The Caged Bird Finally Sings

It's been years. Years upon years since I last sang.

Time takes a toll on the voice, and for so long, I was actually afraid to sing. Afraid that I'd go back to my "diva" attitude which was actually completely unintentional from the start.

But one day at Mass, the choir was so beautiful and I was so taken up into prayer by that beauty that I knew it was finally time to sing again. As if it were a direct message from God, that day at the end of Mass there was an announcement that they were looking for choir members.  My heart rose and crashed at the same time; I am not available, ever, for their regular practice time. I couldn't join the choir.

In hope, though, I approached the Music Director, introduced myself and explained that I wanted to sing, used to cantor long, long ago, and that I couldn't join the choir. Might she have a place for me?

Just then a friend of mine passed by and we greeted each other. She agreed immediately (never having ever heard me sing) that I could Cantor with her. I urged the MD to "audition" me, insisting I might not be good enough. I know full well I don't have the range I used to possess and I, like everyone else, loathe bad cantors who don't know when to step down.

In our culture of entitlement and "self-esteem", far too many people are doing things they simply don't have the gifts to actually carry out.

My first rehearsal with my friend went well and our voices blended well together. That weekend as we sang together, it was beautiful, if not perfect (on my part).  The sound guy approached us afterwards and said he couldn't tell us apart, and expressed that he hoped we'd often sing together for that Mass.

It was a good start, and I was happy.

Tonight I sang again. But this week's rehearsal in preparation didn't go well and I know well my voice is not up to par. Not yet. For all I know, maybe not ever. But the Music Director didn't seem concerned, and I remained grateful to be able to sing with someone else; a friend who is much better than I am!  I knew that I could back off if I couldn't hit the note. She could.

Unfortunately, we weren't able to rehearse together this week, so I let her take all the solo parts. Even though I practiced them, and in fact, because I practiced them, I realized I simply couldn't do it. She was gracious and offered me these solos, but I turned them down in good conscience, out of a desire that the liturgy be beautiful.

Back in High School when I cantored, I admit I reveled in being a soloist. I loved it! Especially considering that I hadn't learned until Jr. High sometime that I actually had a good voice. To put it to use was amazing! And to receive accolades, however informal, was more amazing still!

All of us grow up, though, and having been away from the Church, and from singing for a very long time, I now come back with a different attitude.

First, I don't have the voice I had then, so there is cause for very conscious humility. (And that is NOT an oxymoron!). Secondly, I now know quite well what the Mass is about and Whom is to be honored, and it ain't me! Thirdly....it's a privilege to be able to sing, to Cantor the Mass. To truly pray, in song, the Mass in leading the other worshippers in those prayers.

I've learned that time takes a toll on the voice, but it tempers the soul, and as imperfect as I am, it is good to know that perhaps I still have something to offer. Maybe it's not that pretty right now, and maybe it never will be. But it's something, it's adequate and thank God that He is giving me the chance once again to sing for Him.

Thank you, Jesus.

Serious Air Force Amazingness!

Seriously, you have GOT to check out the pipes on this Air Force (National Guard?) Staff Sergeant Angie Johnson and the rest of the band, the Sidewinders:



The Intelligence from YouTube gives us the background on this incredible force:

Air Force Staff Sgt. Angie Johnson and Sidewinder perform a cover of "Rolling in the Deep'" by Adele. Sidewinder is part of the 571st Air Force Band, 131st Bomb Wing, Air National Guard. They are deployed as the U.S. Air Forces Central Command Band.

Sidewinder is Capt John Arata - officer in charge, keyboards, fiddle; Tech. Sgt. Kevin Maret - NCO in charge, percussion; Tech. Sgt. John Cavanaugh - operations/logistics, bass; Tech. Sgt. Joseph Castilleja - guitar; Staff Sgt. Tobias Callaway - saxophone; Staff Sgt. Ransom Miller - trumpet; Staff Sgt. Devin LaRue - trombone, guitar, keyboards; Staff Sgt. Brian Owens - vocals; Staff Sgt. Angie Johnson - vocals; Staff Sgt. Sean Navarro - Audio, Trombone

If you're not rockin' out with Sgt. Angie and Sidewinder and company on this, there's something seriously wrong with you.

OK, and really...check out that violin and hit that guitar....absorb those drums and return the echo.

I gotta be honest...I could sing this song and hit the notes, but I couldn't sing it with abandon, the proper vocal tone and hit every  note, every word, and embrace it with the same SOUL Sgt. Johnson hits with with such complete and effortless abandon. That is a true gift from God!

Dang. I'd be honored to sing backup for her, anything to bring out her vocals even MORE.

Is Sgt. Angie and Sidewinder releasing a album any time soon?

If I were dying, my wish would be to sing backup on their cover recording of this song. (No offense to Adele! I just love our Troops!)

** ** **

Um, well, OK then, nothing to see here and stop listening to Adoro [try to] sing in her car, shower, or livingroom! 

Move on..nothing to see here...nothing to hear  here...

Some things are just plain 'way bigger than a blog can contain...

Growing Up

Adulthood is never what children perceive it will be.

From a child's perspective, when one finally "grows up", they will be respected, have money to spend, get to sit at the adult's table at family reunions, and not have to go to bed when the best shows are on TV or the best things happening in the neighborhood.

Yeah, from a child's perspective, things in adulthood are all peachy and perfect.

I wish it was really like that. 

You know that some days I sit up and think, "Oh my gosh! I am just a kid! Where is there an adult to go to in order to handle this problem! Help!"  Then I stumble across a a mirror, see the wrinkles and sags, the weight gain and, well...the oldness...and realize there isn't anyone to go to anymore.

And even worse, more and more, I find I am becoming like one or the other of my parents, for better or worse.

The most tragic part of that fact is this: no matter how much I aspire to their greatest virtues, I seem to have made my own their most grievous faults. I have become the sum of the fall of my parents. 

Nobody's Mom and Dad are perfect. Nobody's! No matter how well-to-do or how impoverished, every family, in modern pop-psychology terms, is "dysfunctional".  Welcome to the human race. In ancient times and theology that was called "concupiscence", but in modern times, we poo-pooh that away by labeling it with things such as "dysfunction" and "co-dependence".

Oh, fogeddabodit! Let's just get to the point and recognize we're all a bunch of sinners in need of salvation, and yeah, we've been harmed by the sins of others! So what? How does that make anyone a victim?

Sorry, got off on a rant there for a bit.

Every so often, I fall into the Oprah-victim-pity-pot of interior destruction. Oh, to see her big brown eyes well up with tears for my familial demise....cry me a river. Seriously, is there anyone who DOESN'T deserve to be on now-defunct Oprah?

Tonight I fell into that trap for a short period. I thought about how, as a child, I was bullied. Always, in fact. I always had a hard time fitting in, and I think the reason was two-pronged:  Mom had a difficult time socially for a few reasons, and, well we were poor and from the wrong side of town. Dad was a great guy, everyone loved him, he loved everyone, but let's face it; he wasn't an over-achiever unless he was drunk, and then he was living what he wanted to be but was always denied because of his congenital disability. (My parents were bullied as children and as adults, too. Dad died, but Mom continues to be bullied by her own siblings.)

[I don't care what age you live in, but your social circumstances and family hierarchy dictate how you are treated by others. You cannot legislate that away. Period.] 

So...I was pondering my childhood today, often an exercise in futility. Recently I came across a piece of music and if my piccolo wasn't so in need of repair, if my embouchure wasn't so in need of practice and retraining, if only I could remember how to finger the notes...I think I could pick up either a flute or piccolo and play the piece. In fact I did, in a dream, and it was incredible. If only that had been real life!

It was this that made me ponder so much, for my love of music is often met by the resistance of memories I wish I could forget.

You know the movie "A Christmas Story"? 

Yeah, well, as children my brother and I begged for a piano because we both loved music as did Mom, as did my Dad, whose father was a musician, teacher, and salesman in a music store.

One Christmas we came home to...a two-octave organ, totally mechanical sound (computers do better now...far better, far more realistic), complete with set drum beats, "trumpet" sounds and others that sounded NOTHING like the actual instruments, and after only a few weeks of "piano" lessons that took us far beyond what the limited keyboard allowed, both of us [necessarily] quit lessons and the organ gathered dust until Mom finally managed to pay someone to take it away.

That took years, by the way. It was our fishnet-legged lamp in the window and I'll never forget my disgust. I suspect that's why Mom was so enthusiastic after their divorce, to spring for a flute for me when I was finally able to choose an instrument in 5th grade. (In the US, that's when public schools began musical instruction). Granted it was rented, but she didn't put up a fight with any substitutes like trumpet (which I also took up in high school) or clarinet (which I never wanted, no offense to clarinetists!).

Then there took over the concupiscence, the push-and-pull of child and parent as the child struggles to become herself or himself in the world.

I loved music and began singing. Mom loved the fact that I loved music and encouraged it, but didn't seem to understand the sense of balance. She began to ridicule my successes and my attempts, and this was part of her own disease of bipolar.

One summer, I tried out for Community Theatre, having been a member of our tiny parish youth choir, and so accepted the help of another community-involved parishioner to help me in my audition. I nearly got the lead role, was cast as unofficial understudy with a serious role in the chorus...and had a great time! That same summer, in prep for a talent show at a camp I wanted to attend, my fellow chorus-members, the music director, and musicians helped me to prepare a song and gave me great advice while my Mom waited as an all-too-verbal spectator.

I was trying to sing "Memory" from the musical "CATS", a song I knew my Mom loved, so my offering had a lot to do with her own influence. As I learned the piece and sang it with accompaniment, as the experienced musicians and teachers encouraged, taught, and helped me to make it my own, I heard only one voice, that of my mother, speaking above them all,  "You're no Barbara Streisand."

I cowered in shame and listened to that litany all summer. "You're no Barbara Streisand."

I still remember the musicians and one of the actors exchanging glances, pretending not to notice, then renewing their lessons for me. Knowing I wasn't trying to be great; that I was only trying to have fun in an entertaining way; and that's something I could do.

Over the years, I heard that line a lot. As I soloed in my parish, as I was selected to cantor, as I occasionally auditioned for high school productions, always my mother telling me, "You're no Barbara Streisand."

There was a dichotomy, though, as I practiced my instrumental music, for Mom didn't have a comparison. She wanted me to be a professional musician. When I aspired towards visual art, she shot that down, telling me there was no money in it and I would end up on welfare. As we were already there, that terrified me and yes, I knew she was right about that. I wanted to be an actress; not allowed, and yes, she was right about that!

I nearly joined the Marines after my band teacher handed me a brochure about the Marines Band, something I knew about thanks to my uncle, a proud former Marine! It was a great deal! If I enlisted, I could go to ANY, and I mean ANY Music school I desired, on a full scholarship! Because my brother had been around and around with an Army Recruiter who wouldn't take "no" for an answer, I said nothing about this to my Mom, but did to my band teacher. "What's the catch?"

"Well, you gotta go to boot camp."

"Um...no thanks. Not selling my soul for boot camp."  (Seriously, if only I could have predicted the 2 boot camps I would go through a few years later...lol)

When I pondered colleges, and we went to visit the college I would eventually choose, and while we gathered information regarding various programs, including theatre, Mom informed me once again, "You're no Barbara Streisand."

Finally, I'd had enough. I don't recall when I said it but I do know it was in private - a grace she had never left to me. Finally, finally, I cried out in tears of frustration, anger, and sadness:

"Why do you continue to compare me to BARBARA STREISAND?  I'M NOT HER!!! STOP comparing me!!! I CAN'T SING LIKE HER! I DON'T KNOW HOW!  WHY do you compare me????" 

It was as if I had slapped her; she hadn't realized what she was doing.

The reality is this; her years of comparing my every attempt to the GREATS made me aspire to something more mundane, more average. More people oriented, less arts-and-music oriented.

So it was that I left my music, my art behind. So it was that I majored in Criminal Justice and spent four years defending myself against the extended family trying to tell me that law enforcement wasn't for me.

But at least I didn't have to try to sing like Barbara Streisand anymore.

All Grown Up

It would be easy to blame my Mom for a lot that's wrong in my life, but I can't. If victim-hood is going to come into this particular Diego Rivera mural, it's going to involve everyone, not just my family, not just yours.

We all have our stories, and if we know them, we can take responsibility for them.

Yes, I left music and the arts because of constant and overbearing criticism holding me to a standard I could not meet, but I don't regret the degree I pursued, even though I'm not qualified to work in that field anymore - because of my own choices and career path. Yes, I live in a townhome I can't afford because I bought it back when I had a good job, and left it because...it was time, and now have to pay off grad loans on a salary that pays less than peanuts. That's my choice, not my Mom's.

Every criticism from Mom was an attempt to ground me, to keep me balanced, and to ensure I did not suffer the financial and personal ruin of the poverty in which she raised us. I can blame my Mom and my Dad for a whole lotta things, but as an adult....I truly can't blame them for anything.

All I can do is thank them. 

I thank them for trying to guide me as best they could, even though they suffered so much from the deprivation and abuses thrust upon them long before they brought my brother and I into the world.  I thank them for giving us the opportunities they could, and even if misguided, for criticizing us to try to keep us from being what we all hate. I thank them for being who they are (or in Dad's case, who he WAS, may he rest in peace), so that we could become greater, according to God's calling.

And most of all, I thank them for the life they gave us, with all its trials, all its suffering, all its failures, all its triumphs, for much we experienced together, and much, growing up, made us who we are today.

We may not be much, and we will never be "great" in the eyes of the world, but both my brother and I know who we are, where we came from...and it's gonna be a whole lotta years before we ever really "grow up."

Somehow..I think Mom (And Dad, Eternal rest grant unto him...) would agree.

To all you Moms and Dads out there, I speak to you all...Thank you. 

Eternal Love,  

Your Children

Norbertine Fathers - Gregorian Chant

It has been my great pleasure this week to have received the honor of a reviewing Gregorian Chant - Requiem, sung by the Norbertine Fathers of the St. Michael's Abbey.  It is also a great pleasure to be able to review this incredible album on the 5th Sunday of Lent, in which we just heard the gospel account of the death and resurrection of Lazarus.

In this season of Lent in which we contemplate the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Our Lord, there is nothing better than a Requiem chant to aid in contemplation of His sacrifice. None of us are untouched by death, that terrible result of original sin; all of us need the reminder of our final ends, and the price paid for our salvation. All of us have experienced the death of a loved one at one point or another in our lives, an experience that is repeated more and more as we progress in years.

In Lent, as we approach Good Friday, we all share in the depths of grief of the Blessed Mother as we approach the shadow the Cross - it is on Holy Thursday that we enter, united through the Church, into a period of mourning and for those who have suffered loss, it may be all the more poignant, for inherent within that deep sense of grief remains an eternal hope.

A Requiem Mass, for those who are unfamiliar, is a Mass offered for one who has died. Those unfamiliar with it may find more information at the Catholic Encyclopedia entry on the subject.

The Norbertine Fathers have produced a hauntingly beautiful recording of the traditional prayers of the Requiem Mass, made even more so by the Providential weather on the day it was created. As the letter that accompanied the review copy stated,

The Old cliche' of a badly written novel beginning with the words: "It was a dark and stormy night..." could well apply to the recording of this album, as the date that worked for all the singers to record was the day of one of the longest and most violent tempests of 2010. The abbey's cantor, Fr. Chrysostom Baer, decided that, far from detracting from the quality of the recording,t he howling winds actually added to the haunting tones of chant. This is the reason for the atmospheric effects heard in the background of many of the recorded tracks.

Indeed, Father Baer is correct. I find the sound of wind to be especially proper to the music, for Gregorian Chant has long been referred to as "the breath of God", given its regular tones, rising and falling, natural pauses, all reminiscent and conducive to human need to breathe in order to sustain life. Chant is particularly profound, for it blends physical life with the spiritual need to breathe in communio with God, the author of all life, who created us as body and soul together. It is in this form of music that God is most profoundly glorified, for the theology of the body and the theology of the music, physically and spiritually, reveals the fullness of our Faith and has inherently within it a vivid, sung witness not just to the hope of eternal life, but also to the resurrection of the body.

I found the howling winds to be most prominent in the Kyrie, Dies Irae, and De Profundis, and rather than detracting from it, I was drawn even more deeply into the ancient tones of the chant, chilled to the soul, yet held within the protective warmth of the sacred prayers.

The CD comes with an insert containing the Latin words with English translation, so those who fear they won't understand the music have nothing to fear and can pray right along!

It should be noted that these chants are taken from the Norbertine Liturgy, with which many of us are probably very unfamiliar in name, although it followed very closely the Roman Canon of the Mass.

The chant most striking to me about it was the Agnus Dei (Lamb of God) for the Requiem:

Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem.
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem.
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem sempiternam. 

Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, grant them rest.
Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, grant them rest.
Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, grant them eternal rest.

I don't want to spoil the CD for you so all I can tell you is this: it is available in Stores, physically and digitally, this Tuesday, April 12, 2011 and you really NEED to go out and get a copy so that it can aid your contemplation during Holy Week!

To purchase, go to www.jade-music.com.

As always, pray that more souls will answer God's call to serve Him in these holy Vocations of the Priesthood and Religious Life. 

The following information is provided by Jade Music:

GREGORIAN CHANT: REQUIEM BY THE NORBERTINE FATHERS OF ST. MICHAEL’S ABBEY
Available in Stores, physically and digitally, on April 12, 2011

This is the third Gregorian chant album by the Norbertine Fathers of St. Michael's Abbey in California. This is not an actual Mass, but the traditional Requiem music according to the ancient Norbertine Rite, a form of the liturgy similar to the ubiquitous Roman Rite but the exclusive patrimony of the Norbertine Fathers. The album is available in stores on April 12, 2011.

The Norbertine Fathers and the Pacific Symphony
Thanks to the buzz and press coverage surrounding the previous two album releases, Carl St. Clair, the music director of the Pacific Symphony Orchestra, invited the Norbertines to perform with the Orchestra. The three concerts, which took place in late February 2011 at the Segerstrom Center for the Arts in Costa Mesa, CA, were extremely popular and well received. 

The Expansion Project
St. Michael’s Abbey has been blessed with many vocations since its beginnings in the 1960s, and the boarding preparatory school consistently receives the highest ratings for its classical education and formation. Because of its growth, the community needs to expand its facilities. When the community began to consider expanding, it discovered that its current site is geologically unstable so the community will have to move to new land
Jade Music
Jade Music has a proven dedication to releasing quality classical and spiritual music for more than 20 years. It established itself as the premiere record label of the choir of the Abbey of Santo Domingo de Silos, Spain. Jade Music is distributed by ADA/Warner Music Group in the United States, Universal Music in France, JVC in Japan, and Warner Music International in the rest of the world.

GREGORIAN CHANT: REQUIEM (Tracklisting)
1. Rain and Bells  2. Introit: Requiem 3. Kyrie 4. Gradual: Requiem 5. Gradual: Si Ambulem 6. Prose: Dies Irae 7. Tract: De Profundis 8. Offertory: Domine Jesu Christe 9. Preface 10. Sanctus 11. Agnus Dei 12. Communion Antiphon: Lux Aeterna; Requiescant 13. Responsory for the Commendation of the Soul: Subvenite 14. Antiphon for the Procession of the Body: Suscipiat vos Christus 15. Antiphon for the Procession of the Body: Chorus Angelorum

"Do You Know Me?"

When I was in college, it was a tumultuous time, as I sought to both learn practical knowledge and, as the cliche says, who I was.

Well, one out of two ain't bad: I gained a great deal of knowledge designed to further a career, but it didn't teach me squat about what I was (or am) as a human being.

That is not to say I was abandoned, however, although it seemed that way at times especially the Christmas I spent alone after my Dad's death.

In fact, I had a friend who faced down death in the form of cancer. For a time he'd been in the seminary, and that time had bolstered his own faith. I remember one evening at a party, quite a secular one, where among a few of us, spirituality had become a topic and in particular, the call to Holiness and the reality of Death.

I can still remember my friend looking me in the eye, speaking of Particular Judgment and in his gentle voice, hand against his own chest, looking me straight in the eye and asking in the words of Jesus: "Do you know me?"

Jesus will ask us all, in that moment, "Do you KNOW Me?"

I'll never forget the agony in his eyes, unspoken, hopeful, even as he repeated the words.

"Do you know me?"

I resolved on the spot that if I didn't know Him...I wanted to.

And it took several years and I admit, quite shamefully now, that I wanted to know Him then because of what  He could "get" me, for you see, it took a long time to experience the true beginning of conversion.

Now I hear those words differently and reach out for Him in a different kind of agony. for as I see His pain, I can only offer my own, recognizing in that eternal question all of my years of rejection, of "doing it my way", and a deeply hidden fear that perhaps, maybe...by my choice...maybe I still don't really know Him.

Not for lack of His effort.

In His question I see the Cross as the Tree of Life and I kneel, weeping at the stone at its base, remembering the fruit of my downfall even as I reach for the fruit of salvation.

The other day while working on my Icon I was listening to Miriam Marston's song, "The Gardener", and as the song continued to penetrate my soul, I couldn't help but recall the words of my friend, those ancient words, the ancient question Our Lord asks of each of us, individually: "Do You Know Me?"

In Marston's song, she juxtaposes the theological reality of the Creator; the Gardener as St. Mary Magdalene meets Our Lord on the day of His Resurrection.

As she weeps in her grief he confronts her and she queries, "What do you care?  You're just the Gardener's Son". 

I can imagine His loving gaze as He replies so patiently to Mary Magdalene and to all of us, waiting for us to make the connection, and when He knows that we do or only wants to prompt that leap, He queries,  "Do you recognize me now?"

We are taken back to the Garden of Eden, the parable of the Master of the vineyard and his son murdered by the workers,  the Garden of Gethsemane, and ultimately the Garden where Jesus is laid to rest...and Rise.

We cannot help but recognize Jesus as the beloved Son, our eyes opened in wonder, in love, as we really see  the One sent by The Gardener to open the gates and restore us to original Beatitude..and beyond.

"Do you recognize me now?"

"The Gardener"** 

by Miriam Marston

A faint sign of gladness makes her pause in all her sadness

Fair and so faithful she throws aside careful

Hardly knowing what to expect

She makes her way over

Maybe it’s safe now it’s been a few days now

CHORUS:

And she started weeping as though she’d never cried before

She thought she’d lost the only one she’d loved

And three of the longest days of her life had come to this

Waiting by a stone

And then she saw the Gardener

He asked her how she’d been

“I’m sad and I’m scared but why do you care? You’re just a gardener’s son”

“Do you recognize me now?” (x3)

“Go tell all the others that you’ve met me

They might think that you’ve been drinking through the night

But don’t let all their doubts keep you away from me

The world will likely tell you it’s all in your mind

She comes to the home she’d left

Anxious and alone

But it’s more like a mansion now

Though she can’t yet mention how

Everything around her

seems infused with glory

Her hope expands as the world just stands still

CHORUS

And she started weeping as though she’d never cried before

She thought she’d lost the only one she’d loved

And three of the longest days of her life had come to this

Waiting by a stone

And then she saw the Gardener

He asked her how she’d been

“I’m sad and I’m scared but why do you care? You’re just a gardener’s son”

“Do you recognize me now?” (x 3)

“I’m here…I’m here...I’m here….”

None of us ever needs to ask Our Lord "Why do you care?"

Still, deep in our souls, we DO ask, and we NEED that answer, individually, and we need to eventually lift our eyes and hearts and souls to Jesus, who stands before us, simply waiting for us to recognize Him.

Wherever we are...He is HERE.

But....we still have to respond to that question, "Do you know Me?  DO YOU RECOGNIZE ME?"

** Go to the link, scroll down and find the song title to listen

Introducing....

Catholic music artist Miriam Marston!

I’m trying to get the word out into the Catholic blogosphere about some new music – I released my second album a few months ago, called “The Luggage of an Optimist” (based on a chapter title in GK Chesterton’s “Manalive”). I’ve been featured on a Catholic radio station out in Oregon, and getting opportunities here and there around the Boston area where I work and live.

You can listen to her music here, and to purchase it at iTunes, Amazon, or through
http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/miriammarston2

Seriously, go check out her music! When I listened the other day I loved what I heard and can tell you Ms. Marston deserves any publicity we can give her.

Oh, and my friends, don't stop with just listening - pony up a little dough and PURCHASE her music - that's what sends the biggest message!

Musical Contemplation

Elgar's Cello Concerto in E Minor, originally composed against the backdrop of post-WWI chaos, is a heavily emotional and contemplative piece. As today is a 1st Friday, perhaps it will aid you in your on contemplation of the Passion and Death of Our Lord, and the perfect love with which He went to the Cross for us.

The Starving Children of God

Consider: how many times have you perhaps been, say, complaining about a particular liturgical abuse at your parish or one you visited, or perhaps about the music? Perhaps you are speaking to a friend or acquaintance and that person clearly doesn't like what you're saying, so pipes up with, "Well, at least we CAN go to mass! There are people all over the world that can't go to Mass at all!"

Certainly they have a point, and none of us disagrees that this is the case.

HOWEVER, it's an illogical response to the problems at hand. The comment to redirect one to the liturgical equivalent of "the starving children in Africa" is designed to shut down the complaints.

Granted, sometimes we do need to pipe down and air our greviances to the appropriate party, that being the Pastor or perhaps the Bishop if the Pastor has not responded.

Let's break this down a little, though, in order to explain why we should not be cowed by someone who doesn't like our rant against their favorite "liturgical" music composers, or liturgical dancing or creative Eucharistic prayers. There are a few things we all need to understand, just for a foundation:

1. The Liturgy does not belong to the presiding priest, it does not belong to us as individuals and it does not belong to the individual parish.

A parish is NOT a "closed community" of worshippers in a single place and time. The Mass belongs to the Church as a whole, during which the original sacrifice of Calvary is made present, inserted into OUR place and time, no matter where we are when it is celebrated. It is fully universal, and each movement or prayer that takes place in the Mass has meaning. Everything is designed to bring us more fully into the Paschal Mystery.

If, for example, we are focused on an amazing soloist in the choir, no matter how holy the song, if our attention isn't directed to God but rather to that person, then it is not effective and shouldn't take place during the Mass.

Any time we are directed to human accomplishment, we take our attention from God who should be front and center since He is condescending to make Himself present among us in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

We do not go to Mass to be entertained; we go to experience Heaven.

2. The Faithful have a Canonical Right to a properly celebrated Mass.

Canon 214 states: The Christian faithful have the right to worship God according to the prescripts of their own rite approved by the legitimate pastors of the Church [this does not mean individual parish Pastors, but magisterial leadership] and to follow their own form of spiritual life so long as it is consonant with the doctrine of the Church. [i.e. legitimate spiritual life is CATHOLIC spiritual life, which means you can't replace scripture readings with verses from the Koran or poetry from Robert Frost, etc.]

Under the Code of Canon Law, NO ONE has the right to tweak the Mass such that they leave the rubrics behind. Each and every movent in the liturgy has significant meaning, and the fact that we may not understand that meaning does not render that part of the Mass insignificant; rather it means we have a moral obligation to seek out that which we do not understand. Eliminating it or trashing it in some way is an outright offense to God and to the rest of the Church.

3. The Hymns chosen for Mass are important

Our professor made an interesting point this weekend, one I've heard before but it bears repeating:

When people leave Mass, are they most often meditating on things stated in the homily or in the readings, or are they singing one of the songs used during Mass?

Music is powerful and it catches our attention and imagination. The heretics in the early Church, and even since that time, realized this and have long used hymns to spread their heresies. In fact, the Arians were the first to do this but they were far from the last.

When we consider the music done in a Catholic Mass, we must also consider the words being used, for they are important and they are powerful. What we sing we are more likely to internalize, and at Mass, it is actually a prayer.

Lex orandi, lex credendi: We believe as we pray. If we are praying something that is NOT Catholic teaching, we become indoctrinated into something false.

This falsity removes us from the Paschal Mystery and keeps us from experiencing it as deeply as we could if we were actually being presented with and given the opportunity to receive the proper theology.

In charity and truth, we MUST, therefore, protest the use of music that is not true and does not contribute to the proper prayers of the Mass.

4. The "starving children" logical fallacy

The fact that people in some other parts of the world aren't given the great gift of Mass (oppressive regimes, plagues, priest shortages caused by the former, etc.) should not be taken to mean that we should be subjected to illicit (and even invalid!) liturgical practices.

Because children are starving in the Sudan, does that mean we should put bugs in our food here so that we can get dysentary, too?

Or would not the good people in those countries want we who are privileged to REALIZE our privilege, celebrate it, and in so doing, be able to assist them more completely?

The reality is that BECAUSE the Mass, in all times and all places, all church buildings, belongs to the Church, past, present, and future, if it is improperly celebrated it DEPRIVES the ENTIRE CHURCH of graces that are owed.

When we attend Mass, we do so on behalf of those who are unable. When we pray the petetions, we, in a sense, lose our own personal identities and desires so that we can take on that of the Church, representing especially those who cannot be present among us physically. That might include a neighbor who is sick, a medical professional who has been on call and can't attend due to an emergency at the hospital, or an entire village somewhere in India whose priest was murdered and they, sent into exile. We attend Mass and we receive the sacraments on their behalf, that they might receive the same graces to which they have a right but within which they cannot directly participate for a time. Because they are part of the Church, even though they are on the other side of the world, they are still part of us.

If we are distracted at Mass because the priest is making up words of the consecration and we must wonder if the validity of the Sacrament has been affected...we are being deprived of Grace. If we are unable to pray the mass because someone is up on the altar changing the words of the prayers in a way that is "gimmicky" (i.e. "inclusive language", non-approved wording, etc.), then we are being deprived of Grace.

How are we being deprived?

When we go to Mass, we should be able to expect to fully participate, which means we can interiorly unite ourselves as a Body as we pray together in our praise and worship of God. We can place ourselves and our concerns upon the altar so that the priest can "lift them up" during the Holy Sacrifice.

But when we are distracted and confused by bad hymns with non-Catholic or completely contradictory theology, or "prayers" that depart from the canon, or unapproved scriptural translations that change the original meaning of the words, we may forget what we are there to do. We have been cut off, in a way, from the Church for what is being celebrated in that place and time no longer has unity with the rest of the Church.

And in that, the efficaciousness of our prayers may be lost for in fact, we can no longer properly participate. In the case where the congregation may not be aware that what is happening is wrong, they are also cut off, through no intent of their own, for they are being deprived of the full meaning of the Paschal Mystery which they will NEVER truly be able to grasp if it is not presented properly.

We see this effect in those parishes that especially suffer the worst of liturgical abuses, for they don't even realize they are eating from a liturgical garbage dump and so don't understand the real meaning of "unity" in the Church.

We can look around us and see what bears this out and what bears fruit in the spiritual and sacramental life of the Church.

In my observation, the "starving children" in America are those most likely to make the "starving children" logical fallacy, for they are often either refugees from the liturgal garbage dumps who have not been offered an explanation of the fullness of the Liturgy, or they are those who still attend a Mass or have been indoctrinated by music that does more to celebrate "us" than it does to direct our worship to God. (This latter, I think, is the most common scenario. Good Catholics with good intentions but bad formation through no fault of their own.)

Thankfully, our dear Pope Benedict XVI has recognized all the starving children in America and in his mercy, has issued Summorum Pontificum (July 7, 2007), and the USCCB has revised the translation of the Mass to make it more faithful to the actual wording.

CAVEAT!!!

Now, while it is a logical fallacy to try to shut down legitimate complaints by pointing out what others DON'T have, we do need to recognize the great gift of the Mass. We need to recognize what we have and while we work to reform those things that are wrong and which close off a parish from the universal Church, we may need to still attend those Masses...on behalf of all those who cannot.

Holiness and worship doesn't consist in "either/or" but in the true Catholic way, "both/and". YES there are some major problems in liturgy right now, AND we need to recognize them AND while we work for improvement, attend Mass as often as possible to pray for the suffering Church that is deprived of the Sacraments.

That, my friends, is what we the faithful are called to do, and THAT, while it is going to be slow going, is how we are called to suffer in our place and time.

The FIRST thing we need to do, though, is educate ourselves. We need to understand what the Mass is all about, what the Church officially teaches about it, and only then can we really serve others, whether here or abroad.

*

Symphony

I was going to write about another day in the monastic life (well, pseudo-monastic life) but find I must interject an interlude of music into such a conversation.

Tonight I watched the movie, August Rush, a movie I've long wanted to see but each time I picked up the DVD at the store or at the movie rental place, it seemed...uninteresting.

How wrong I was.

One of the many secrets of Adoro:

I once aspired to attend Julliard. Seriously. This was a very probable dream even into high school, and I even planned to apply there. I couldn't wait to play with the New York Philharmonic and perform on Broadway...on stage or in the orchestra pit. It didn't matter to me. What mattered to me was that I would be THERE. Living the music in every way possible.

I'd always loved music. As a child I used to dance around our large living room to the grand concertos of "The Sound of Music", and on other days, "The Best of Peter, Paul, and Mary". Oh, yes. I danced, I sang, and I wanted to make music come alive at my fingertips.

(As a side note, would you have even less respect for me if I admitted that the above records, yes, records, were played on a...record player? Yes, I said records. Not tapes or DVD's. Records. But at least not 8-tracks)

Because I so long had such a deep love of music, Mom desired that I have piano lessons, and talked Dad into it as well. But, instead of buying a piano, or even renting one, he found a small organ with an octave-and-a-half-sized keyboard. I still remember the salesman and thought Dad was probably joking because, well, let's face it...it was completely stupid.

Resigned, Mom brought in a music teacher, almost embarrassed to do so. He came a couple times, but we hated the organ so much because of its stupidity that we never actually practiced but through force, and Mom understood because she hated it worse than we did. She loved the pipe organ, not this joke of a machine, and even as she tried to enforce the lessons, her heart wasn't in it and she finally cancelled our lessons. Our teacher understood. He told her to get us a piano. She agreed.

She didn't give up though, and in 5th grade, when we moved to Minnesota, when I brought home the flyer for Band, I announced that I wanted to play the flute. It wasn't in doubt. It's exactly what I wanted and nothing else would suffice. I'd grown up considering the violin and piano and all sorts of instruments. Mom wasn't surprised, but in looking at the cost of buying or renting a flute for me, she was shocked so went to our family to see if anyone had one to spare. She found that a cousin had a trumpet and wasn't using it. Did I want that?

No. I wanted to play the flute. Period.

So Mom scrimped and saved and sold her left arm and maybe her feet, and bought me a wonderful used Gemeindhardt for $450.00. I cared for it as though it was my own child.

And that flute served me well, served God and His people, and performed at state competitions. It was later joined by a piccolo, compliments of the inheritance given to Mom from my late uncle Bill. During High School, having made the "decision" that I wanted to pursue music in college, and upon learning the Pep Band needed trumpets, I dusted off my cousin's trumpet and learned to play THAT, which I did for both the Theatre and for Pep Band, confusing many of my classmates who thought it was only possible to play ONE instrument. It was fun to blast the trumpet in their faces, and even pretend ignorance just before we went on stage.

Seriously, a classmate suddenly realized, after hours and hours of practice, that I was standing behind her not with my flute, but with a trumpet.

"You don't play that!", She exclaimed.

I smiled and played Reveille. (Well I would have except that we were about to go on stage and that would have really ticked off the director AND the band teacher both! But I COULD have done it!)

Anyway, I thought at the time that my flute, piccolo, and trumpet might very well take me to at least the Minnesota Orchestra, if not Julliard. As it was, I "discerned" I wanted to obtain a degree in music and was actually a semi-finalist at Concordia College for a full music scholarship. But it wasn't to be. The weekend of my audition, we lost the brakes on our car as I drove it to school the day before our six hour trip up to Moorehead, dashing my dreams. There would be no scholarship because I couldn't get there to audition in the finals. Sadly, I called to withdraw. A door slammed shut.

God's will was done. I lament only a little these days, but sometimes, I'm taken back and wish I could be so lost as once I was in the music I played every day, in hopes of greater perfection.

Music Lives

In the movie, August Rush heard music in every moment. It drew him, it defined him. To a certain degree, I understand. I still remember falling asleep to symphonies I could hear but not write, full orchestra, even choir sometimes. The music I practiced for hours every day drew me into it and found an outlet even in my dreams. For awhile, I began to believe that maybe some day I could put that incredible music down on paper, for maybe it would come to me while fully awake and in possession of a far greater understanding of music than that which I actually possessed.

But it was not to be.

Julliard, whether theatre or music, was not mine.

But we come back to August Rush.

What an incredible movie, and what a movie ripe for theological commentary! Do I really NEED to point out the themes?

Do I have to discuss the themes of good and evil? Of musical prostitution?

Do I have to point out the soul directed to perfection but pulled back out of false obedience and a lack of trust in what was good? Do I have to point out the symphony in the background, how God orchestrated each and every movement to bring the warring dischord together into one final unitive crescendo?

Oh, yes, I could speak of how God writes music, but the best I can do is maybe to share my own poetry, from several several years ago. It seems the only proper way to end this particular and very discordant post as I lament my years of study, now almost lost, but never forgotten. Those of you who also love music will hear in your own way:

Carried away
on the strains of music
my very soul reaches
upward
Trying to catch the notes.
I swallow them whole
inhaling deeply their essence.
Inhaling, diaphragm swelling, lungs expanding
Until the very notes themselves
Take on life...

I release them at will,
propelling them to heaven, to
praise God's very existence,
rounding them sweetly, imitating
the songbirds,
letting the notes ripple like water
through the air, over the ears,
the music inherits the world.

Inhibiting nothing
inviting, inspiring, raising up
dropping off soothingly
adagio cantabile, mezzo piano
crescendoing in swirling emotion
carried...

In a full cycle, but this time they escape...
the song is done, the notes are sung,
they have taken wing
to alight somewhere else.
For that soul to embrace,
inhale,
expand,
and send forth,
renewed in wonder
music imitating nature...
there is no such thing
as

Al fine

Twisted

There's been something I've been turning over in my mind for a few days, and it disturbs me greatly, because it's not something I can do much to fix. 

We know that every great gift God gives us can be twisted and used for evil.  Sexuality, internet...and music, for example.  

This week one of my catechists brought in some Gregorian Chant for his students.  In the fall, we'd had an event for all the religious ed. kids, and in it we played Chant.  Many of them enjoyed the music, or inquired about it, and this catechist's class wanted to know more. 

I stopped in at his class at the end of the session, although I'd missed the music portion, he turned it back on for me while the boys were leaving.  

One of them expressed his opinion as only a middle school boy can:  "I hate it. I can't stand it!"

It doesn't bother me that he doesn't like the music; whether it is liked or not is not a factor in the fact that it is proper liturgical music, and his personal preferences doesn't change that. 

But what DOES bother me was his qualifier, for he gave the clear reason for his dislike:   "It's creepy. It sounds like it's from a horror movie.  Scary music."  

Right there, in a nutshell;  there's the problem.  

Gregorian chant has been corrupted by media, and now, in a traditional Pavlovian way, our younger generations now think it's creepy. 

I've written before on the use of Catholic symbols and music in movies or television shows that portray a Catholic Church or anything related to Catholicism.  Even though one rarely enters a church these days to the prayerful chanting of a schola,  EVERY. SINGLE. PRODUCTION uses this music to cue us in to the religion being attacked...uh...portrayed.   Catholic. 

The horror genre is especially gleeful in its use of Gregorian Chant in scary sequences, say, when introducing a vampire or a corrupt priest. Or maybe the priest is fine, but we know that when we hear Chant, a demon-infested child is about to appear and screech in writhing agony, terrifying everyone...with the chant sedately playing in the background, human voices apparently disinterested at the intense suffering taking place in their presence. 

The use of this music in media venues has quite literally caused our younger generations to look at the horrible things going on in the picture, while the music plays, and voila! They now associate evil and Gregorian Chant. 

It's not surprising.  

And what about every freaking show that has a corrupt priest in it?  A Pedophile priest?  A faithful priest who has maybe heard the confession of an abuser (either clergy or lay) and (RIGHTLY!) refuses to break the seal of the confessional?  What's playing in the background?  Gregorian Chant. 

I would suggest that although individuals in Hollywood might not have been consciously considering the Pavlovian training they've been providing to their lab subjects (i.e.  us), the One they serve knew exactly what he was doing. 

Oh, yes, the smoke of Satan, as St. Pius X called it.  (Was it St. Pius X?).  

And when something pure and beautiful, something that is prayer and praise and thanksgiving to God becomes associated with something evil, that can send a very strong message.  It's not subliminal;  it's obvious. And odious. 

That's what the middle school boy observed, and it's how he's been indoctrinated. 

So when we, or his catechist, in doing something good, brings Gregorian Chant into an event or classroom, rather than being calming, it's natural that some students are going to have a violent dislike of what they're hearing. 

And how the Evil One must be gleefully rejoicing in his eternal damnation.  

So. Now we realize the problem.  Now we have to combat it. And the ONLY way to do that is to use it more, to associate it with good things, with fun things, with HOLY things. The answer isn't to take it away just because it's been warped by our cultural corruption;  the answer is to bring it back, gently, persistently, prayerfully, and let God do the rest.  

Thankfully, not every child had that reaction, and that likely speaks more about what the parents are allowing their children to see at home (which concerns me more than the child's reaction).  We need to realize that this beauty, Gregorian Chant, this great gift of the Church, which Vatican II said specifically must maintain a high place in the liturgy, NEEDS to be used!  If it's never heard at Mass, guess where the kids are getting it, and with what they are associating it!?

We wouldn't have this problem if parishes were obedient to the directives of Vatican II.  

Our fallen nature corrupts everything we touch;  but the good news is that God created us to be directed towards Him. To elevate our wills, our intellect, everything...to Him. And that means we can still turn this ship around and point it back in His direction. We can save our symbols, we can save our music, we can save our children through being holy, through using what has always been holy...for the proper purpose. 

And that will make ALL the difference in the world. 

If we don't use what we've been given, it will be commandeered for evil. That's a fact, and it's happened, and continues to happen. We NEED to bring back Chant; it belongs to OUR tradition, it is part of OUR patrimony, and its misuse is affecting OUR children in a very negative way! 

I look forward to the discussion in the combox. 

*

 

Surprises and Prayers

It was a long hard day today, and it's been a rough week, for many reasons. This evening, though, I came home to a very welcome surprise.

There, in my mailbox, was a small package from the Benedictines of Mary, Queen of Apostles, Priory of Our Lady of Ephesus in Kansas City, MO. What could it be?

Sure enough, as the letter accompanying it explained, it is the first release of their CD, Echoes of Ephesus. And even better...there on the cover photo is my friend Sister Mary Gibson, in her postulant habit. Her Investiture will be taking place in only a little over a month from now, on the Feast of the Epiphany.

I am listening to the CD as I write this, and can testify that it is the PERFECT way to end my day; the music is beautiful, a mixture of Latin and English, traditional hymns and some new compositions using music completely coherent with their way of life which hasn't changed for thousands of years. (But for some technical upgrades!)

Tonight, as I pray night prayer, I will do so especially cognizant that the book in my hand has my friend's name inscribed inside the cover, and I will be listening to her sing with her Sisters. It was only a year ago that she visited the monastery, and last year, on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, I met her after her meeting with her Spiritual Director, and just before we went in to Mass, she gave me the official news...that it was a YES!

Please keep Sister Mary Gibson in your prayers as she prepares for the next stage in her Vocation on the Feast of the Epiphany, and pray for all the Benedictines of Mary, Queen of Apostles.

Music for your enjoyment

If you keep your volume on when browsing, you may notice that for some reason, which this page loads, an orchestral and operatic version of the Ave Maria begins. The widget is found on my sidebar.

Should you not like the music or would prefer to change songs, you can click on the appropriate buttons found on the icon to either turn it off or shuffle through the options on the playlist.

I found this particular widget at OH...AND THIS (which is a blog I've been reading for awhile and have meant to add to my sidebar.) It's definitely one you should check out!

The Swiss Shepherd

Tonight I picked up my flute again, and because the music was in my head, and has always been in my heart, I picked up, "The Swiss Shepherd" by P. Morlacchi. And played it.

Badly.

I still remember the first time I heard this piece; I was so entranced that I knew that I MUST possess it and perform it...perfectly. It spoke to me of haunting beauty, of lilting laughter, of running water, and effortless amusement.

So today, although it was halting, I played the music, I stuttered, I stopped, I repeated passages, I omitted the highest notes because I couldn't figure out what they were, but more importantly....I REMEMBERED a great deal. Or, at least, my fingers and memory working together remembered the runs, the trills, the arpeggios, and the grace notes. There was staccato and triplets to keep me moving. It was an ongoing adventure as I remembered this music, and still fought to play it.

I don't think the flute is a lost cause for me. Playing "The Swiss Shepherd" has in fact reminded me of the pure joy of the music. While my embouchure is in terrible shape, meaning my transitions are sloppy and occasionally squeaky, moving to low notes is "windy", and occasionally I'm sloppy with the breath support, there seems to be some hope even there. But Don't REALLY get me started on my embouchure. [For non-flute players, "embouchure" means: "The application of the lips to the mouthpiece of a wind instrument, and the position of muscles, lips, jaws, and teeth necessary to hold that position. In French, this also means the mouthpiece itself"]. It really is quite depressing, in spite of a glimmer of hope.

But as I played, even though it was no longer effortless, I detected that same sweetness that used to be there. It is dusty from lack of use, but a little polish and some spit-shine should make it work. The indescribable beauty of music well-played speaks volumes...and the fact that even a tiny glint of that mercurial edge of the occasional pure note still trembles like a crystalline snowflake even from my instrument...well....I'm speechless.

I still remember when my music teacher/church choir director placed this score in front of me, knowing how much I desired to play it. I'd been BEGGING her for this music. So one evening she placed it on the stand and I IMMEDIATELY began to play, struggling through the passages, pushing on, desiring so much to possess it that the mistakes I was making did not deter me.

Not longer after I began, my teacher snatched it off the stand and told me, "Not yet! You're not ready."

I wasn't ready. She was right.

She didn't give it back to me for another year or so, and to this day I am thankful for her vigilance. Had I tried to play it when I wasn't ready, I would have garnered bad habits, I would have gotten frustrated that I could not play it like she did, and in the end, I would have hated the experience and the score would have lost its shine. She knew this piece for what it was; my own personal Holy Grail. My Unicorn. My Pearl of great price.

Instead, she made me build up the necessary skills for that piece, which covers the entire range of abilities. Her goal was to emphasize my strengths and build up my weaknesses, knowing that, in light of what she knew I desired to perform, it would be best to use it as the goal and reward.

Indeed, I took this piece to State competetion my Senior year of High School...and Starred. It was a flawless performance. I also performed it for the Arts Banquet (I believe I still have the program), and for my audition for the Big Nine (our conference) Band. Well, I didn't succeed at the latter, but it was my sight reading that took me out, not that score!

Tonight, I called a friend of mine who happens to be the director of a local school orchestra. And she also plays violin in a community orchestra. I didn't reach her directly, but asked her if she knows of any good, inexpensive flute instructors, especially those versed in sacred music. (Seriously...I MUST have a goal here!). And if not...if she'd be willing to help me out. She expressed in the past that she doesn't know a lot about the flute, but I found my fingering chart and she could likely assist me with basic musical and disciplinary points.

So...I really do want to play again. Practice used to be a great way to relieve stress, because I could let myself go especially with music I knew well. In the beginning it will be very difficult, but perhaps I can once again attain the expertise I once enjoyed. And perhaps, yet, God has use for my flute? Could it be? Even after so many years?

The Magic Flute

In fifth grade, I told Mom I wanted to play flute. Not trumpet. Not sax. I wanted to play the flute. And even though we were on welfare and had no hope of doing any such thing...Mom found a way to get me a flute. And it's a good one, a Gemeinhardt, that cost her $450.00 which she paid in installments.

And so I practiced, and at first it was boring, but then I fell in love with performance. Because it wasn't ME that made the sound...it was the flute. I was just a medium who transmitted the sound. So even in my shyness, on stage when playing, I could still take a back seat to the instrument that filled the void.

Concerts were easy, because I'd been in many, every year at school, and band concerts were no different. In sixth grade, I was allowed to play "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" for our Christmas Eve program at Church. They had called for "young instrumentalists" and so it was that I found myself at an audition. The music director asked me to play something from school. As this was in the years before the rabid secularization of our public schools, we were playing authentic Christmas music, and so there was no need for me to learn something different. And they determined my audition as a 6th grader was sufficient, thus I was welcomed to the Christmas program as a soloist. It was a great honor, for most of the instrumentalists were placed in a group.

On that night, I was excited and confident as I sat with my family, and on cue I walked up to collect my flute from the organ console. My music was in place so I turned to face the "audience"...and realized the church was FULL. In fact, it was OVERFLOWING. Wow. I started shaking.

The pianist began to play, and I could see from her expression that she saw my sudden attack of stagefright, which became realized when not even a squeak debuted from the silver in my hands. I tried to take a deep breath. The director looked at me, concerned.

I was in front of everyone, mostly people I didn't know. I didn't want to disappoint anyone...most of all, myself. I HAD to play. I had to play for Jesus. This was my gift to Him.

The director whispered, "Are you ready?"

I nodded, the piano began, and this time, there was sound, albeit very faint. But I bravely forged onward, determined. I was shaking, and feared my poor flute would rattle from my cold hands and clash onto the tile steps under my feet.

But I played, and the vibrato was never so... um...consistent...as on that night. Then I sat down to thunderous applause and hung my head, thoroughly embarassed. My performance was dismal. They were applauding the fact I didn't faint and knock the microphone over. I was certain I would not be asked back. I was certain that if I WAS invited back, I would decline.

But I was called the following year, and even prior to that, for they'd seen it before and they'd been there before; stage fright happens to everyone. It's all a part of learning and stepping out to offer of ourselves. Sometimes that precipice seems larger than life.

I kept on with my music, and over time, I became more involved with my church, playing more or less regularly. I aspired to be the main flautist at the church; I wanted eventually to be a professional. The dreams were as grand as my abilities were humble. But my mother could not afford lessons, so I just practiced hard and did my best. And eventually, some generous souls payed for lessons for me. It wasn't often, but only here and there. Then Mom began to give me money for more regular lessons, so through high school, I was able to obtain private insruction weekly and monthly, which greatly enforced my practice, and held me accountable when I failed to live up to goals. And believe you me...my teacher could tell when I hadn't been practicing sufficiently. There was no need to turn in a record; it was obvious. She also taught me wonderful techniques to assist me in learning especially difficult passages.

And my teacher? None other than the church's main flautist who had played piano for me when I made my debut there. She herself had become the music director there; and I her student. When she was elevated to director, I took her place as flautist.

I still remember our sessions in her dining room, the metronome on top of the piano tapping away. I remember the red oriental-patterned rug, the darkness outside, the cold metal warming in my hands. She stood next to me in the cool of the winter evening, giving me music for an upcoming Mass, assisting me with scores for competetions, providing me with challenges and taking away music that was beyond my ability. There was a time for everything. I had to trust her to tell me when I was ready for the next level. Each lesson was a gift; I could never have hoped for private instruction. And I learned later on that most of our lessons were, for the teacher, pro bono.

Although the hours of practice were difficult, I still remember those times with great nostalgia; I remember starting a piece and quitting for the night, completely convinced I would never be able to play it sufficiently, only to take that same piece to competetion months later, and impress the judge with my ability to navigate notes most high school students feared to brave. I did not play it perfectly, but rather intuitively. So it was that my technical ability always suffered; I always did well with my prepared music but sight-reading was forever a challenge. I believe this ties in to my complete inability to understand math. As music is very mathematical, it stands to reason that sight-reading would be beyond my immediate comprehension.

My teachers all encouraged me on to greater things; I could be very successful as a musician, they said. I should study music. And in fact, I was a semi-finalist for a music scholarship at Concordia...and had to drop out of the running the day before my audition due to circumstances beyond my control. So close....

I played in college, but by then, I was no longer tied to a parish for most of my time was spent at college, and working. I wasn't attending Mass anymore...unless I had to go with Mom. And some weekends, I was working every shift I could so I missed Mass, and then returned to school, 2 hours away, immmediately after work, only to return to work again a few weeks later when I made it "home". The church wasn't "home" anymore. That meant that when I did perform, it was for school or in th orchestra pit in the theatre. These events were wonderful, but they weren't Mass. It wasn't the same.

I was without roots. I was without an anchor. I was without God in my life.

In 1994 I went to Mexico for a semester, and upon my return I did not enroll in Concert band...I didn't have the time in my academic and work schedule. And so I never returned to music. I was not challenged. And I had no venue to offer my music, and so it fell by the wayside.

(As an aside...IC...is J.H. still the director of the Concert Band there?)

And I never picked it up again. I see now that when I stopped offering my music to God, it stopped being meaningful. I used to think it was all about performance, but now I realize it was all about the offering, even from the most abject imperfection. My gift to God was all I had to offer, and He increased the gift according to what was needed, and according to what He needed to do to bring me into the perimeter to recieve His Saving Grace.

Once I left God...I also left my flute. For music makes no sense if it is not offered for His glory.

Tonight I picked up my flute and played a few notes. Rusty...but not without hope. I can't remember how to play, or how to read notes, but with some instruction, the miniscule muscules in my fingers can remember the patterns. With practice, the sound will be pure and true again, like water. I always thought the flute sounded like water, and I was amazed when that resonating sound emanated from this piece of silver with what seemed like little effort.

What used to be so simple is now decrepit from unuse, like a dry creek slogging over stones and through gravel.

What used to be so beautiful when offered for God's glory...is just a fond memory from which I must wipe the tarnish and the cobwebs that muffle the sound.

My flute is old, and in fact, a sticker from my audition at Gustavous Adolphus still graces the case. The silver is tarnished, and the cork is old. The pads are worn, and I fear the metal will never shine so brightly as it did so long ago when I first offered my hesitant and shaking notes to the infant Jesus.

If only I could offer those notes again...if only I could wipe the tarnish away, take this instrument up again, and play. I want to be immersed in the water of sound that is the notes cascading from the silver lightly balanced in my hands. I want to be lost in the melodic interludes, sacred arias, and traditional harmonies that transcend time and space. I want to take a back seat to the instrument that cries out to the very Glory of God, and in the next movement mourns in tones only music can convey. I want to pick up my flute and play with complete abandon and be transported through this offering.

If only a bit of polish was all it took...if only it was a matter of a little practice, I could pick up my flute and play again. And this time, I would never stop...

I apologize to the world....

I didn't realize Haugen/Haas/Joncas were from Minnesota. Maybe I heard that awhile ago, but maybe the presence of Msgr. Schuler overshadowed the shadows.

Apparently they won't be offering "concerts" anymore. And that includes at Mass, apparently around the world. Their last "concert" is bring held in MN on June 10, according to our Archdiocesan rag, The Catholic Spirit.

On Sunday, June 10, Haas, Haugen and Father Joncas will play one of the final two concerts they have scheduled. The 7:30 p.m. program at Guardian Angels in Oakdale is a benefit for “Music Ministry Alive!” — the summer program at the College of St. Catherine that trains young Catholic liturgical musicians. Last year’s concert was sold out.

I am not one bit surprised that it's associated with another local black eye, the College of St.Catherine wherein rule the mostly-pagan-in-practice-and-belief eco-feminists Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet. (How far that order has fallen! Pray for their conversion to their roots, for their roots were incredible!).

Anyway, back to the article, the only snipped I want to comment upon:

“We’re not interested in doing just fun Christian music,” Haas said. “When I teach young people about liturgical music, I say you’ve got to keep your ears open and antenna up about what’s going on in the church and what the church needs, what the church is really calling for in its music.


He is apparently a teacher at a local school. Now, to be clear, I'm sure he's a fine and talented musician, perhaps a wonderful teacher and a wonderful human being. I cannot comment on him personally as I do not know him.

However, I get nothing but red flags when I read his comment about "what's going on in the Church and what the Church needs, what the Church is really calling for in its music." (Church, as a proper noun referring to the Catholic Church, needs to be capitalized. Catholic Spirit editor, where were you on that!?)

Anyway, if people are really LISTENING to what the Church wants, needs, and is calling for, they would be going back to GREGORIAN AND AMBROSIAN CHANT!!!!

Not folk-pop music being classified as "liturgical".

I'm going to come out and admit I don't dislike all their stuff, some is actually enjoyable and I understand they were going off of their idea of reverence when they wrote the music. I love music...I'm a musician myself, albeit a fallen-away one. But music remains in the soul, and if one is taught correctly, a barometer is installed.

My barometer never went away, thank God!

And yes, I do like some of their music, and some of it brought me back home, but it wasn't so much the music as it was the sentimentality of songs I grew up with. Had I grown up with Gregorian Chant, I'm sure I would have literally DIED when I heard the powerful strains of "O Salutaris Hostia", but since that was outside of my experience, it was "Here I am, Lord" that hit me. God can use anything to bring us home. But why should He have to when we had perfectly good, reverent music before the misinterpretation of Vatican II?

I'm fine with their concerts. By all means, perform in concerts, and that is the correct setting for much of their music...not the Mass.

I wonder if we'll ever recover from the last 40 years of bad liturgical music?

So to Sing

Some of you read my post from January in which I discussed why I don't sing anymore. I have not felt called to join the choir or cantor in my current parish, although when I was in high school I was very involved with the music ministry. Now I'm content to sit in the pew and sing from that vantage point. I also think that just being an average pew sitter has been healthy for me.

This year during RCIA, I happened to mention during one of my talks that I used to sing, and one of our priests happened to be in attendance that day as he was the scheduled catechist. When he took the podium he told the class that he's just learned something new about me; and that we need cantors. He also let me know afterwards that he thinks I should get into it again, and I told him I don't sing anymore. I wouldn't tell him why.

Well, last week I made the mistake of singing a couple lines from a parody in his presence, and he basically ordered me to become a cantor. I initially refused...sort of. But I also realized that perhaps obedience comes into play and perhaps God is asking me to sing again. I had considered long ago whether I should step up, but given my reservations, I offered this question to God as the judge; if He wanted me to sing, then I would have to be invited to do so.

I realized that Father was inviting - nay - ordering me to cantor.

So upon that reflection, I sent him an email and told him that if he really wants me to sing again, I will.

I do have serious reservations about this, partially because I don't have the voice I used to have. But if it's time to offer my voice again for God's glory, then I am willing.

The photo I posted is from college; I was singing "Safe in the Arms of Love" by Martina McBride. I still had a decent voice back then. So have no fear; the above is NOT a liturgical abuse as it did not take place in the context of the Liturgy.

I just pray that, if this cantoring thing does come to fruition, my rusty cords don't cause my fellow Catholics to suffer.

The Body of Christ and the Gifts we are Given

The second reading for this upcoming Sunday is from the First Letter of Paul to the Corinthians. You may find all of the readings on the USCCB website.

3 There are different kinds of spiritual gifts but the same Spirit;
5 there are different forms of service but the same Lord;
6 there are different workings but the same God who produces all of them in everyone. 7 To each individual the manifestation of the Spirit is given for some benefit. 8 To one is given through the Spirit the expression of wisdom; to another the expression of knowledge according to the same Spirit;
9 to another faith by the same Spirit; to another gifts of healing by the one Spirit
10 to another mighty deeds; to another prophecy; to another discernment of spirits; to another varieties of tongues; to another interpretation of tongues. 11 But one and the same Spirit produces all of these, distributing them individually to each person as he wishes. 12 As a body is one though it has many parts, and all the parts of the body, though many, are one body, so also Christ.
13 For in one Spirit we were all baptized into one body, whether Jews or Greeks, slaves or free persons, and we were all given to drink of one Spirit.
14 Now the body is not a single part, but many.


The reading is much longer, but this is the part which summarizes my post for tonight. The reading is about the Church as the Body of Christ; we all have a role to fulfill and gifts to be used in order to fulfill that divine call.

Tonight, I spoke to the RCIA class about these readings, and encouraged them to discern which gifts they are called to share. I also pointed out that God rewards small efforts, and has a way of drawing us in to offering something more. He even has a way of doing this such that we don't necessarily recognize how far we are following His call.

As an example, I briefly shared my experience in High School, for at that time, I was called to Music Ministry. This started out very simply; it was just playing my flute at a couple of Christmas programs. A few years later, as I got better, I was asked to play with the Adult Choir on occasion. Then a youth choir formed, and I both sang and played my flute there. As there were not many young people involved in my parish, the youth choir fizzled out, so I ended up joining the Adult Choir.

At first, I was there mainly as musical support, but I sang, too, learned the music, and eventually, I became a full-fledged member of the choir. But also, because I was a musician and had become fairly accomplished, I was asked to assist the cantors, both with my flute and my voice.

For myself, I enjoyed the involvement, the feeling of being needed in some way, and the fact that the ministry I was engaged in really made this parish my family.

And still, God drew me ever deeper. One Christmas morning, I was scheduled to play my flute at the 8:30 am Mass, and to sing with the Cantor. At one point, the Cantor, who was also the Music Director, thrust the songbook into my hands, ordered me to "Sing this!" and she left to go assist another ministry that needed some immediate assistance.

I was left standing in front of the mike, in front of the huge Christmas crowd, having never sung solo by myself. But I did my best and since it was a song everyone knew, (What Child is This) I don't think they heard my bad note!

After that, they began putting me on the Cantor schedule, first as a sub, then as a regular Cantor. I began singing almost every weekend, and if a soloist was needed with the choir on special occasions, I was often the person asked to solo.

My life was music, and I had aspirations of becoming a professional flautist, maybe even a singer.

Tonight, when I spoke to the class, I spoke of the blessings of becoming involved, of God's gracious benevolence, how He draws us in and rewards our efforts. I spoke of how the parish really became my family, and at that time in my life, while I didn't realize it then, I really needed that parish family. So through our community, the Body of Christ, the Lord gives us what we need. Had I not taken those small initial steps, God would not have been able to give me the wonderful graces He provided during those years.

But I did not share with them the "dark side" of this experience. Father happened to be at RCIA tonight because he was the catechist, and when he began, he told the class that I had just revealed something to him that he did not previously know...that I can sing! And our parish needs Cantors! I told him (and the class) that I don't sing anymore.

Father replied, "We'll talk later."

He did approach me later, and I told him that I don't sing anymore.

He asked, "Don't...or can't?"

I didn't look him in the eye when I replied, only said, "...Maybe a little of both." I told him I'd answer his question later.

Thank God "later" didn't come tonight, although at some point he may ask again.

This issue tears at me, because there IS a reason I don't sing anymore. Maybe I need spiritual direction to sort through it, or maybe God is going to ask me to do this again.

Certainly I do not have the voice I once had, but I think, with training, it would come back. I used to have an amazing range, and I know I can "project". I still remember how to use the diaphragm...that's something I learned from playing the flute, piccolo, and trumpet. So maybe what I consider lacking in my voice can be resurrected for God's glory.

And that's where the spiritual issue comes in; Pride.

Yup. The Bane of my existance, the weight of my spiritual life, the obstacle that (in part) holds me back from holiness.

When I first began to play my flute, I was encouraged to play in front of others, and this was necessary; after all, it's a performance art! I've always been able to sing, but I was a shy child and only sang in front of my parents, otherwise, in classes, I would barely open my mouth. I don't know why, but singing was always hard for me. But the flute was different, because all I was doing was providing the air...the instrument provided the sound. And because I was reading music, I could focus on that and not the audience.

In short, for a shy child, playing a musical instrument is GREAT therapy.

But there is such a thing as going too far.

My entrance into church music ministry came on Christmas, when I played a solo of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen". This was a song that was allowed prior to the advent of complete secularization and "PC" anti-Christian lawsuits, so it was music I learned in my public elementary school. My first experience was actually very humbling...I wasn't nervous until I saw how full the church was that evening, and then as I raised my flute to play, I was it with the most acute stage fright that sucked the wind right out of my lungs! I began shaking and sweating, somehow made it through the song...but my church didn't give up on me.

They asked me back the following year. I learned that what I had to do was focus on this as a "performance" and be a "professional". But in their encouragement of me, inadvertently, people were feeding my pride. Initially, that was a good thing; I really needed a legitimate boost to my self-esteem, and I did practice very hard. I wanted to be good, and as my Mom didn't have money for private lessons, I had to work hard on my own and absorb what I was taught by my teachers.

Over time, my attitude of "performance" also leaked into singing, and as I learned that I actually had a voice, and that people liked it, again my pride was being fed. I overcame my shyness by thinking of "professionalism in performance", and so even though I was singing, in theory, to serve God, I saw each Mass as a "performance".

It was all about me and what I could do...be it playing my flute, or singing with the choir, or soloing, or cantoring.

Sometimes I realized I was serving the Church, and considered that Jesus was present, but really I didn't understand the "Real Presence", that Jesus really WAS present.

I am actually very ashamed now when I think back to those very prideful years.

My pride does not take away from the fact that I did provide a service to the parish, and there is some humility there also when I realize maybe WHY I was there, for certainly, I was called.

So another small point; we are all called to share our gifts...but that does not mean we need to be morally bankrupt to do so. Our gifts should be offered in a spirit of service; not a spirit of "look what I can do!"

Some of this can be attributed to my youth, to maybe overcompensating for my very real shyness. Maybe some solid, gentle teachings of the virtues during that time would have taken the edge off of Pride.

But I have to face it now; I was a monster.

No, I wasn't a "Diva", but I KNEW I was good, and that made me feel somewhat powerful. And since I was the youngest member of the choir, this just fed into the entire thing. My Pride was all internal; I don't know that anyone else realized how I truly felt. I'm quite certain that if they did, someone would have guided my head out of the clouds in a hurry.

But there's more to the story, for God works in mysterious ways.

Throughout those years, Jr. High through High School, my family life was extremely chaotic. We were on welfare, Mom was suffering from her Bipolar illness in extreme ways, and I went to bed in tears nearly every night. Not only did my involvement with the choir and music get me out of that terrible house, but it provided me a safe haven, other wonderful people, a few of whom had an inkling and learned more of our situation over the years.

No one ever treated me like a "charity case", although they did provide a gift of payment for flute lessons. They knew Mom couldn't afford it and they wanted to help. They were welcoming, they were sincere, and...well...they were family.

Thank God for them.

At the end of Jr. High, I nearly committed suicide. In October 2006 I wrote about this. I realize now that, keeping in mind that Jesus was present in the Tabernacle, He called me not only because he wanted me to share the gift I was given, but also to keep me close to Him. I was always at the Church. Whether I recognized him or not, Jesus was RIGHT THERE!

And each night, ironically, I would go home and beg for Jesus to answer my prayers, all the while He was dousing me with the grace of His very presence!

So in the darkest years of my life, Jesus was there, and I did not seek Him out...it was He who called me to Him, my Pride and all.

So why won't I sing now?

Because I have come to recognize Jesus, and have not really "felt" called to Music Ministry at this time. I have told the Lord that if He calls, I will answer, but I will not seek this ministry out...I need a solid invitation. I need to be almost ORDERED to sing again. Because of my Pride.

Right now, when I go to Mass, I love just absorbing it, not worrying about my next song, not worrying about doing the right thing at the right time...because if I stand a little early or late, the motion is absorbed. No one cares. And thus I can focus on what is happening, and focus on "praying" the Mass. I'm still not perfect at this, suffer from amazing distractions, but since I don't have to lead singing, I can try to overcome these temptations. And believe me...people need people around them who can sing.

Yet, tonight, I revealed a talent I used to have, and I know our parish has a need. So I feel guilty at remaining silent on this issue for so long, but what of my Pride? That monster is still around, and I fear that if I become a singer again, that I will too easily slip into that old role and turn what should be worship into a "performance".

I have not told Father all of this, if it comes up, he'll get the abridged version. But for now, I, like Mary, am "pondering this in my heart", and waiting for God to let me know what I should do.

I'm not sure this is something I can discern alone, because it involves the community. What one member of the Body of Christ does or does not do affects us all, so I have to ask: Was Father's comment and inquiry tonight a true call or is God asking me to consider taking that step again? This time as an adult with more understanding, with more knowledge...and with a lesser ability than before. For now, there is some humility to ground me as I will never be "the best" again.

And there is Pride again...because a part of me still wants to be "the best".