Little girly gesture language

I sang, at one point, for a (long-term substitute) conductor who did a lot of talking about how our choir needed to learn his "gesture language" if we were to follow him correctly. Every rehearsal, he used that phrase at least once, often accompanied by a sort of wilted clawing motion of his right hand. It became something of a running joke in the alto section; after all, isn't it HIS job to make himself clear? If he's not getting what he wants, shouldn't he try something else? As a conductor-in-training at that time, I was skeptical of what I perceived to be a rather whiny approach to the ensemble and a too-narrow conducting "dialect" on his part. Shouldn't the conductor model, insofar as is possible, the geist of the music on the page, so that the singers may then do the same?

Well, yes. But.

Also, at various points in my career, I have sung for a few "colorful" (read "temperamental, sometimes downright abusive") conductors. You know the stereotype--hollering, baton-throwing, blaming the ensemble for not achieving his (yes, his) superior interpretive vision. Some of these guys were truly visionary; some were just socially impaired and/or insecure. All of them got in the way of my participation and enjoyment as a singer, to varying degrees.

For the most part, now that I've conducted a number of different groups myself, I still think it's true that the conductor bears most of the responsibility for communicating interpretation and vision clearly and succinctly. If my choirs don't get what I'm asking of them, I think it's incumbent upon me to take a fresh approach. Sometimes that involves watching myself conduct a passage several different ways in the mirror. Sometimes it involves finding the right metaphor. Sometimes it's a question of vocal technique. And sometimes--heresy of heresies--it means asking them what they see/hear, and altering my own vision in a more collaborative direction.

When I was in grad school, I decided that I would spend my career finding out if it's possible to make really terrific music with people without turning into a tyrant. Because I believe that it's my job to engage people in the music making, but maybe it's not my job to have all the answers. I've got more training and spend more time thinking about the music than most (not all) of my singers; however, they are bright and talented and insightful, and I'd be stupid not to take that seriously. Does this make me, as Hans und Franz might say, a "little girly conductor?"


Because this is not how most musical ensembles operate. We are used to the sometimes-benevolent dictatorship model. What the conductor says, goes. Period.

Much of the time, this is a practical, time-saving teaching model (as the conductor has completed years of training, analyzed the musical score, thought through interpretation and technique, etc.); however, in order to maintain a healthy relationship, conductors and ensembles need to be open to one another, to really see and hear one another.

There are two main obstacles that prevent this open communication. One is the "conductor's ego as group's raison d'etre" situation I've already mentioned, in which the conductor can't see the ensemble as anything other than a means to an end. The other unhealthy situation arises when the ensemble refuses to really hear what the conductor is saying, for any of a variety of reasons. Orchestral conductor Marin Alsop describes one such dilemma:

When a woman makes a gesture,
the same gesture as a man,
it's interpreted entirely differently.
The thing I struggled with the most
was getting a big sound from the brass
because you really have to be strong.
But if you're too strong,
you're a b-i-t-c-h.
As a woman,
you have to be careful that it's not too harsh.
It's a subtle line.

--Marin Alsop, to Barbara Kantrowicz of Newsweek

There is truth in this statement. I have experienced this from a couple of different angles; first, the one that Maestra Alsop mentions. Directness looks to some singers like anger...especially in the world of "Minnesota Nice." However, the converse is also true. If I operate from a less aggressive, more collaborative framework, it has sometimes been treated as a sign of weakness. And, based on many musicians' previous experience, no wonder:

Conductors have for so long been promoted
as imposing, larger than life,
acceptably aggressive personalities
who bend orchestras to their will
and to whom musicians submit in reverence and terror.

--as observed by Anna Hodgson, Contemporary Review

Hodgson really wrote an interesting article on the dearth of women orchestral conductors, BTW.

I really don't see "reverence and terror" as a useful model of musical leadership...and CERTAINLY not of ministry. I'd like to propose an alternative--that conductors and singers should do two things:

• commit to doing everything they can to bring to life what's on the page in front of them, and
  
• treat one another with respect.

I think it looks something like this:

I promise to

• prepare for rehearsal and share what I know
• engage my Inner Diagnostician
  
• offer music that's worth doing and skill-appropriate
• start and end rehearsal on time
• not yell at or embarrass people
• admit when I'm wrong
  
• make our work together as inspiring and fun as I can, which is my way of saying "thank you" for their work and bravery and creativity and time.

In return, I want my singers to

• come to rehearsal on time
• trust that I'm trying to bring out their best as musicians
• take care of their voice and use it well
• have a pencil and use it!
  
• be brave and willing to try something new
• ask thoughtful, economical questions
  
• have a sense of humor about what we're doing, tempered with a bit of wonder.
  

I want them to really engage with the music. And I want them to not care about my gender, sexual orientation, race, age and the fact that I prefer jeans to skirts. And--this is a big one--if something is wrong, or if they have a helpful idea, I want them to be able to approach me about it, without the slightest fear that I'll throw a baton at them.

My experience teaches me that this model bears much more fruit than an arena of drama. I've been blessed to conduct some delightful groups, made up of wonderful human beings. When I'm on that podium, I don't think the experience should be about whether or not I'm a "girly" conductor. It should be about bringing to life the music on the page in front of us. My "gesture language" is only one means to that end...not even the most important one. My ears (and theirs) are another, as well as our minds. And, most importantly, the full, joyous, brave participation of my singers.

If all of that is working, we can lift right off the floor together.

It oooonly takes a spaaarrrk to get a fire going...

To anyone who went to Bible Camp or VBS, that was your earworm for the day. :-)

My articulate cyber-friend Shalom has bestowed a kindness on me, and it's now my pleasure to pass it on (as in the song). Here are the rules:

List 7 things that you love and then pass the award on to 7 people...tagging them and letting them know they won! You can copy the picture of the award and put it on your sidebar letting the whole wide world know you are KReATIV!

Seven Things I Love

1. the sound the pups make when they wake up in the morning, and the way they're excited about nearly everything

2. really well-crafted lyrics

3. friendships measured in decades

4. the moment when I say a perfectly abstract thing to one of my choirs and it makes enough sense to them that they SING the essence of the thing I was trying to say

5. unexpected kindnesses, of which I have received a bunch lately

6. getting to preach (which is fun on several levels), or getting to hear a really good sermon

7. the hearts of those who suffer when justice is absent...especially when the offense isn't against them personally


Now, to share--some old friends, some new!

1. MomPriest at Seeking Authentic Voice--it's an oasis: calm, thoughtful, deeply kind.

2. Diane at Coexist--lots of original poetry and meditative thought. Got a Minnesotan's love for this one, personally.

3. Christine at Abbey of the Arts--gorgeous, all around. Photography, poetry, and I particularly loved the wisdom in this post.

4. Catrina at The Mad Preacher Liberation Front--insightful, articulate, and sometimes hilariously titled posts (i.e. The Audacity of Nope).

5. Rachel at The Sweet Bi and Bi--visually restful, astutely observed, well connected with resources, sweet and funny. Try this post for a new take on diversity in the church.

6. Mary at Tensegrities--she's interested in lots of things that appeal to a quirky church geek like me, and she writes well and links to fascinating stuff.

7. I've recognized Ruth of Ruth's Visions and Revisions before--still think she's wonderful, but today's shout-out goes to her co-blogger, Smokey. His Dog Parables (right sidebar, scroll down) are really something special!

Moses and the flood: meditation on Exodus 34:1-10

Yep, Moses.

I delivered this meditation at our Lenten service last night. Context: our Lenten theme and the handing out of a rock to each worshiper upon entry into the sanctuary.

Traditionally, many of us think of lent as a time of repentance. We search ourselves for signs of sin, of too-small vision, of the ways that we're broken. Then we ask for forgiveness, maybe not quite daring to hope that anything will really be different afterward, but trying anyway to "get right with God" again because...well, because we should. For some of us this is a dreary season, more about rules than relationship; more about guilt than grace. And going through a 40-day exercise of self-examination and self-denial may not seem so helpful when we're grieving or afraid. But is there another way to see it? There isn't one of us who doesn't need to repent, but is there also good news to be found here in the desert?

Let's take a closer look at the Moses story and the chapters in Exodus that lead up to this point. In tonight's chapter, God and Moses are having a conversation...one that takes place as Moses is pleading for forgiveness for his people, the Israelites. They have messed up spectacularly. You remember the Israelites--God freed them from slavery and brought them through the desert to Mount Sinai, where (in Exodus 19) God made this covenant with them:

You have seen what I did to the Egyptians,
and how I bore you on eagles' wings and brought you to myself.
Now, therefore, if you obey my voice and keep my covenant,
you shall be my treasured possession out of all the peoples.
Indeed the whole earth is mine,
but you shall be a priestly kingdom and a holy nation.

It's a grand vision, isn't it? God will be God, and we will be very, very good, and all will be well. Except that it won't, if we have to depend on the strength of our own goodness. We're frail creatures, and despite our best efforts, we can't hold up our end. But at this point in the story, just after making their first covenant, God keeps Moses running up and down the mountain for a while, handing out all kinds of laws about how the Israelites are to hold up their end of the deal, including the Ten Commandments.

Perhaps inevitably, Moses eventually comes down from the mountain, stone tablets in hand, to discover that this "priestly people," this "holy nation," is worshiping a golden calf--a sacred cow of their own making. God and Moses had been off in conversation for kind of a while, you understand, and so the people filled that void with what they could see...which left them

• worshiping wealth and security
• admiring their own creation in the place of God's work, and
  
• making a god small enough to comprehend and to control.

Those naughty Israelites. We'd do better, right?

Maybe not...at least, I often don't, despite my best intentions. So let's take a minute here, with this tiny piece of mountain in our hands. (hold up rock) Let's think a bit about our worship of the sacred cows that we create...about our own broken places. In fact, let's sort of mentally glue them to these rocks we're holding.

a few minutes of silence

Now, the story continues: God kicks them off Mount Sinai, sputtering, "You people have gotten on my last nerve. Our relationship is broken; I'm not coming with you to the Promised Land." Imagine the desolation of that moment--they know they're guilty, convicted by the law, and now they have to go back into the desert without God's presence.

Bleak, bleak, bleak.

Now Moses, after smashing those tablets on the ground and ranting at the Israelites a while, begs forgiveness for them, and pleads for a reason to have hope for the future: "Show me your glory, God, so that I'll know you're not really abandoning us."

And what does God do? Something surprising. Something absolutely dripping with grace.

First, God commands Moses to remake the stone tablets of the covenant--saying, in effect, "Yes, I'm still in this thing with you; in fact, I'll meet you more than halfway in repairing this breach. I'll go even a step beyond simple justice in order to stay with you."

That's some extraordinary peacemaking. But honesty is also a necessary part of any life-giving relationship. And so God doesn't just gloss over the sinfulness of the Israelites, but acknowledges the reality that "Hey, you guys really messed up here. According to the terms of our covenant, you were supposed to listen to me...to obey me. And now I'm supposed to punish you, and your children as well, to the third and fourth generation after you. But I'm not going to do that. In fact, I'm tearing up our previous covenant. Let's start again."

At one of the most wretched, sinful moments to date in the story of God's people, God breathes new life into the relationship...and instead of 3-4 generations' worth of punishment, God offers them a renewed commitment, drenched with enough hope for several lifetimes.

And so it is with us. As we heard earlier, God promises to do an "awesome thing" with you...and with you...and with me...with all of us. God promises to stay with us not just on the mountain, but in the desert, too. And in that desert, God drowns our sin and renews our spirits in flood after flood of grace.

As we leave tonight, we'll put these rocks in the baptismal font, where they--and we--are washed clean. We'll remember what God is doing and offer our thanks.

And then, God will go with us out that door.

Incandescence

One
Strides purposefully through the bellowing crowd,
Stately amidst the chafe and scrape
Of her truth against their certitude.

One
Sidles gently to their sealed, adjacent reason,
Her chest bared to the heedless darts
Of their blind, bewildered fusillades.

One
Awaits in wonder the fiery bursting forth,
An ardent bloom in gathering light
Of the jointed wills of God and nature.

Each
Faces east.


for B, R and C

The inflatable doggie of my life

more animals


No time to post today...or likely tomorrow! See y'all soon...

Peripheral vision

So...a couple of weeks ago, I graduated from reading glasses to all-the-time glasses.

Bifocals.

As many of you who have gone through this transition before me already know, there are some adjustments. The weirdest one for me is the interruption of my peripheral vision--as I get close to the inside edges of the lenses, there's a curvature; if I try to glance to the side with just an eyeroll, it's jagged at the outside edges of the lenses. When I'm trying to look at both my choir and the score on the music stand in front of me, the frames create a dividing line between them. Weird.

So I'm adjusting by moving my head more; this is a really minor inconvenience, but it got me to thinking about the way we see things...about how healthy it is to have some sort of challenge to our accustomed point of view, once in a while. And about how we can choose how much significance we assign to edges and dividing lines.

I'm just sayin'.

Friday five: fork in the road

Singing Owl of the RevGals writes:

I am at a life-changing juncture. I do not know which way I will go, but I have been thinking about the times, people and events that changed my life (for good or ill) in significant ways. For today's Friday Five, share with us five "fork-in-the-road" events, or persons, or choices. And how did life change after these forks in the road?

I'm reminded of the Yogi Berra quote

When you come to a fork in the road, take it.

Funny...and yet descriptive, too. 'Cause that's how I roll:

Age 9: I remember trying to decide which I liked more: visual art or music? I was trying to decide where to focus my energy. (No, I wasn't overprogrammed, just a thinker.) I really enjoyed both, and liked the fact that I always had something to show for my effort after art class. But I loved to sing, and had just started guitar lessons on my 3/4 size red-and-black acoustic guitar. I liked the way that I felt more alive somehow when I sang...and so my Inner Romantic conquered my Inner Pragmatist for the first of, oh, I don't even KNOW how many decisions. I made the right call, though--I'm a decent musician, but have no discernible talent in the visual arts. :-)

Age 19: Music Therapy major or Music Education major? After much agonizing I ended up trying both and then graduating with an extremely marketable B.A. in Music. (snicker) I had a starter job in music publishing, in which I've worked on and off for my whole career, and so I decided to GRADUATE and get on with my life!

Age 29: Continue in corporate training or go to seminary? I was off to a good start as a trainer, and more-or-less liked it. Was making good money, had a lot of contacts...and was ultimately dissatisfied that it was the way I should be spending my time and effort. And it seemed that a deeper voice was speaking in me. Seminary it was. Now: MDiv or MSM (sacred music)? It was music...but I haven't stopped considering MDiv as well. Maybe my denomination will make that a bit easier for me next summer.

Age 39: Continue in church music or go back to training? I'd had a shattering experience at my First Big Church Job and was seriously questioning my calling...not to mention having a pile of debt from going back to school. Exhausted and disheartened, I wasn't sure I was willing to put myself back together and try to continue church work. And then there was The Interview. I met with the hiring committee of my present church and something deep inside me sang...and that was the right answer, the healing answer, the real answer.

Age 9-29: I think I'm gay. Do I ignore it and hope it goes away, or do I find out more about what it might mean for me? From 9-18, I ignored it. From 18-19, I fell in love and got my heart broken. From 19-29 I fought it. At 29, I fell in love with Beloved and the world opened up.

And I knew what to do.

What I believe, in six words

I was listening to an interesting Valentine's Day podcast last night (yup, I'm a bit behind...) about the six-word love story project underway at SMITH magazine. (and the ongoing six-word memoir project.) It was engaging, entertaining, fascinating. Check the link for more stories. It was begun my a six-word story by Ernest Hemingway:

For sale: baby shoes. Never worn.

There's a novel in that. What economy! Up at the magazine this morning:

Morning coffee tastes different without you.
Child in hospital. Heart losing hope.
Tried men. Tried women. Like cats.
Quit my dad's dreams. Found mine.

It got me thinking...what if we tried to tell our faith stories in six words? It's harder than I thought. I have two, as of this morning:

Lutheran musician, insider, outsider. Aaaaaahhhhh, grace.
God makes, saves, loves. I try.

What do you believe? Please post!

Ash Wednesday: sabbath of the soul

I got this today from Inward/Outward. I think it's rather wonderful.

Humility is not a matter of beating ourselves up.
It is not a question of judging ourselves
as stupid or sinful, as hopeless and bad.
Who are we to judge these things?
Humility, for John [St. John of the Cross],
is the gentle acceptance of that most tender place inside ourselves
that throbs with the pain of separation from the Beloved.
It is that deep knowingness that identification with the false self
brings nothing but further separation.
It is an initially reluctant dropping down
into the emptiness
and an ultimate experience of peace
when we stop doing
and rediscover simple being.
It is the Sabbath of the soul
when we heed the call to cease creating
and remember that we are created.

--Mirabai Starr

Our theme at my church, this Lent, is "Renewed by Floods of Grace." It's from a hymn that we'll be learning and using all season, with a wonderful text by Ruth Duck. She begins

Remember and rejoice, renewed by floods of grace:
we bear the sign of Jesus Christ, that time cannot erase.

I know a lot of people who see Lent as a time in which we beat ourselves up for being hopeless sinners. They got that impression from years of Lenten services that emphasize our sinfulness to the point of creating a distorted view of our relationship with God.

I believe it may be true, as Martin Luther allegedly said on his deathbed, that "We are all beggars." But I think that people need hope even more than they need bread (with the exception of Eucharist, which is both).

Penitence is necessary sometimes, and today's remembrance of the brokenness of our nature and our world is helpful because it locates us in reality. But we need to be careful not to leave people in the dust.

Our location within God's grace is necessary all the time.

Living on $1/day in Afghanistan

Heard a fascinating, sobering interview on The World this evening. Jennifer McCarthy is trying to eat for $1/day in Faryab, Afghanistan. Follow along with her here.

Human Sexuality: Gift and Trust

First, some definitions.

Me: child of God, member of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA), seminary-educated professional church musician eligible for rostered leadership in all ways but one: I'm a lesbian who has been with my partner since 1997, who had a big church wedding in 2007. My best friend B is also a partnered lesbian, which is the one giant stumbling block in her journey toward ordination.

ELCA: Publicly proclaims this. Structured like this. Governed like this, with the next Churchwide Assembly taking place in my hometown next August.

At that Assembly, voting members will decide whether or not to adopt as ELCA policy a social statement entitled "Human Sexuality: Gift and Trust," which has been crafted over the last two years by a task force which was convened to study and articulate a proposed ELCA position on matters of human sexuality. The catalyst for this discussion is the disagreement on issues pertaining to homosexuality:

• tolerance/recognition/blessing of committed same-gender relationships
  
• ordination of homosexual persons in committed same-gender relationships
  

I suspect that service on that task force may be the most excruciating, thankless job in history. I honor and thank its members for their careful, respectful work.

Along with the draft of the Social Statement, they have proposed recommendations for action by the Churchwide Assembly which take place in four steps, each succeeding step considered only if the one before it has passed:

Step one asks the Churchwide Assembly whether, in principle, it is committed to finding ways to allow congregations and synods that choose to do so to recognize, support, and hold publicly accountable life-long, monogamous, same-gender relationships.

Step two asks the Churchwide Assembly whether, in principle, this church is committed to finding a way for people in such publicly accountable, life-long, monogamous, same-gender relationships to serve as rostered leaders of this church.

Step three asks this Church whether, in the future implementation of these commitments, it will make decisions so that all in this church bear the burdens of the other, and respect the bound consciences of all. This means that any solution that serves only the conscience-bound positions of one or another part of this church will not be acceptable.

Step four proposes how this Church can move toward change in a way that respects the bound consciences of all. It recognizes that such respect will lead to diversity of practice. However, the majority of the task force believes that the conscience-bound lack of consensus will be respected most faithfully by providing some structured flexibility in decision-making so that congregations and synods may choose whether or not to approve or call people in publicly accountable, lifelong, monogamous, same-gender relationships to serve on ELCA rosters.

My bishop notes that

In this way, the assembly will decide whether to create "space" for congregations and synods to publicly recognize and hold accountable the relationship of same-gendered couples (step one), and (step two) whether our Church ought to find ways to allow the rostered ministry of such persons.

The task force acknowledges that conscience-bound faithful Christians find themselves on different sides of this issue. The task force also acknowledges that we are bound not only in our own consciences but in love to the conscience of the other. Because of the lack of consensus in our Church, the task force believes that we need to respect our differences and accept the different places in which the baptized find themselves. The recommendation affirms that our distinctive positions on this issue should not be church dividing. No congregation will be pressured to call any pastor they do not wish to call.

Now...all that having been said, what do I think? Mostly, I think they've done a good job. Their recommendation includes a reference to Luther's declaration, while speaking in his own defense at the Diet of Worms, that he was bound in conscience by the Word of God and that "It is neither safe nor right to go against conscience." The report continues,

The emphasis of "conscience-bound" is not on declaring oneself to be conscience-bound. Rather, we are bound in love by the conscience of the other--that is, we recognize the conscience-bound nature of the convictions of others in the community of Christ. For Lutherans, the reality that people hold convictions from deep faith that may be in conflict with the deep faith convictions of others is not merely a procedural or political difficulty. As sisters and brothers in Christ we bear one another's burdens. For one member to suffer because her or his conscience has been offended is for all of us to suffer...the task force asks members of this church to join them in a commitment to honor conscience-bound decisions. However, the recognize that such honoring may lead to some diversity of practice within this church. ...nevertheless, the task force invites this church to continue and even deepen its ability to concentrate on finding ways to live together faithfully in the midst of our disagreements.

In other words, as conscience-bound Christians, each of us is entitled, after prayerfully sweating out our own theological position, to say with Luther, "Here I stand. I can do no other. God help me." But we need to recognize that it may cost us everything. And this task force wants very much for us to remember that, while we're all living in our own deepest truths, we must try to trust that others are also doing so...and to take their commitment as seriously as our own, that we might not break the Body.

I have to say, that's a large thing to ask of anyone...especially a member of an oppressed minority or (I must admit) someone who's staked their life's work and their soul on a particular position, whatever that may be. Ay, there's the rub. But that is part of what I love about being a Lutheran--these conversations are serious, and we're all asked to do the hard stuff.

Finally, toward the end:

Most, but not all, members of the task force believe that it is undesirable and unrealistic to continue with existing policy in its present form. They feel this approach would fail to honor the conscience-bound lack of consensus in this church. They also believe that continuing current policy does not serve the mission and ministry of this church in instances where a member in a publicly accountable, lifelong, monogamous, same-gender relationship is the person determined to be best suited for a particular call...though no policy can be fully in accord with this church's diversity of convictions, the majority of the task force believes that the conscience-bound lack of consensus will be respected most faithfully by providing for some level of structured flexibility of decision-making.

In other words, they're:

• recommending a "local option" scenario, while
• asking us to remember that we're all members of one Body of Christ and
• recognizing that this will be painful for most people, to varying degrees. No one gets everything they want.

Seems pretty positive to me...which is an evolution from my initial "justice is justice, dammit" standpoint. Viva la revolucion, and all that.

It's funny--though I want to, I still can't quite trust that that bigotry and lack of understanding aren't at the root of the "anti-change" position; however, I can recognize that it isn't necessarily productive to demand that people change their hearts and minds, This Instant.

Kahlil Gibran once described pain as the "cracking of the shell that encompasses your present understanding." I think that this document acknowledges that everyone, on every side, needs to be willing to experience that cracking open...to bear the pain for the sake of their sisters and brothers, for the Body of Christ. That's vigorously Christian. I like it.

I also like "gift and trust," and think it can only be positive for all relationships to be lived out in the light of day...as long as the "public accountability" is offered in the same spirit of public support that is offered to hetero relationships. Their careful definition of "conscience bound" is helpful, as well, I think--it demands that we take seriously the conscience of the Other, as much as our own.

This is an evolutionary, but not a revolutionary position. Pragmatically speaking, I think this has a chance of appealing to everyone enough to move the church forward. I'd like that. I want my friend B to be ordained; she has a clearer call to it than almost anyone I know.

Also noted--from what I've read thus far of the Statement, it seems a bit grimmer than it might be; not so much emphasis on the "sexuality as created gift" part as on the "we're sinners saved by grace" part. Bit of a buzz-kill. :-)

And, admittedly, though my rational mind sees this effort as positive (assuming, of course, that it's passed by the Assembly next August) part of me still screams "Now! Now! Full inclusion and recognition NOW! Justice!" Because it's true that "separate but equal" is usually neither.

But, in our human framework, justice almost never rolls like God's waters in a mighty stream, matter how cathartic and satisfying the idea of it is. Usually it arrives an inch at a time, and that because some folks really put their backs into it.

I think that the Task Force did. I hope that the voting Assembly will think so, too, and will be brave enough to allow the shell around our Church's present understanding to crack.

I'm cautiously optimistic.

Your damaged angel-in-waiting

Here's an interesting article on Wally Lamb's work with prison inmates who want to write.

In writing, as in life, voice is crucial.
Your voice has been honed
by your family, your ethnic heritage,
your neighborhood, and your education.
It is the music of what you mean in the world.
Imitate no one.
Your uniqueness -- your authenticity -- is your strength.

--WL

Heartbeat

Beloved and I saw these extraordinary musicians on Sunday night. Click the link, play the video and TURN IT UP.

It's been awhile since I've felt like my very heartbeat was altered by a musical experience (usually I keep things at a sensible, "protect my hearing," "don't irritate the neighbors" level). Coincidentally, one translation of the group's name is "heartbeat."

Brilliantly revealing of Japanese culture. Joyous. Arresting. Adjectives fail.

SEE THEM if you get an opportunity!

People of the Book go sailing

One of my favorite movie lines ever is from the comedy "What About Bob?" Bob (Bill Murray) is multiphobic, almost panphobic, and has stalked Dr. Marvin, his therapist (Richard Dreyfuss) to his vacation home, hoping for some attention and help. Anna Marvin coaxes Bob onto her friend's sailboat, with this result:




For Bob, this brand-new experience is a defining moment--it becomes part of his self-descriptive narrative. And that's where the "funny" lives. Because he's only experienced one aspect of what it is to be a sailor...he's literally all tied up in knots.

Well, as for me: I'm a reader! I read! Reading is central to my makeup.

• Fiction and poetry teach me to imagine new worlds, and to see the one I'm in more clearly and completely.
• The Bible shapes me, along with academic-type study of various subjects. I get all excited about things like historical/critical interpretation, about peeling away the crunchy intellectual layers to find the chewy center.
• I understand music most immediately through listening, but also through navigation of a printed score. I don't seem to have much of a "jam" gene; rather, my bent as a singer or a conductor is to combine the forces of imagination/imagery, textual interpretation, historical understanding, and music theory. I try to understand the pieces and then do what they ask of me...to blow into the "sails" of the song. At its best, it's as alive as a jam session that really cooks; it's just a somewhat different path to the same destination.
  

I was at a choral workshop recently with Craig Arnold. He said that it's our job, as singers and conductors, to understand what's on the page and to bring it to life...in our voices, our faces, our bodies, whatever it takes to fully present the message of that particular piece of music.

The page as a bearer of meaning...a means to an end, not an end in itself. Hmmm...interesting.

If you've ever sung in (or heard) a choir that has rendered a piece of music completely, you know what that "bringing to life" feels like. It's as if everyone is moved by the same gust of wind at that exact moment, and we're all sailing. Conversely, if you've ever sung in (or heard) a choir that sort plods through their piece, you also know what I mean. Like Bob, we can get sort of tied up in knots--so focused on what our next note/consonant sound/vowel sound/dynamic marking is that we miss the deeper meaning. It's easy to keep our heads down and just look at the next thing in front of us. But it doesn't make very interesting music. If you're singing "alleluia" with a frown on your face, that creates cognitive dissonance for the listener, who then frowns with you. And the "alleluia," which was the point of the thing, gets lost.

We Western types are, in many senses, People of the Book. We read to discover, to understand, to learn. I don't think this is problematic, in and of itself; it's one of our points of origin, a characteristic of growing up in the Western world.

However, if we get stuck to the page, we miss out on the geist of the thing.

Music from oral traditions is passed on in a very different way. For example, in many parts of Africa, a child wishing to learn to drum starts out by listening to the drummers of his (yep, usually it's a guy thing) village, who repeat complex, polyrhythmic patterns beneath the improvisations of the master drummers. The child might be a listener for a l-o-n-g time before he's given a drum and a simple pattern to play. As the child's ear and technique improve, he's allowed into the more complex workings of the ensemble. This takes years, and there's no paper involved anywhere.

Folk songs of every culture are handed down by, well, singing them. Simple, memorable melodies with simple accompaniments (if any) are handed down, generation by generation by making music together. Again, no paper.

The beauty of the paper is that it's able to transmit a large amount of complex information pretty economically. It's researchable, it leaves time for pondering, and often, it charts more than one possible route to its destination. But paper is only a starting point; the music doesn't live until it lives in our bodies.

I know that my choirs sing better when they can get off the page. More and more, I'm making opportunities for that to happen--having a longer curve of rehearsals, so that we can memorize (or get close to memorization of) the mechanics, in order to enter into real conversation with our congregation/audience. There is generally some grumbling about this; most of us are middle-aged, and memorization takes a bit more effort than in those halcyon days of our youth. :-)

But it's not just about the freedom of movement and communication we gain by not having to hold music. There's something intangible at work here, too. It's about having the discipline to turn ourselves into artists...into sailors. If we don't somehow internalize the message of the page (music, poetry, Scripture), we won't have access to it when its moment comes.

We study so that we may practice well. We practice so that we may participate in the creative process of the Holy Spirit. In other words, we study and practice so that we may live.

Madeleine L'Engle talked about her piano practice as a way both of preparing herself and of inviting the Holy Spirit's presence...of readying herself for that moment in which the Holy Spirit would come:

Hugh and I heard Rudolf Serkin play Beethoven's Appassionata Sonata
in Symphony Hall, many years ago.
It was one of those great unpredictable moments.
When the last notes had been lost in the silence,
the crowd not only applauded, cheered, stamped, we stood on our chairs.
This doesn't happen often in Boston.

But if Serkin did not practice eight hours a day,
every day,
the moment of inspiration,
when it came,
would have been lost.
Nothing would have happened;
there would have been no instrument
through which the revelation could be revealed.

I'm not suggesting that church choirs should practice eight hours a day. But I AM suggesting that, as conductors, we must invite our singers into the adventure of the thing; that we never let the phrase "just a church choir" pass our lips; that we take seriously their commitment and artistry; and that we help them to prepare themselves musically (mechanically, intellectually, spiritually) for that moment of inspiration--the moment in which the Spirit comes.

I'm suggesting that we take 'em sailing.

Friday five: raindrops, kittens, kettles, mittens

Songbird of the RevGals writes: In a week of wondering how various things in our family life will unfold, I found myself thinking of the way Maria comforted the Von Trapp children in one of my favorite movies. Frightened by a thunder storm, the children descend upon her, and she sings to them about her favorite things, taking their minds off the storm. So, let's encourage ourselves. Share with us five of your favorite things. Use words or pictures, whatever expresses it best.

Up-front bonus answer: As it happens, Songbirds question comes from my favorite movie, of which I know every word. My first time seeing it was in utero, at the Coronado Theatre in Rockford, IL--and my family watched it together on TV (as it got shorter and shorter, edited to increase commercial time) every year. It was the first video...and then the first DVD I bought. Much better when viewed in its entirety!

Now, on with our program:

1. Home. My wife, my pups, the colors and clutter and comfort of our house. More musical instruments than we can play, my stack of "to read" books, photos of loved ones, our very eclectic CD collection and an absolutely gorgeous kitchen table (expands to seat 10 friends). Snuggling up together (all 4 of us) to watch a movie and have some hot kettle corn & a cold diet coke.

2. Making music. I have the privilege of leading three musical groups, two of them choirs, and it's terrific. I plan the music we'll work on, some guidance, some criticism, some encouragement, some insight; they bring their generosity and goodwill and sense of humor. We make something beautiful, we mess up, we laugh, and we grow together. Fantastic.


3. Hammock/book/beer in a warmer,slower season than this one--or a crackling fire/marshmallows/cocoa. First activity is solitary; second is best enjoyed with loved ones!


4. Discovering a new, wonderful author. I heard of John Updike's death a week or so ago, and realized that I'd never read anything he'd written. This seemed like a situation that should be remedied. I bought this book, which is intelligent, insightful and harrowing. It opens me, in that way really good writers can. And he's got a long list of books to savor.


5. Scandinavian baked goods. If it's beige, sweet, and flavored with almonds chances are good I'll like it. It's not just the sweets themselves, though they're wonderful. My (Norwegian!) grandma worked in a Swedish bakery and always had a treat for me when I came in. I miss her! Krumkake, skorpa, sandbakkels, pepparkakor, kransekake...mmmmmm.