to pay attention to the proceedings--in fact, the funny thing about the way our service opened on Sunday was how long it took for our pastor to get attention to make the morning announcements. There was festivity in the air. Lots of people in their flame-colored attire, negotiating flame-colored streamers on the backs of the pews and, probably, loudly observing the strangeness of all of this to their neighbors.
It was when the announcements were over that the chaos happened. At the words "turn and greet your neighbor" some persons began greeting one another in different languages. Then a few more joined in. There were the usual handful of volunteers, some speaking German, some Italian, some Spanish--I think we had at least one Asiatic language in there, and sign language--and additionally, the choir had fanned out into the congregation and about two dozen of them were adding their voices to the din, which kept getting louder, and LOUDER.
About a minute into this sanctified fracas came a voice. One soprano intoning the ancient pentecost hymn "Come, Creator Spirit." When she finished there came a thunderous chord from the organ and the opening voluntary began. At that point the flash mob was over and the choir gathered at the back of the church in order to process forward during the singing of the introit. They sang the heck out of it, by the way. I'd like to think the mood created by the flash mob and the ensuing organ music helped them to do that.
We've been doing some variation on the languages of Pentecost for a few years now. The story of a roaring wind, tongues of fire, the disciples suddenly speaking the gospel in different languages lends itself to some kind of dramatic commemoration and, as Methodists, we have a committee that tries to do creative things in worship. It is a sub-committee of another committee, naturally, and I think even those members are answerable to another committee. But this sub-committee, RuacH, from the Greek word for Spirit, is, I would imagine, a fairly unusual thing for a church to have. We gather every couple of months on average to explore the themes for the upcoming seasons of the year and the new sermon series and find ways to incorporate poetry, drama, liturgical dance and so on into those worship services. In past years on Pentecost we've had people stand up front and deliver the gospel message in different languages one at a time, politely waiting until the person ahead of them is finished. Even the rushing wind sound is done solo. It's all very orderly, which is how Methodists like it. That's how we got our name.
So getting folks to all speak at once, or to talk over each other, and to do it loudly, and ON PURPOSE, was like breaking through the fourth wall of Methodism (no, not the Wesleyan Quadrilateral). I don't know if it's ever happened before, and, like a naturalist, I feel compelled to document it. Plus, it was pretty cool.
Of course, afterward, someone said to me that she would have preferred people do the languages one at a time, and I told her we'd probably do that again next year. And, as unexpected as the whole flash mob thing was supposed to be, the pastor kind of tipped everybody off by explaining it in the church email days before, and instructing everyone not to politely sit down until the organ came in. (We had decided to dispense with the usual Pavlovian chimes and go directly to the organ voluntary.) Look, for a Methodist over fifty, that's about as close to a real flash mob as anyone is going to get! Don't knock it.
One other thing: I was meditating on the irony of the whole Pentecost celebration while putting my notes (/strategy) to the flashmobbers together, thinking about how at the original event everyone was astounded to be actually able to understand the disciples, because in this bustling metropolis of a thousand tongues the gospel was suddenly being shared in all of them, and how, in our sanctuary, it was highly unlikely that any of us would understand most of these languages. In other words, the celebration sort of reversed the event being celebrated. And then I got an advance copy of the bulletin, complete with a prayer of confession which contained the line "We continue the divisions of Babel, speaking in tongues that confound rather than clarify, hurt rather than heal, separate rather than unite."
True, confusion gets a pretty universally bad rap in the church, but besides taking at least one holyday in the church year and un-domesticating it a little bit, bringing back some of the wildness and awesomeness, I think a bit of off-balanced unexpectedness is not such a bad thing always. We in the church are so good at doing things the same way, getting comfortable with ourselves and our methods, that we seldom grow our skills of adaptation and understanding. How can we minister to the stranger in our midst if we don't know what their needs are? And how can we know that, or even empathize with that, if we don't understand them? And how can we understand something outside of ourselves if we don't try to come to terms with something or someone that we don't already understand? Knowing what we like and liking what we know is a good way to avoid growth; it leads to stagnation. They way forward involves learning to know the unknown; Karl Barth even referred to God as "wholly other." (I'd like to find out what that means sometime when I have a couple thousand free hours to read "Church Dogmatics.")
And effort indeed needs to be made to that end. Maybe on the first Pentecost the Spirit gave everyone the ability to speak in new languages just magically, but everyone since who has gone out to spread the gospel in other languages has had to take the trouble to learn them. And always there is at first a sense of floundering around in the new and the unaccustomed. But they get the hang of it.
So maybe getting people outside of the tranquil expectations of the orderly, not just by preaching about it, but by throwing them a little off balance during a worship service, isn't such a bad thing.
In any case, for a few moments on a Sunday morning, something slightly unusual happened within the confines of a Methodist church, the full effects of which are not yet known. We are forming a committee to study it.
It was this: planned...Methodist....chaos.
Methodists don't do planned chaos very well. Unplanned chaos, sure, we're great at that. We can make chit-chat loud and long and fail to pay attention to the proceedings--in fact, the funny thing about the way our service opened on Sunday was how long it took for our pastor to get attention to make the morning announcements. There was festivity in the air. Lots of people in their flame-colored attire, negotiating flame-colored streamers on the backs of the pews and, probably, loudly observing the strangeness of all of this to their neighbors.
It was when the announcements were over that the chaos happened. At the words "turn and greet your neighbor" some persons began greeting one another in different languages. Then a few more joined in. There were the usual handful of volunteers, some speaking German, some Italian, some Spanish--I think we had at least one Asiatic language in there, and sign language--and additionally, the choir had fanned out into the congregation and about two dozen of them were adding their voices to the din, which kept getting louder, and LOUDER.
About a minute into this sanctified fracas came a voice. One soprano intoning the ancient pentecost hymn "Come, Creator Spirit." When she finished there came a thunderous chord from the organ and the opening voluntary began. At that point the flash mob was over and the choir gathered at the back of the church in order to process forward during the singing of the introit. They sang the heck out of it, by the way. I'd like to think the mood created by the flash mob and the ensuing organ music helped them to do that.
We've been doing some variation on the languages of Pentecost for a few years now. The story of a roaring wind, tongues of fire, the disciples suddenly speaking the gospel in different languages lends itself to some kind of dramatic commemoration and, as Methodists, we have a committee that tries to do creative things in worship. It is a sub-committee of another committee, naturally, and I think even those members are answerable to another committee. But this sub-committee, RuacH, from the Greek word for Spirit, is, I would imagine, a fairly unusual thing for a church to have. We gather every couple of months on average to explore the themes for the upcoming seasons of the year and the new sermon series and find ways to incorporate poetry, drama, liturgical dance and so on into those worship services. In past years on Pentecost we've had people stand up front and deliver the gospel message in different languages one at a time, politely waiting until the person ahead of them is finished. Even the rushing wind sound is done solo. It's all very orderly, which is how Methodists like it. That's how we got our name.
So getting folks to all speak at once, or to talk over each other, and to do it loudly, and ON PURPOSE, was like breaking through the fourth wall of Methodism (no, not the Wesleyan Quadrilateral). I don't know if it's ever happened before, and, like a naturalist, I feel compelled to document it. Plus, it was pretty cool.
Of course, afterward, someone said to me that she would have preferred people do the languages one at a time, and I told her we'd probably do that again next year. And, as unexpected as the whole flash mob thing was supposed to be, the pastor kind of tipped everybody off by explaining it in the church email days before, and instructing everyone not to politely sit down until the organ came in. (We had decided to dispense with the usual Pavlovian chimes and go directly to the organ voluntary.) Look, for a Methodist over fifty, that's about as close to a real flash mob as anyone is going to get! Don't knock it.
One other thing: I was meditating on the irony of the whole Pentecost celebration while putting my notes (/strategy) to the flashmobbers together, thinking about how at the original event everyone was astounded to be actually able to understand the disciples, because in this bustling metropolis of a thousand tongues the gospel was suddenly being shared in all of them, and how, in our sanctuary, it was highly unlikely that any of us would understand most of these languages. In other words, the celebration sort of reversed the event being celebrated. And then I got an advance copy of the bulletin, complete with a prayer of confession which contained the line "We continue the divisions of Babel, speaking in tongues that confound rather than clarify, hurt rather than heal, separate rather than unite."
True, confusion gets a pretty universally bad rap in the church, but besides taking at least one holyday in the church year and un-domesticating it a little bit, bringing back some of the wildness and awesomeness, I think a bit of off-balanced unexpectedness is not such a bad thing always. We in the church are so good at doing things the same way, getting comfortable with ourselves and our methods, that we seldom grow our skills of adaptation and understanding. How can we minister to the stranger in our midst if we don't know what their needs are? And how can we know that, or even empathize with that, if we don't understand them? And how can we understand something outside of ourselves if we don't try to come to terms with something or someone that we don't already understand? Knowing what we like and liking what we know is a good way to avoid growth; it leads to stagnation. They way forward involves learning to know the unknown; Karl Barth even referred to God as "wholly other." (I'd like to find out what that means sometime when I have a couple thousand free hours to read "Church Dogmatics.")
And effort indeed needs to be made to that end. Maybe on the first Pentecost the Spirit gave everyone the ability to speak in new languages just magically, but everyone since who has gone out to spread the gospel in other languages has had to take the trouble to learn them. And always there is at first a sense of floundering around in the new and the unaccustomed. But they get the hang of it.
So maybe getting people outside of the tranquil expectations of the orderly, not just by preaching about it, but by throwing them a little off balance during a worship service, isn't such a bad thing.
In any case, for a few moments on a Sunday morning, something slightly unusual happened within the confines of a Methodist church, the full effects of which are not yet known. We are forming a committee to study it.
Friday, May 17, 2013
A Grand old hymn for Pentecost
One of the exciting things this year on Pianonoise is that I am able to bring you music by living composers. Where last year many of the pieces that I played during church services were listed by title and then festooned with the ubiquitous copyright symbol, which, if you clicked on it, would explain that I couldn't legally post the music, this year there have been some changes in that department. It isn't because I've decided to go rogue: I have this bizarre idea that breaking the law is still breaking the law even though I probably wouldn't get caught. And since apparently 95% of music downloads on the web are illegal few of you seem to agree with me. But in situations where the copyright is owned by a small company and/or the composer, I have written to them asking permission to record and post their music. So far I've posted the music of three composers, and I hope that's just the start.
This is important to me because, while you would expect a catalogue of interesting piano and organ music to be weighted toward the past, it is, I think, necessary to include the present as well. Classically trained musicians can find all sorts of wonderful and effective music in past centuries, where our homework has already been done for us in sorting out the composers with the most to say musically, but it is a mistake to assume that today's composers aren't making interesting contributions. These composers have to make a living somehow, though, and unfortunately that sometimes leads to a wall of copyright protection administered by a forbiddingly large company which seems to have no awareness of the existence of the internet (they often insist on doing everything by snail mail). Thus far my efforts to obtain permission in these cases has resulted in being roundly ignored.
But in those cases where I've been able to talk to the composer directly, they have all been gracious enough to permit me to post their works simply by linking to their own websites. I wouldn't mind it a bit if listening to one of my recordings led to increased sales or web traffic (hint, hint). At any rate, this past year I've met several interesting persons online and been enriched by the musical experiences they've brought me.
One of these persons is named Vidas Pinkevicius. Vidas lives in Vilnius, Lithuania, which happens to be where a friend of mine from graduate school grew up so I sort of feel like I know the place (from stories) even though I've never actually been there. Vidas has a blog dedicated to helping organists learn to play the organ better. An organist at the university, and apparently a church in town which has an organ that dates back to 1776 and is currently in need of restoration (naturally enough, Vidas is leading the charge), he keeps himself very busy promoting the art of the organ in Lithuania, playing a series of concerts, creating all kinds of resources in the form of teaching editions of organ scores, videos, and blogs, and answering scores of emails. After I downloaded his score for the piece that I'm playing this Pentecost Sunday, I emailed him that I had some concerns over the score's legibility in some spots (if you've ever fought with a software music scoring program you'll know why) and some other minor issues. Vidas got back to me within hours with an improved score! Vidas can make me tired just thinking about his industry.
This is the second year I've managed to play a work written in the past two years for Pentecost. Last year I found a particularly jazzy arrangement on Youtube; unfortunately the composer never got back to me when I left a comment on his channel asking if I could have a copy of the score; I never made a recording of it since I had no authorization. That didn't stop me from playing it in church, however! (worship service exemption, if you are wondering) I simply listened to the video and took dictation. Unfortunately, the composer has recently removed the video (as well as hundreds more--I think he was concerned with the sound quality and is effectively starting his channel over again).
On that occasion the entire congregation processed (or danced) their way into the church with colored streamers while the organ played. This year we are planning a kind of "flash mob" to occur during the passing of the peace right after the opening announcements--people will be greeted in different languages. The hubbub is supposed to increase while one choir member intones the plainchant "Veni Creator Spiritus" on which the organ piece is based, at which point I will interrupt the proceedings with a loud chord. That's the plan, anyhow.
Here is the music. It turned out to be trickier than I thought it would be--it took about a week and a half to learn. It is also nearly a minute faster than the composer's own rendition (see below for a link), and, now that I've given it a week to slumber and have come back to it a few days before the service, I think I played it too fast--particularly the opening, which needs more grandeur. In truth, I was a bit worried that the sectionalized nature of the piece might not hang together well if I didn't give it a sense of forward propulsion. That is why it is necessary to spend time with music, and allow time for your ideas to change, something that both blogging and a week to week church schedule don't really encourage. When there's time--probably in a week or two--I'll make a second recording, which more accurately reflects how I am likely to play it in church this weekend.
In the meantime, I have to run off to another rehearsal. This week I'm playing a bit of Handel on the grand organ at the University. We'll see how that turns out!
Veni Creator Spiritus by Vidas Pinkevicius (2010)
Vidas' blog is at
www.organduo.it
the score of this piece, and a video of the composer playing it, can be found at
www.organduo/veni-creator-spiritus.html
This is important to me because, while you would expect a catalogue of interesting piano and organ music to be weighted toward the past, it is, I think, necessary to include the present as well. Classically trained musicians can find all sorts of wonderful and effective music in past centuries, where our homework has already been done for us in sorting out the composers with the most to say musically, but it is a mistake to assume that today's composers aren't making interesting contributions. These composers have to make a living somehow, though, and unfortunately that sometimes leads to a wall of copyright protection administered by a forbiddingly large company which seems to have no awareness of the existence of the internet (they often insist on doing everything by snail mail). Thus far my efforts to obtain permission in these cases has resulted in being roundly ignored.
But in those cases where I've been able to talk to the composer directly, they have all been gracious enough to permit me to post their works simply by linking to their own websites. I wouldn't mind it a bit if listening to one of my recordings led to increased sales or web traffic (hint, hint). At any rate, this past year I've met several interesting persons online and been enriched by the musical experiences they've brought me.
One of these persons is named Vidas Pinkevicius. Vidas lives in Vilnius, Lithuania, which happens to be where a friend of mine from graduate school grew up so I sort of feel like I know the place (from stories) even though I've never actually been there. Vidas has a blog dedicated to helping organists learn to play the organ better. An organist at the university, and apparently a church in town which has an organ that dates back to 1776 and is currently in need of restoration (naturally enough, Vidas is leading the charge), he keeps himself very busy promoting the art of the organ in Lithuania, playing a series of concerts, creating all kinds of resources in the form of teaching editions of organ scores, videos, and blogs, and answering scores of emails. After I downloaded his score for the piece that I'm playing this Pentecost Sunday, I emailed him that I had some concerns over the score's legibility in some spots (if you've ever fought with a software music scoring program you'll know why) and some other minor issues. Vidas got back to me within hours with an improved score! Vidas can make me tired just thinking about his industry.
This is the second year I've managed to play a work written in the past two years for Pentecost. Last year I found a particularly jazzy arrangement on Youtube; unfortunately the composer never got back to me when I left a comment on his channel asking if I could have a copy of the score; I never made a recording of it since I had no authorization. That didn't stop me from playing it in church, however! (worship service exemption, if you are wondering) I simply listened to the video and took dictation. Unfortunately, the composer has recently removed the video (as well as hundreds more--I think he was concerned with the sound quality and is effectively starting his channel over again).
On that occasion the entire congregation processed (or danced) their way into the church with colored streamers while the organ played. This year we are planning a kind of "flash mob" to occur during the passing of the peace right after the opening announcements--people will be greeted in different languages. The hubbub is supposed to increase while one choir member intones the plainchant "Veni Creator Spiritus" on which the organ piece is based, at which point I will interrupt the proceedings with a loud chord. That's the plan, anyhow.
Here is the music. It turned out to be trickier than I thought it would be--it took about a week and a half to learn. It is also nearly a minute faster than the composer's own rendition (see below for a link), and, now that I've given it a week to slumber and have come back to it a few days before the service, I think I played it too fast--particularly the opening, which needs more grandeur. In truth, I was a bit worried that the sectionalized nature of the piece might not hang together well if I didn't give it a sense of forward propulsion. That is why it is necessary to spend time with music, and allow time for your ideas to change, something that both blogging and a week to week church schedule don't really encourage. When there's time--probably in a week or two--I'll make a second recording, which more accurately reflects how I am likely to play it in church this weekend.
In the meantime, I have to run off to another rehearsal. This week I'm playing a bit of Handel on the grand organ at the University. We'll see how that turns out!
Veni Creator Spiritus by Vidas Pinkevicius (2010)
Vidas' blog is at
www.organduo.it
the score of this piece, and a video of the composer playing it, can be found at
www.organduo/veni-creator-spiritus.html
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