So what's this Choir Pilgrimage about anyway?

Exeter Cathedral

Exactly three months after Easter Sunday, our choir will embark on our 125^th anniversary pilgrimage to England, where we’ll sing as choir-in-residence at Exeter Cathedral and at our namesake church, St. Martin-in-the-Fields, Trafalgar Square, London. I am honored to be able to take our choir on this trip, and am counting the days until departure. I am very fortunate to have attended two similar choral pilgrimages with the Choir of St. Paul’s Cathedral in Erie PA; these trips moved me deeply, and remain in the forefront my memory. I am eager to add to these memories this summer.

We are rehearsing to sing six Evensongs and one Eucharist in one week – that’s 27 choral pieces, not including psalms and hymns. The musical preparations are exhausting, but very much part of the journey, and just as important as the actual services. Singing in a massive, ancient Cathedral will be a powerful experience, but the routine of daily Evensong will make an indelible mark on each of us.

A word about Evensong – this is something that no other church has. Other denominations have similar services such as Vespers or Evening Prayer, but Evensong is much more than a service. It is a culture. While the Church of England reports low attendance generally, Evensong, especially in Cathedrals, remains attended, and is broadcasted on radio and television. In fact, a recent rise in Cathedral attendance is said to be directly related to daily Evensong: http://www.economist.com/blogs/prospero/2014/03/cathedral-choirs

There is much to be said about this. Every Evensong, two canticles are sung, the Magnificat (Song of Mary) and the Nunc Dimittis (Song of Simeon) – I’m going to focus on the Magnificat.

My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Savior.
For he hath regarded the lowliness of his handmaiden.
For behold from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed.
For he that is mighty hath magnified me, and holy is his Name.
And his mercy is on them that fear him throughout all generations.
He hath showed strength with his arm; he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble and meek.
He hath filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he hath sent empty away.
He remembering his mercy hath holpen his servant Israel, as he promised to our forefathers, Abraham and his seed for ever.
Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit: as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever. Amen.

St. Martin-in-the-Fields, Trafalgar Square, London

What weighty words Mary has given us to pray! It’s the whole Bible in a handful of verses: God, doing the unexpected, turning the tables on the powerful, exalting the lowly. Everything that we know about the world is wrong – the rich get nothing, the poor get everything. God’s ways are not our own. There is something deeply mystical about singing the Magnificat every day for a week. At our church, singing Evensong only once a month, the Magnificat takes a tone of joy and praise, a loud cry of exultation. When sung every day, it becomes a powerful rhythm, so slow and so deep that we can barely hear it. This rhythm has pulsed every day for centuries, for millennia even. It pulsed from the earliest stories of Genesis, in the Exodus from Egypt, through the resurrection of Christ, and continues to pulse today. It pulses whenever we find God in a way we didn’t expect, doing things that we didn’t expect to happen. I was first able to hear this unfathomable rhythm only after a week of singing the Magnificat. The implication of the words becomes quieter, but much more pronounced, when this is a daily routine; you begin to notice things you didn’t see before when Mary’s words continuously swirl in your head. I genuinely hope that everyone on our pilgrimage will pick up on this rhythm, and follow its beat for the rest of our lives. Once you’ve heard it, you begin to hear it everywhere.

                  A few more thoughts – it’s easy to look at this trip as a pleasure-tour, seeing the sights and singing in an exotic space. This tour will be great fun, and we will be sight-seeing. But at the same time, during our residency, WE will be the Cathedral choir. We will be the mouth of the church, proclaiming God’s earth-shaking message through Mary’s words. Maybe the church will be filled, and maybe we’ll be singing for a dozen souls. Either way, God will be with us, using our voices to feed others and ourselves – we can expect that God will work in ways we don’t expect. 

- Erik Meyer, Music Director

St. Martin's Chancel Choir sings Evensong monthly, on the first Sunday of the month, from October to June. The music sung at the spring Evensongs is being prepared for the Choir's Pilgrimage in July in honor of St. Martin's 125th anniversary. 

The final two Evesongs of the season will be held at 5:00 p.m. on May 4 and June 1. On May 4, join us immediately following the Evensong for a Silent Auction fundraiser in support of the trip. More information and a list of items may be found here. On June 1st join us to wish the choir well as we commission them for their journey. The pilgrimage will take place July 19-28, 2014.

“… Not in that poor lowly stable …”

“Christmas is coming, the goose (gander?) is getting fat …” It is an interesting time of year.  Without going into details, December always feels two-faced to me – an ideal image of warm sentimentality and good-will juxtaposed against a more realistic frenzy of greed, being overcommitted, and exhaustion.  I’m sure everyone deals with these or similar emotions; but this season takes a unique toll on musicians (and especially church musicians).

While I’m fond of our Christmas hymns, I often have difficulty enjoying them, because in my mind they’ve become associated with stress, panic, and quite frankly, fear (fear of playing something wrong, omitting that special carol and therefore ruining someone’s holiday, or not playing it “the way it’s supposed to be played”.)  Eventually, we musicians build up defenses to help deflect the stress and keep our sanity.  This can take the form of alternate words to carols, hilarious Facebook posts about playing “The Nutcracker” 19 times in 12 days, or being able to play Handel’s “Messiah” in retrograde inversion.  (I can completely play Bach’s “Wachet auf” with the right hand starting one eighth-beat behind.  In college I would sing “All We Like Sheep have Gone Astray” one beat behind and a whole step down (under my breath and only in rehearsal, of course)).

So how do I deal with the season?  I reckon that I’ve performed “O Come All Ye Faithful” over 500 times, and that’s not an exaggeration.  It’s become difficult to enjoy the more sentimental carols.  And what’s worse, I get a sick sense of superiority when I point out that “We Three Kings” is incorrect, as the Magi were in fact not kings, and that there’s actually no biblical reference to three of them (just three gifts).  I also love to roll my eyes when the angels appear “singing sweetly through the night”, because if the heavenly host appeared before me I would probably need a new pair of underpants.  And of course, there’s the countless references to snow, which rarely falls in Bethlehem.  (but it does on rare occasion, and when it does, it’s beautiful.)

Again – I love these hymns and the cultural train which flows from them.  But my eyes will be dry when we sing “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” or even “Silent Night” (if these give you tears of joy, that’s wonderful.)  HOWEVER – there still are a few Christmas carols that can strike me in the heart; these usually go far beyond the image of a cuddly baby in a snow-covered manger with cherub angels hovering around.

Everyone knows the iconic first verse of “Once in Royal David’s City.”  But this hymn is less about the birth of Christ, and more suited to Christ’s second coming:

And our eyes at last shall see him, through his own redeeming love;
For that child who seemed so helpless is our Lord in heaven above;
And he leads his children on to the place where he is gone. 

Not in that poor lowly stable, with the oxen standing round,
We shall see him; but in heaven, where his saints his throne surround:
Christ, revealed to faithful eye, set at God’s right hand on high.

A modern hymn by American composer David Hurd, “A Stable Lamp is Lighted” is in our hymnal (#104) – the text is written by Richard Wilbur (© GIA Publications). Again, the first verse paints a gentle image of the stable, but the hymn is really about Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross (maybe this is why this hymn struggles to become a popular Christmas carol?)  What strikes me most is the subtle change in the meaning of “and every stone shall cry”, from verse to verse: 

A stable-lamp is lighted whose glow shall wake the sky;
The stars shall bend their voices, and every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry, and straw like gold shall shine;
A barn shall harbor heaven, a stall become a shrine. 

 This child through David’s city shall ride in triumph by;
The palm shall strew its branches, and every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry, though heavy, dull, and dumb,
And lie within the roadway to pave his kingdom come. 

Yet he shall be forsaken, and yielded up to die;
The sky shall groan and darken, and every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry for stony hearts of men:
God’s blood upon the spearhead, God’s love refused again. 

 But now, as at the ending, the low is lifted high;
The stars shall bend their voices, and every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry, in praises of the child,
By whose descent among us, the worlds are reconciled.

Finally, although Christina Rossetti’s most famous hymn begins with a very English (ie: not Middle Eastern) “earth stood hard as iron … snow had fallen, snow on snow”.  The last verse is simply perfect: 

What can I give him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a wise man, I would do my part;
yet what I can I give him: give my heart.

- Erik Meyer

Not What I Expected

Wednesday, October 2^nd, began as a typical day for me.  Meeting, desk work, playing for St. James School’s weekly mass, and Treble Choir rehearsal.  In the middle of the afternoon, I checked my email.  The Philadelphia Orchestra had announced a free “Pop Up” concert that evening.  They were supposed to play in Carnegie Hall, NYC, that evening, but were sent away (tail between their legs) due to a stagehands’ union strike.  The orchestra, en route back to Philadelphia, quickly organized a fun concert of lighter classics, and sent the word out via social media.  (see the parable of the marriage feast, Matthew 22)

After Treble Choir rehearsal, I was tired, ready to go home.  I almost did just that – but a feeling of guilt stopped me.  Since the concert was announced barely five hours before it began, surely the hall would be far from full.  Playing for a small audience can be demoralizing.  I decided I would go, because I feared an empty hall, echoing with the empty claps of a couple hundred people, and I could empathize with the musicians who pour themselves into their art when nobody seems to be listening.

I arrived just minutes before it began.  Verizon Hall was completely packed.  It was abuzz with an energy that I had never felt before – and was filled with a broader spectrum of age, race, and class than I had never seen before.  The players were wearing bright colors, the audience in everything from suits to ripped jeans.  I crawled my way into the middle of the orchestra section – a seat I couldn’t afford at a regular concert. 

The concertmaster walked on stage.  The audience went into a roar of applause.  He clearly didn’t know what to make of it – he gave a nervous look, a nod to acknowledge the audience’s fervor.  The clapping continued.  The orchestra could hardly tune.  Maestro Yannick walked onto the stage, and the applause returned to a wild roar.  It was like a rock concert!  Yannick soaked up the applause graciously and the concert began.

Now, I have been to many concerts, heard orchestras of many different abilities, with audiences of many different levels of appreciation (for lack of a better word), in many different settings.  My expectation, after seeing this crowd and hearing their untamed applause, was that this was going to be a concert where people talk audibly during each piece, text on their phones, and walk around at will as if the concert were a sporting event.  I was completely wrong.  This was one of the most sophisticated audiences I had ever sat with.  The silence during the performance was profound, with the exception of the occasional cry of a young child (truly, a child’s occasional noise worries parents far more than it bothers concertgoers).  At the moment the first piece ended, the audience jumped to its feet and screamed their appreciation.  I had never seen anything like it!  I felt the most amazing feeling of community and belonging, knowing that this packed concert hall was the city’s way of giving the orchestra a much-needed hug after being booted from NYC.  This concert became more than audience listening to performers – as much as the audience loved and responded to the music, the orchestra loved and responded to the audience.  It was a jam session and everyone was invited.

Yannick broke a major “rule” and invited the audience to vote on what piece they would play next.  Like a game show, the audience cheered for the selection they wanted most.  I tell you, it could have been “The Price is Right”, with the screaming I heard.  While the orchestra played the winning piece, a young boy passionately conducted along with Yannick, in plain sight of both the maestro and the rest of the audience.  For some reason, this was completely acceptable and everybody seemed to love it.

Next, an unlikely conductor was brought up to conduct the orchestra – a ten-year-old girl.  (Isaiah 11:6)  She was very brave and very smart!  She was an instant hit with the audience and the orchestra – I had never seen such smiles on the players, and the audience helped her keep a steady tempo by clapping – again, not a tacky, drunken Oktoberfest sort of clapping, but instead, a reaction that was completely natural.  By this time I had discerned that my neighbors were both also big fans of the orchestra – and all three of us were happily breaking “the rules” by clapping, conducting in our seats.  We shared stories about performances we had heard, like old friends.  Never was this music amusing (literally, “non-thinking”); it fully engaged the soul.  Throughout the rest of the evening, I saw the players laugh out loud, make jokes at maestro Yannick, and simply be human, along with the rest of us mere mortals.

I am nearly ten years out of college now; back in school, it was so easy to hold onto high ideals and dreams.  Out of school, I have found the professional world much more brutal and rejecting than I had imagined.  But after this concert last Wednesday, my belief in music to cross human-imposed boundaries and bring a city together (especially in light of government shutdowns and the array of soul-crushing news that bombards us every single day) was renewed.

So how does this apply to our life of faith at St. Martin’s?  I sincerely hope that at every service, the music we make is in the same spirit of Wednesday’s Philadelphia Orchestra concert.  As much as the choir sings for those in the pews, I hope the people in the pews sing for the choir.  I hope that anyone who comes into our building feeling rejected, overwhelmed, burdened, hurt, or whatever, is healed by what we do – and not a “come to church, get a dose of religion” kind of healed – a healing that is a wake-up call to the soul, a reminder that indeed there is a force of good working in our world, and that people care and want to improve things.  Every person who walks in our doors should find relief from the world’s rigid expectations and seek who they were called to be.

Like the imaginary (well, mostly imaginary) “rules” of the concert hall, the world has a complete and complex system of rules that govern our lives.  What a horrible thing we humans do to ourselves and each other!  What are the rules that govern our worship services?  How are we perceived by those outside our community?  Which of these is right and good, and which are bad or a hindrance to our mission?  Like the Philadelphia Orchestra, we have a wealth of gifts to share, and to not share these gifts would indeed be a sin.

I also sincerely believe that we did just that this last Sunday – the musical gifts of the choirs, the nourishing gifts of those behind Wellspring, and the many other spiritual gifts of the congregation.  These, like the musical gifts of the orchestra, are something worth passing on – indeed, too good not to share!

- Erik Meyer