​Anytime we color outside the lines in worship at Christ the King, try something different, there is a ripple of reaction, a flickering of energy, if, for nothing else, the novelty of it. I decided to take this moment to share my commitment to what I for now will simply call "blended worship," and its theological basis.

More than anywhere else, each of us has our own comfort zone in sacred music. It makes sense: if we are engaged in a Christian worship service, the music is there not only as a way to reinforce the concepts and doctrines of our faith; but it is a way for us to personally engage with our God and Savior. As David reminded us in his sermon on May 15, we are drawn to stories of a bigger, transcendent reality that is our true story--the one that matters. 

I would venture to say that any Christian who has taken part in Christian worship has had some poignant moments between themselves and the Lord while engaged with the music. These are the moments that reassure us of our place in the larger story of God's love, and they are truly sacred. These moments of being intentionally in God's presence, one with Him and one with His family, are the most precious we can experience in this life. We may weep; feel emboldened or strengthened; raise a hand in joy, or sing like no one is listening. Or we might become compelled to make a needed change, to turn back to God, and quietly live more faithfully for Him. It's the big stuff of life, and it's bigger than life.

My thoughts have developed from experience with a wide range of worship styles. One year at CtK's fall retreat, our guest speaker, Scott Redd, described his church background as "denominationally promiscuous," which I found to be a humorous and familiar description. I am one of those as well: my family of origin chose churches and Christian schools for us based on which preached the Gospel most faithfully. At times, as our family grew from apartment to townhouse to single family home, that brought us to Baptist, Bible, Episcopal, Lutheran, and Presbyterian, churches. During my high school and college years, I had a few occasions to attend services, often weddings or funerals, at Assemblies of God, Catholic, Methodist, Moravian, nondenominational, and Pentecostal churches. I attended Young Life, which has its own implementation of sacred songs. My parents' backgrounds were in the Methodist and Salvationist churches prior to adulthood, so I am familiar with their hymnody and styles of worship as well. I have also attended services at a small startup church in a farming town in Costa Rica, a Russian Orthodox service in Moscow, and German Lutheran services in Pennsylvania and Washington, D.C. I personally attended Lutheran and Baptist private schools, and my daughter went to a conservative Christian school, all of which came with their own very distinct traditions. I do not bring this up to equalize or discuss the merits of any denomination, only to demonstrate that I have observed a vast array of worship styles, and this in addition to my post baccalaureate music studies, the history of which is grounded in church music; and speaking broadly, there are some longterm patterns that accompany them.

I fell in love with Anglican worship as a young woman. The service was a little slice of heaven: excellent preaching, beautiful music, a palpable presence of the Holy Spirit, a diverse, kind, and warm congregation, and all set in a beautiful colonial church; I had found the right place for me. When I say diverse, I do mean diverse. The orientation toward missions and serving those in need brought souls that may otherwise not have felt welcome in the wealthy (and enormously generous) congregation. In one pew, you might see a homeless person and a famous  Washingtonian. Young, old, healthy, hurting--they were all there. Some in the congregation genuflected and crossed themselves; many were alive in the revived charismatic movement, including the rector himself. They also engaged in a blend of worship styles: ancient/classical; The Hymnal 1982; and a supplemental book of praise songs. The Anglican service of Holy Eucharist remained firmly intact, but particular expressions changed from week to week, from season to season. And to be fair, it certainly was not a perfect place. There were some moments that went outside my comfort zone, complete with my own uncomfortable cringe and inner eye roll. Still, the community struck me as such a lovely portrait of the unity possible only through Christ.


THE BIGGER PICTURE.

In every membership class at CtK, David tells the joining members that "Anglicanism is not the only way, but it is a good way."* I share David's simple faith in the complete and atoning work of Christ, and faith in Him as our only Savior. This is all that is essential. 

--The Case for Structure.
Music in worship is intrinsic to the Christian faith. We are exhorted, over and over through the entire Scripture to sing and make music to God. In scriptural accounts of worship, both directive and descriptive, the faithful sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs, play instruments, make a joyful noise, clap hands, bow, kneel, pray, feast or fast, maintain meaningful rituals, cry out for joy, raise holy hands, and even dance.** Following the life of Jesus on earth, church music maintained aspects of its ancient roots, and also adapted to its context. The "old" and the "new" have always coexisted harmoniously in Christianity: to deny the old is to deny the eternity of God; to deny the new is to deny His relevance to us today. Jewish settings of the Psalms provided the roots for the structure of the new eucharistic services, and new songs were sung to celebrate the fulfilled prophecies of The Messiah. Based on the Psalms alone, we can see that there was and is music for any season of life, from our most profound moments to our simple daily routines. The current fad view that, because the earliest Christians worshiped in homes, we should discard formal worship in favor of this for a "truer" model, misses the history lesson that in those services, gathered around a table, often in secret, they sang the Kyrie, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei. The meetings were serious, holy, and structured.

The scriptural ubiquity of structured worship, and the dictum in 1 Cor. 14:40 that Christian worship be done "decently and in order" form the basis for my theological understanding of worship practices. Speaking practically, while the church calendar and lectionary were developed by sinful humans over many years, I contend that it is nevertheless a worthwhile structure. If you have ever read the daily lectionary, you will know that some of the most confusing and confounding passages in the Old Testament are paired with New Testament readings that show the role and purpose they played for the grand narrative of God's salvation plan. The schedule also ensures that no passages are overused, or conversely skipped to be more comfortable for us. There are liturgical times of feast and fasting, which, in addition to scriptural and historic precedent, we simply need as human beings to mark our time, and to intentionally remember God's providence. 

Without some structure, we fall back on personal taste. In the case of church music, that usually ends up reflecting the pastor's or the music director's strengths and personality. 

Referring back to the true essence of the faith, our need of salvation in Christ alone, I want to be clear that while the desire of a responsible church leader is to help us all realize this truth, any discussion of preaching, service, or music styles moves us out of the realm of absolute truth and into the realm of "best practices"--and best practices as employed by fallen, faulty, forgetful servants. Anything we do--even our personal devotion time--can be perverted by the enemy into a source of pride, or worse. Our feeble attempts at praise and service should not be confused with God's ultimate truth, or experienced as apart from His power. 

--The Case for Diversity and Novelty.
So why blended worship, if the church calendar and lectionary encompass the teachings of the entire Bible? A good, solid structure serves us well--except when it doesn't. The temptation for an attendee at a clearly structured service is laziness. We check out. Blah, blah, blah, blah. Words, words, words. Oh, we're standing? Did I nod off? Please tell me I didn't snore. In light of the reality of God's story of love for us, and what it means to be engaged directly in worship of Him, that is about as low as we can stoop. In Revelation 3:16, God tells the church of Laodicea: 

I know your works: you are neither cold nor hot. Would that you were either hot or cold! So, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth.

The first time I read that with any understanding, I remember thinking, "Yikes! Surely it's at least better to be an observant Christian, kind of doing the right things??" But any marriage counselor will affirm that disengagement is the sign of doom for a marriage. The Bible likens Christ to a bridegroom, and the Church to a bride. For the lukewarm believer (or marriage partner) there is no reason to fight. You simply don't care enough. Fighting, at least, shows that we have skin in the game, even if we are disillusioned at the moment.

So the first theological imperative is that we keep our faith fresh; we intentionally remember those moments of ecstatic joy, not just the comfortable evenings on the couch. In our comfort, we forget that we were bought with a price. We forget how it feels to be without this love.

Secondly, Christ's fulfilling of the Law broke down all barriers between Himself and believers, and provides power for us to break down the barriers between ourselves and others. We like our boundaries; they make us feel falsely secure and superior. "I may be this, but at least I'm not THAT." Referring back to the intimate seed of truth at the foundation of our faith: God's total knowledge of and love for each of us is the great equalizer. God is no respecter of persons (Acts 10:34). There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female, for all are one in Christ Jesus (Gal. 3:28). What divides us is insubstantial compared to what we share in Jesus Christ. 

We're equal in God's eyes, sure, but what's wrong with choosing music only from one's own tradition? Absolutely nothing. In fact, it's not only good, but it is important to have a steady diet of it, because your home church should serve to communicate and facilitate worship effectively, which is always best understood within our own cultures and comfort zones. However, a disproportionate focus on the traditions and musical canon of any tradition will lead to some doctrinal deficiency. While it is true that the lectionary and church calendar help ensure a complete distribution of Scripture throughout our years, we can ease into lukewarmness that results from familiarity and habit. 

The sacred music with which you engage is forming your own understanding of theology. What, for example, might happen if every single Sunday was bursting with ecstatic, charismatic (in either or both senses of the word) praise? Could normal life live up to the high? Where would you turn when you weren't "feeling it" or realized your life was not actually characterized by constant joy? Or what if every single Sunday, you sang only unaccompanied Psalm settings? Hard to go wrong, right, singing Scripture? But when some of life's sweetest and most intimate moments arose, would you be emotionally prepared to deal with true joy? Would you connect that blessing to God, or feel guilt and shame? What if you just sang songs or heard sacred music specific to your own tradition? You might forget that there is a whole world out there; centuries of believers who have come empty handed just like us to God, only to have our dirty rags traded for His perfect joy and love. Even more than those "out there," there are believers in other denominations who, for myriad and complex reasons like our own, have found a home in a different stylistic setting and tradition. Like the tribalism our overseas mission partner describes, the closer we are, the more hostile the boundaries. 

While holding fast to Christ alone and our faith in Him as our only Savior, I would suggest that some of our blessings can become distractions from Him. Those intimate worship moments might have manifested in a poignant musical moment; but those trappings can also become Satan's distractions. Sometimes, the experience itself becomes the object of worship, and we desperately try to recreate that moment. The Father of Lies can compel us to believe we seek the Lord when we really seek to feel great or experience catharsis. Paul loved his own people; in Romans, he writes that he would wish a curse on himself if it meant the salvation of his kinsmen. We can't change who we are, nor should we. Everything we have and are is a gift from God. Our traditions define much about who we are in this transient world. The value in keeping worship fresh and versatile, however, guards against traditionalism becoming its own orthodoxy. We begin to forget that we came for an encounter with Jesus, and lament the disruption of our habits. 


I would like to encourage you all to engage in the following exercises. As often as you like, choose a hymn or sacred song that you like, and study it. Is it doctrinally sound? Are there any parts you don't understand? What do you feel when that hymn is sung, and why do you think you feel that way? Does this hymn bring you to closer communion with or understanding of God? Then, anytime a piece of music in worship bothers you, analyze your response. Why? Is it because it messed up your expectation for the morning? Is it because you feel as though the tradition from which it is taken is "less than?" Is it because it makes you feel something too deeply? Is it because you fear that difference is a sign of the disintegration of the church? Is it because you think that kind of expression is disrespectful toward God? What do you think the writer of the song was thinking when s/he wrote it? Why do you think they felt compelled to write it down?

It's good, healthy, and normal, to know yourself, to know what is for you, and what's not for you. I have my own comfort zone in church, church music, and other areas of my life. This is not to say that I'm one who should be upheld in any regard as an example, only that I know what I like and don't like, and generally have strong feelings that accompany this taste. I urge you, instead of allowing a surprise to take your focus off of God and worship of Him, to simply be at peace with identifying more or less closely with some kinds of musical worship. When it really rankles you, I urge you to consider why this may be.


Thoughts? I would love to hear from you! As an individual, I can't possibly know all the inspired music being written for worship, and many of you have shared your own favorites which have quickly become mine as well. May God bless and keep you all!

​
Ann





*I personally recall finding this extremely refreshing after looking into some other churches and learning that to become a communicant member, I needed to stand, unified with my family, and promise to the church that I would uphold some very particular and fine points of doctrine that, while important, are simply not necessary for Christian faith and salvation. I similarly feel refreshed when our eucharistic celebrant at CtK reminds us that we come to the Lord's table, and not the table of any particular church. I remember the mortification of going forward for a blessing at a Roman Catholic service to which I was invited, and the priest dismissed me--and it happened on television, I might add. Why do we ask of one another more than God asks of us?

**I'll note that King David's wife, Michal, thought his dancing was embarrassing, and on seeing it, despised her husband; to which David replied, "I will celebrate before the Lord" (2 Sam. 6:21); and God called David a "man after his own heart" (1 Sam. 13:14). 

I've been meaning to write this post since last spring, when we embarked on our first ever virtual choir project. After yesterday's return to in-person choir after two years, I decided that it was time to revisit these thoughts.

We have endured a lot of isolation and separation over many months due to the global pandemic. Prior to that, we had to downsize the music ministry plans in order to fit into our rented facility following the electrical fire at CtK. There simply wasn't room there for choir or instruments.

When everything shut down last March, I recall having the thought, "Well, I hope I can keep my salary, as music will clearly be impossible." Here's a shout out to our fearless leader, David Glade, who encouraged the staff to think creatively about what we might do that we would not ordinarily be able to do. Make lemonade out of lemons, in other words. 

Prerecording service music was an adequate placeholder for awhile. As the quarantine drew on and on, I felt internal pressure to give the virtual choir thing a try.

The choir at CtK is the most fabulous group of people. I was blown away when they were all game to give the virtual choir a try! It meant learning music alone, then playing the part and accompaniment in an earbud, while recording oneself singing a cappella on a different device. Framing, clothing (e.g., not the pajama uniform many of us sported in those days), and lighting in the room were all important. They needed to find time clear of ambient noise (extra credit for parents of small children!). Then, they'd send it to me, and off to production. There was a little healthy anxiety about getting all the details right, and obviously, recording one's solo voice. The voice is such an exposed instrument: if you're tired, or ate or drank something acidic or viscous, or have allergies--any number of things--it shows up in your voice. We all shared some nervous chatter and good-natured self-deprecation over the awkwardness of it all. I  only listened long enough to make sure the audio worked before passing the files off to be combined, so there was no hairsplitting over individual tracks.

When one sings with others, vocal idiosyncrasies blend together, smoothing the sound. When I finally started hearing and seeing drafts of the virtual choir, I was just stunned by how lovely it all sounded. From some of the humorously self-deprecating remarks I heard, you'd think the result would sound like a barnyard. Instead, I just thought wow--we really just sound better together.

Yesterday, September 19, 2021, choir sang together in person with the congregation of CtK for our 9 a.m. worship service. It was exhilarating to hear so many strong voices raised. As amazing as it was to be able to put complex music together remotely--(kudos to Charlie Calotta and Greg Hammond and their endless patience and tech support, and with whom music at CtK would have utterly failed in 2020)--I often felt the frustration of just not being totally in sync.

Don't get me wrong: classically-trained musicians practice, and practice, and practice the art of ensemble, or being in sync. It doesn't just happen by virtue of being together. The effort is to make one cohesive musical moment, free from the individuality of one marching by the beat of his own drum. There is a kind of breathless magic that happens when an ensemble of any size is in that full flow zone. Two or more people create something larger than either could do individually; it takes on an identity of its own. 

Being physically apart makes achieving this elusive ensemble zone exceedingly difficult, and I would say impossible. Even with singers and instrumentalists with whom I've worked many times, and can anticipate stylistic choices and nuances, not being able to see each other, or to feel the physical resonance of one another, or to breathe together, meant that while we can simulate a high quality mash-up, that last piece of unique magic that occurs only from in-person harmony remained out of reach.

Breath is the original conduit life force for human life (Gen. 2:7). We are physical bodies, we are dust (see also Ps. 103:14); but life enters and departs with breath. Many eastern religions and other practices and traditions have made a great deal out of the power of breath, even extending to idolatry. Professionals in health and neuroscience are finding clinical support for the value and power of controlling one's breath. Breath indeed carries our vitality, but it also carries germs. When stakes are high, and stress is high, what should we do with this frustrating dilemma?

I think there is Biblical basis for both the exhilarating joy of lifting our voices together; when "everything that has breath praise[s] the LORD" (Ps. 150:6). Equally though, our dust-based bodies are vulnerable, as is all of creation, to the effects of sin. 

I think the takeaway is that we are simply not in heaven yet. Many of you have heard me tell my story of learning about heaven at a young age. I had always heard that heaven is perfect, and we will live in perfect joy with God. Perfection to me, at that age, 4 or 5, meant in addition to bouncing on clouds without fear of falling, that there would be talking pegasus ponies that you could hug and ride whenever you wanted. No parental permission necessary. One Sunday, a passage or part of a hymn stood out to me; from Rev. 4:8b says that the creatures never stop praising day and night; and "there forever glorified" is a hymn phrase that comes to mind. It was something like that. I asked my mother to please explain. She said all we'll want to do is praise God forever. "No," I thought, "that's not right. Heaven is perfect, and while I like singing just fine, a perfect world is as-described above. With ice cream."

It has been easy to focus on the frustrating physical restrictions these days. I think what we forget is that we isolate and separate ourselves, allowing preferences, personalities, any sinful excuse to deny the unity that is the ultimate reality in Christ Jesus. We've missed the visceral feeling of being unified, when everyone lifts their voices in glorious praise together. And that is a taste of heaven. I pray that we will hold fast to sound doctrine (2 Tim. 1:13), however we may feel, and whatever challenges arise. We are one in the Spirit, and we share the adopted identity as God's children with all other believers and the whole communion of saints. This identity is static; no one can pluck us from His hands (John 10:28), whether we feel it at the moment or not.

Still, I am one happy camper to engage in the incredible gift and immeasurable joy of joining with all of you in live music with thanksgiving. May Jesus Christ be praised!

Look, God, look
in the vastness of your dark
hear this song
in the chorus of the world
where I sing
for the glory of your coming
held by love
as the music pours from me
a flame within
as the night falls around me
hear my prayer
and come through the darkness
hold me waiting
as you wait to be born.

"Advent Song." Words by Christine McIntosh, © 2005. Music by John McIntosh, © 2005. Chamber Choir: Judy Chirino Yannini, Michele Currenti, Charles Calotta, and Jesse Neace. Used with permission.

This past Sunday, we held two services of Lessons and Carols, albeit with differences that mark this year of global pandemic.

We've opened a conversation among our worship leaders and clergy about service pacing. There are times, like Palm Sunday, when Christ's triumphal entry into Jerusalem just begs to joyfully dance forward--All glory, laud, and honor to Thee, Redeemer King!--and Easter Sunday, most of all--Jesus Christ is risen today, alleluia! 

If you attended or watched the second service this past Sunday, you know we miscalculated the effect of social distancing, masking and unmasking on the overall service time. Unfortunately, with the continuing spread of illness, we need to keep services confined to a set time in order to sustain a safe worship environment. We cut a few song verses and stepped up the pace! And it was a success, insofar as no content was lost (unlike the first service--first service attenders, listen to David's inspiring words from the 11 o'clock service here); and we maintained safe worship time for all. 

I was not a fan of skipping along through Lessons and Carols though. Advent, a time of waiting and preparation felt hurried and frantic to me. (And under the circumstances, it is wonderful we didn't have to make more concessions--we are all very thankful to have maintained the content of the service at least that time).

There's a lot of teaching and literature among churches this time of year about God's choice to enter mankind as a tiny baby. Themes usually center around His great humility. Christ, "rich beyond all splendor, all for love's sake became poor; thrones for a manger, did surrender, sapphire-paved courts for stable floor." There is nothing more vulnerable and helpless than a newborn baby; the irony of the omnipotent Lord of the Universe taking that form is a mystery. There is also a lot of teaching on and singing about adoration. The shepherds and the Magi adored him, they "fell down and worshiped him" (Matthew 2:11). We are to join them in adoration. What exactly does this mean? In colloquial usage, "adore" is usually somewhat flippant ("I adore pecan pie"). Does it simply mean to go to church and sing songs? Not a bad start. We should keep all of God's attributes in our hearts all year, and worship and obey Him accordingly. When we use the liturgical calendar, we especially focus on some specific attributes and works. On Palm Sunday, for example, we welcome Christ, we "fling wide the portals of our hearts;" on Easter, we glorify Him, celebrating the victory of death and all that entails for us; in Advent and Christmas, we meditate on Christ's coming, and we adore Him.

In my mind, these factors relate to how we pace worship during this season. You cannot hurry waiting. You cannot hurry gestation. You cannot hurry a baby, and you cannot hurry his care. And you can't hurry adoration. I think part of the reason Christ came as a vulnerable, humble, baby is that it forces us to take the time to adore Him rightly. Not in a utilitarian way; in a way that shows the utmost deference, love, veneration, desire for closeness. 

I remember holding my daughter for the first time immediately after she was born. I was fortunate to hold my first grandson in the hospital shortly after he was born as well. You do not forget those moments. You are just lost in their perfectly precious little faces, all pink and round, warm and soft. The hats! the fingers! the toes!--so tiny! You hold and cuddle and caress in the gentlest and most committed of ways. You have to be all in or it could quite easily result in immediate death of the child. Their little partially formed heads are so fragile, but you can't help caressing them and kissing them, ever so gently.

Whether these associations are what God intended, or have any exegetical merit, I don't know. I do know it helps me understand waiting, adoring, Christ's descent to earth as a tiny baby, and how this informs our adoration of Him. After preparing with care and anticipation, just like an expectant mother, finally the Christmas moment comes, and it is the greatest joy and love imaginable. 

One benefit of this amazingly challenging time is that many composers and arrangers are creating solo versions of favorite choral works. I was absolutely elated to find that Morten Lauridsen's ethereally gorgeous setting of O Magnum Mysterium--O great mystery--had been set for solo voice. A recording from the service is below. I think it is a perfect musical manifestation of adoration, with its gentle, loving flow; pregnant pauses; time to enjoy resonances; complex harmonies that underscore the great mystery; a high point that gushes elated worship; a prayerful, holy, conclusion. 

We're waiting right now for the world to "go back to normal," if that is even a thing. Luci Shaw, in her essay for the Third Sunday of Advent, writes:

Though the protracted waiting time is often the place of distress, even disillusionment, we are counseled in the book of James to "let endurance have its full effect, so that you may be mature and complete." Pain, grief, consternation, even despair, need not diminish us. They can augment us by adding to the breadth and depth of our experience, by enriching our spectrum of light and darkness, by keeping us from impulsively jumping into action before the time is ripe, before "the fullness of time." I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope.

May God bless you as you wait, and as you adore Him fully.

Cairns, S., et al. God With Us: Rediscovering the Meaning of Christmas. Paraclete Press, Brewster, MA. ©2007.

"Thou Who Wast Rich Beyond All Splendor." Text by Frank Houghton (1894-1972) and Marilyn Baker.

 This Sunday, we are hosting a virtual benefit concert that features an array of music and musicians. Our desire is to use our Concert Series format, as always, to turn our hearts and minds to the good, the true, and the beautiful. The upcoming concert has the added feature of being a benefit. 

COVID-19 has changed, challenged, and in some cases, devastated us over these past several months. The virus took the life of our brother, Daniel Lee, and the loss is tremendous. The tribute I wrote to the Friends of Music on August 20, 2020 can be found at the bottom of this post.

Today, I'd like to focus on a broader aspect of this loss. To say that Daniel was an amazing architect is a massive understatement. You will see examples of his work opening the virtual concert. As I prepare for the concert, I came across this article, in which Daniel is interviewed by his friend, Duncan Stroik, architect, appointee to U. S. Commission for the Arts, and professor of architecture at University of Notre Dame. Take a moment to get to know the mind of a true artist, whose desire was to glorify and reflect God through his creative work.

I remember our friend and former associate pastor, Robbie Pruitt, often saying that "all art is plagiarism unless it references the Original Creator." 

To create is to get a new perspective on the enormity and provision of God. He has created all things well. If you are an artist of any sort, think about the love with which you create, and desire to add beauty to the world. This effort and care tells us something about the closeness and care of our Heavenly Father. If you don't consider yourself to be artistic, consider that there are aesthetic aspects to everything; take a moment to make something in your environment special. This small effort, perhaps for something small, like a tiny corner, a plant, a small display, can bring your heart and thoughts to the degree with which our loving Creator has shown His love in His creation. Many hymns were written out of a sense of awe and wonder at the beauty of creation.

In these next few weeks, the CtK ministries will be supplying devotionals for home use. A small portion of this will be some optional  "everyday piety" idea: something to make your home hospitable, or reflective of the heart of Christ in some way. I encourage you to take part in this initiative, and take time to meditate on the reaches of His love for us.

​
As many of you know, our dear friend, Daniel Lee, lost the battle against COVID-19 this week. As his faithful wife, Leonor, reported, "God answered our prayers and gave Daniel a COVID-free body... His fight with COVID-19 lasted one month from beginning of symptoms to his passing into glory. Give thanks to God with me that this ending was God's perfect plan and is for our good."

As Christians, we love fully out of the abundance of love first given to us by Christ. When we lose a loved one in this life, our grief is in proportion to that love. In His perfect provision, the Holy Spirit comforts and sustains us with the knowledge that this is not the end of the story; that God will wipe away every tear from our eyes, that there shall be no more death, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore (Rev. 21:4); and that the last enemy to be destroyed is death (1 Cor. 15:26). We are thankful that our dear brother is no longer suffering, and know that all of heaven is rejoicing to welcome this fine saint of the LORD.

I've known dear Leonor for many years now, after singing and accompanying alongside her, and sharing in a women's Bible study. Christ shines through her so beautifully and authentically that you feel you know her right away--you recognize that same Spirit as the one that is in you. I actually only had a couple interactions ever with Daniel, but they were life-changing.

I was in a difficult place, transitioning from one job to another, and feeling discouraged both personally and professionally. I knew Daniel by sight as Leonor's husband. He made a point to come talk to me at length, as though he knew my pain, and encouraged me to hang in there; to keep playing; that he believed I had something special to offer. I have to wipe my cheek thinking about how meaningful and timely this was. Daniel was a thoughtful, intellectual, and deeply spiritual man who was, in my experience, rather private; but when he spoke, he made it count.

On another occasion, at a gathering for the CtK choir, Daniel took time to publicly encourage me--a little fledgling in this job, making it up as I went along--and expressed his conviction that I had gifts worth sharing. From such a quiet man (as distinguished from my conversations of all sorts with Leonor: deep, fun, giggly, painful, prayerful, light, what have you), his words were dense and powerful. He made you want to listen. It meant the world to me.

On yet another occasion, Daniel and Leonor made the trek to a McNair Hall at Georgetown University to hear a doctoral lecture recital I was presenting entitled, "Direction in Music." About as geeky as it gets, only my very closest family members and friends braved the hilly and confusing campus to attend. Following the program, Daniel, Leonor and I talked, getting deep into the weeds of aesthetic principles and the "language" of art. We eventually decided we should continue the conversation; we never did.

At some point along the way, I became familiar with Daniel's work as an architect. I had always heard he was very good, but I could hardly pull my jaw off the floor when I saw his portfolio. A true artist indeed, with absolutely gorgeous and grand projects under his belt; and he took the time to make sure that I felt encouragement for my journey.

For those who know her, Leonor continues this family legacy at all times with her intimate love and dependence on God. She is a beautiful inspiration, and I wish somehow those who don't know Christ could learn how different grief can be when wrapped in God's love and among His people. I asked Leonor's permission to send my thoughts, and she agreed, adding:

"We must not stop praying for our hurting and dying world. We must be a people of prayer, pleading with the Lord for our world. Our fervent prayers must not stop."

Amen, and amen.

As I mentioned, Leonor herself is a consummate musician, and Daniel at the very least was a music enthusiast; the wonderful nurses in ICU made sure he had Barber's Adagio for Strings and Bach's Air on a G String Pandora stations playing for him around the clock. An idea for a concert began to germinate as to how we might honor this precious family.

This global pandemic has affected each of us in many respects, some of which are mere inconveniences, and others, life-changing and painful. Christ the King parish wants to serve as Christ's hands and feet to each other and to a hurting world. Forthcoming to members of CtK is a notice from our Vestry on how we can contribute practically to the significant needs among our congregation. On Sunday, September 13, 2020, at 5 p.m., we will host a virtual benefit concert to bolster these efforts. We will honor the health care workers in our parish; provide a special tribute to the life and memory of Daniel Lee; and provide a variety of music intended to encourage and uplift during this challenging season. The CtK Choir and Friends of Music Performers will provide sacred and secular music in an array of styles and settings, featuring music of Bach, Bizet, Dvorak, Faure, Handel, Puccini, Williams, original works and arrangements; as well as popular sacred and secular selections performed by vocal soloists, instrumentalists, and choir. Please join us for this special evening.

A young friend forwarded me this article, entitled Secularity and the Problem of Church Music, soliciting my opinion. As we've discussed our ideas, I decided to share some of my thoughts with you. From my original missive:

First, the title made me think that the author was going to equivocate secularity and vernacularism; in the title, it sounds like secularism is a problem (which of course it is). But then he proceeded to talk about how we need to include vernacular attributes into traditional worship (e.g. Bach & Wachet Auf). So as a writer, I found that confusing.

To his overall point about how other periods throughout Christian history have managed to combine both "vernacular" and "authoritative" music in worship, I agree with his description. But I completely disagree with his false dichotomy that vernacular and authoritative are opposites. I do know what he's trying to say, and we definitely perceive them as such. This is in large part due to the particularity and contingency of Postmodern philosophy. Music and art always reflect the times, and our times are characterized by personal truth and fluid reality. Someone in the church told me at the end of a service, when I concluded with a Hillsong song that kind of ended by drifting off (as opposed to a "ta-da" or final-feeling ending) that he hates it when music doesn't resolve. A lack of resolution in music is completely consistent with the current cultural concept that there is no one, firm, reality or truth. So in that regard, our particular vernacular in the 2020s is indeed at odds with music and art that represent a time when the cultural norm was that there is one firm reality and truth. 

One caveat: it is fully legitimate to have different interpretations of aesthetic qualities. Current compositions that meander and create an atmosphere, rather than trying to "make a statement" certainly developed out of our current culture. However, meandering, atmospheric, experiential music need not be at odds with the Christian faith. We are indeed on a journey, and see through a glass darkly (1 Cor. 13:12). A steady diet of music that represents the human experience, in my opinion, becomes too self-focused and less God-focused. However, it is a legitimate part of our faith. Many other world religions eschew the personal and the experiential in an attempt to divorce from reality; but Christ invites us, in our particular bodies and lives, into His family. Emphasis in worship is a balance.

Even if people don't realize it, they respond to these aesthetic qualities, which is what leads to such heated debates about music style.

Basically, it seems that the author is just advocating for infusion of the new with the old. Nice, creative idea. 

But the overall idea of having variety, the old and the new, is a position in which I stand firmly with him. There are two theological reasons for this. First, the Church is one body that shares communion with all the saints (1 Cor. 12). To share facets of worship with the entire Holy Church throughout time is a powerful and beautiful thing. The pathology of the Spirit is the same for all believers, regardless of any socio-temporal considerations. So I advocate remembering that unity by keeping quality music and practices from other times and places. Second, our Christian and one true God is not (though most of academia would disagree with me) a social construct made by white people in the recent past. God is not a style. He doesn't reflect us, we reflect Him. To say it's only relevant (for example) to sing songs that are current, right this minute, limits God to only making sense or being relevant right this minute. And then His nature seems to change when our culture changes. Nope, nope, nope. I'm all for using the best of what we know, new styles, new technology (that's what Bach's organ was after all) or culturally relevant and accessible styles. I do think that in addition to making a lot of work and heartache for the Body, it just doesn't fit the faith to force the one-size-fits-all, regardless of the chosen style.

I will say that we all have our own upbringings and backgrounds that inform what is comfortable and familiar to us. That alone can be extremely heartening and strengthening. I think there is nothing wrong whatsoever with people gravitating toward a style of worship that makes sense to them, and having a pretty steady diet of that, assuming it is grounded in the faith. What I do not agree with is that different expressions of the one true faith are somehow an ethical imperative. Sure, we musician snobs will critique hokey or poorly done performances all day long, but that is a result of training and personality. I might have difficulty identifying with a backwoods church, but this does not mean their faith is less than mine; certainly not their eternal worth. I do of course believe that we bring the firstfruits, our best offerings. I always remember being surprised as a child, learning that God was so displeased with Cain's offering. I thought, goodness, that's what he had! But the glib, lukewarm second-tier offering is actually a sin. So it's a high calling for the heart and how we steward our gifts.

Back to this blog post: when you feel emotional about your taste in church music, I pray that you will remember these two factors: what you like matters, because it's reflective of who you are, and God loves you--you in particular. He knew you before you were born, and knows the number of hairs on your head. He made you the way you are, and wants you to thrive. At the same time, remember that He is much, much bigger than you. He laid the foundations of the earth and sustains it for all time, and for all people. Praise God that we can rest securely in the arms of the One who is the static Way, the Truth, and the Life, yesterday, today, and forever.

I wonder what this title evoked in you readers... I know my husband would sardonically think, "Allergies." The big challenge to all of our lives these days is the COVID-19 pandemic, and it's affecting us all differently. Some are busier, some are bored; some will be glad to be free of a noisy household, others are lonely. It's feast or famine. Younger folks might associate the stress of final exams or final papers with this title. Over the years, I've come to realize just how much suffering surrounds the spring holidays as well: Mother's Day, Memorial Day, and Father's Day. In my inner circle of friends and family, I've seen these "holidays" evoke memories of abandonment, infertility, death of a parent, death of a child, exhaustion from too many family obligations, disappointing relationships, chronic illness and pain, years of hurt, and in some cases, abuse. 

Memorial Day is the most obviously and unilaterally difficult. The pain is so great, even when one has the luxury of being personally removed, that we find ourselves asking why. Why must this be? No one should ever have to endure losing a son, daughter, husband, wife, father, mother, or sibling, or friend in warfare. One look at a photo of Arlington, and I'm about done for. When we consider the selflessness of this sacrifice, it is overwhelming. It's not quite so simple, but in a sense, someone died so I could have my barbecue in peace. When I meditate on this even for a moment, I feel viscerally as though my heart is bleeding and breaking.

I had this feeling as a child too, learning about Abraham and Isaac. I breezily accepted all manner of difficult stories from the Bible growing up, but this one, I remember thinking, "WHAT???" I was incredulous. What on earth might God be doing? Why play with them? It seemed so mean! There simply must be another way to test Abraham's faith. This did not seem to fit into the loving shepherd painting we had hanging in our hall. 

I've grown to the understanding that is the exact reaction we ought to have. What? NO! That is too much to ask. That is cruel and he doesn't deserve it! Isn't there another way? How horrible!

Yes. How horrible. 

If you're like me, you memorized John 3:16 as a child. I said it in a sing-songy rhythm. "For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him, should not perish, but have everlasting life. John threeeee, six, teen." It became commonplace. But waking up to the complexities of adulthood and allowing the Holy Spirit's leading, the fact of God sending His only Son to take the punishment of death for you, in particular, and for me, in particular, is just too much to fathom. He didn't deserve it. It was horrible. There was no other way to save us from what we indeed deserve. And He did it out of love for you and me, willingly.

Rick and I have talked at times about shifting political alignments and associations, especially where it involves evangelical Christians and the military. One past member of his unit, an atheist, was incensed that there would be any crossover between the two, and vociferously complained about even the most general Christian reference. As someone who has never felt an interest or call to government and policy making, and as someone who is concerned with classic religious freedom as outlined by our Constitution, and not one to conflate the love of my country with a religious experience, I think the overlap is too significant to pretend it doesn't exist. No other god, tradition, or religion upholds the example of self sacrifice for others as Christ does. Other religions might focus on ethics and/or the greater good, to some extent, but at the heart, other traditions focus on simply being able to cope with the world. God calls us to more. 

On Memorial Day, we honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice. There is indeed no greater sacrifice, than for a man to lay down his life for his friends (John 15:13).

Here is a tribute by members of the U.S. Army Band, which includes the Brass Quintet and some historic footage as well.

As far as Mother's Day and Father's Day, I think some of us have had the experience that our mothers and fathers gave us our first introduction to what the love of God is. If I were to write tributes to my parents, we'd be here all day. (Although I must add that my mother always tried to get me to learn organ and conducting, to which I rebelled. Awkwardly going back now at middle age and doing what my mom told me to do in the first place... Kids, listen to your moms!)

For some of us, relationships with our parents are more complicated;  for still others, perhaps our parents' inadequacies or errors made us understand all too well that there is only one perfect Father. 

I would like to turn our attention to Henri Nouwen's discussion of the Prodigal Son story in his short book, The Return of the Prodigal Son. He outlines his own journey to the understanding that we are all both of the brothers at times, but the Father is the likeness to which we should all aspire. We are all the ones who messed up at some point; we are all frustrated and self-righteous when things seem unfair to us; but knowing and experiencing all of this, we are to mature into someone who has been well-loved by our Heavenly Father, and in turn attend to our responsibilities with grace, justice, and love. That is the whole parent gig. The young are parented, and one day, must learn to parent themselves. In so doing, we acknowledge the enormity of Christ's sacrifice for us, and rightly steward what He has given us. 

I was the biggest overachiever while I was expecting Laura--I did not have one drop of caffeine, one remotely unhealthy food, one medication... I stayed physically active, listened to (and played) Mozart, and read stories to my swelling belly. It was my joy to do so. I'd still do anything for her and her family.

For myself, I care much less. There's always tomorrow to get in shape, prioritize sleep, or start eating better. If I could see myself as the Father does, I would have to acknowledge the price at which I was bought, and start to "parent" myself through His eyes. His love is truly perfect, in the way I wanted to give it to my child. He who did not spare His only Son, but gave Him up for all, will He not with Him freely give us all things? (Rom. 8:32)

Years ago, a close friend sought counseling about a pain and frustration in her life. After many weeks of gentle counsel, the counselor said, "Another thing just to think about is contentment." Well. She was LIVID. How can someone who has not experienced this dare say to be content!?

You know how desperate parents always try to redirect their children's attention to something that's good? If they're small, perhaps with a toy, if they're older, perhaps a discussion of perspective. Parents know that passing difficulties are not the big picture. As we seek to leave behind childhood things (1 Cor. 13:11), and think God's thoughts toward ourselves, I'd gently encourage you all to parent yourselves through life's inevitable pain and disappointments. Consider contentment. Direct your attention to the good, the true, and the beautiful. (Phil. 4:8) Know that in the exact way you've always needed to be loved, the way you want to love your children, God is advocating for YOU that way.

The end of the story for my friend is that she came to realize the wisdom of those words, and has since been blessed beautifully with answered prayers and depth of wisdom.

I took a walk this blue crystal day, full of giant puffy clouds lazily moving across the sky, sun kissed warmth, birds singing, and the smell of flowers on the air. At some point, a glorious circling wind blew all the dandelion cottons around, and for a good couple minutes, I was surrounded by their delightful swirling. God didn't have to make the world beautiful, but He did, out of an unfailing love for us.

For those suffering this spring, know our prayers go with you. Know He loves you beyond compare, and wants to hold you through your pain. For all of us, take a moment to parent yourselves with nurture and encouragement that we learn from our perfect Father.

It is Well. Spafford, 1873. The choir of CtK. 

Hello Friends, I write, wondering how today finds each of you. I think most folks with whom I've talked express that their moods and/or stress comes and goes in waves. Some are overwhelmed with work, others boredom; some are overwhelmed by being together all the time, and others are lonely. For the most part, I've been elated to finally have some margins in my over-scheduled life, and embrace a healthier pace and lifestyle. After years of nonstop racing to the finish line of every day, it feels great to have the time to exercise, cook at home, catch up on some projects, and actually spend time with my husband! The last week has been, inexplicably, a bit of a downer for me. I want to come out of this quarantine, whenever that is, healthier and better rested than I started. I can't say I don't have the time now! 

Perhaps ironically, what is grating at me is what so many people finds  valuable and essential right now: virtual,  responsibly distant social events. As an introvert who has found herself in front of people constantly, and as a student who is constantly being graded and assessed, crawling into my turtle shell is immensely appealing. People are different, it's not a right or wrong thing. For my part, I felt defeated when I realized that I had no less than 6 social engagements this past weekend. At the end of the queue was the virtual Lowland Hum concert from CtK's Concert Series. Rick and I absolutely LOVED every minute of their show for us last year (seems like 10 years ago now!). But this Sunday, I felt depleted. I found myself thinking, okay, I'm staff, I need to put a good foot forward. I just don't want to interact anymore. I don't! I'm Zoomed out! I want to eat comfort food, watch a show with my husband, and go to bed at a reasonable hour. Like 7:30. (wink). 

But then I tuned in, and listened. Daniel and Lauren are a young married couple whose musical creativity and excellence are matched only by their own calm, warmly inviting demeanors. They are funny and kind. Their pieces are thoughtful and engaging. Within the first minute, I was frustrated with myself for not inviting everyone I know to  join in. For myriad reasons, life feels edgy and stressful now, and their music and presence was nothing short of a balm. I realized early on that I was breathing the way I otherwise only might during yoga or rest: slowly, calmly, and deeply, and simply enjoying a feeling of well-being. 

While talking and connecting is intrinsic to our humanity and health, there is a large body of evidence growing that treating the physiological symptoms of stress is at least equally, if not more powerful, than are talk therapy or drugs. (See Bessel van der Kolk's excellent book, The Body Keeps the Score - www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/313183/the-body-keeps-the-score-by-bessel-van-der-kolk-md/. Beyond that, the arts, especially music, happen to address the physiological needs in exactly the ways that are therapeutic to stress, even in extreme cases. 
 
Just thinking about their name evokes images of quiet, sprawling country: comfortable, homey, comforting, resonating throughout your being. God's provision comes in so many interesting "packages."  Unsurprisingly, they've thought of many creative ways to build you up during this time; not ways to grab life by the horns, but ways to enjoy contentment, and just be. It is well with my soul, indeed.

​

Visit their website lowlandhum.com for more information;  you can stream their music from your service of choice.

I received two forwarded messages from friends first thing this morning. You will have to wait for one at the end of this blog post. The other was an article just for my (and the staff's) information. The title of the article got my immediate attention: "A choir decided to go ahead with rehearsal. Now dozens of members have COVID-19 and two are dead." You can read the entire article here.

​The status and statistics of this pandemic are changing constantly. Granted, this story did not take place in Northern Virginia. However, it did give me pause. That same week, after finally--finally!--resuming choir rehearsals for two weeks, I felt under the weather. On March 11 and 12, recommendations were much looser and more relaxed than they are now. I kept thinking about powering through, and doing the rehearsal. I felt utterly defeated by my poor health. What on earth else, after a four month hiatus, could possibly prevent choir from moving forward? But with the rumblings of Coronavirus and the stubborn symptoms, I just felt the need to cancel. 

There must be something about the way singers breathe and project that made rehearsing so dangerous and deadly for this group in Seattle. I felt a shiver of gratitude at what turned out to be my serendipitous illness. It reminded me of a passage from The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom; certainly not in scale, but in perspective. Here is the excerpt:

     The move to permanent quarters came the second week in October 1944. Betsie and I stared at the long gray front of Barracks 28. Half its windows had been broken and replaced with rags. A door in the center let us into a large room where two hundred or more women bent over knitting needles. On tables between them were piles of gray woolen socks.
     Our noses told us, first, that the place was filthy. Somewhere plumbing had backed up, and the bedding was soiled and rancid. Then as our eyes adjusted to the gloom, we saw that there were no individual beds at all, but great square piers stacked three high, wedged side by side and end to end with an occasional narrow aisle slicing through.
     We followed our guide single file to the center of a large block. She pointed to the second tier. To reach it we had to stand on the bottom level, haul ourselves up, and then crawl across three other straw-covered platforms to reach the one that we would share with—how many? The deck above us was too close to let us sit up. We lay back, struggling against the nausea that swept over us from the reeking straw. We could hear other women finding their places.
     Suddenly I sat up, striking my head on the cross-slats above. Something had pinched my leg.
     “Fleas!” I cried. “The place is swarming with them!
    We scrambled across the platforms, heads low to avoid another bump, dropped down to the aisle, and edged our way to a patch of light.
     "Betsie, how can we live in such a place?” I wailed.
     "Show us how.” It was said so matter of factly it took me a second to realize she was praying. The distinction between prayer and the rest of life seemed to be vanishing for Betsie.
     “Corrie!” she said excitedly. “In the Bible this morning. Where was it? Read that part again!”
     I glanced down the long dim aisle to make sure no guard was in sight, then drew the Bible from its pouch. “It was in First Thessalonians,” I said. “Here it is: ‘Comfort the frightened, help the weak, be patient with everyone. See that none of you repays evil for evil, but always seek to do good to one another and to all. . . .’”
     “Go on,” said Betsie.
     “Oh, yes. ‘To one another and to all. Rejoice always, pray constantly, give thanks in all circumstances—’”
     “That’s it, Corrie! That’s His answer. ‘Give thanks in all circumstances!’ That’s what we can do. We can thank God for everything about this new barracks!”
     I stared at her, then around me at the foul-aired room.
     “Such as?” I said.
     “Such as being assigned here together.”
     I bit my lip. “Oh, yes, Lord Jesus!”
     “Such as what you’re holding in your hands.”
     I looked down at the Bible. “Thank You, dear Lord, that there was no inspection when we entered here! Thank You for all the women, here in this room, who will meet You in these pages.”
     “Yes,” said Betsie. “Thank You for the very crowding here. Since we’re packed so close, that many more will hear!” She looked at me expectantly.
     “Oh, all right,” I said. “Thank You for the jammed, crammed, packed, suffocating crowds.”
     “Thank You,” Betsie went on, “for the fleas and for--"
     This was too much. "Betsie, there's no way even God can make me grateful for a flea."
     "'Give thanks in all circumstances,'" she quoted. "Fleas are part of this place where God has put us."
     So we gave thanks for fleas.
     At day’s end back at the barracks, we received our ladle of turnip soup. Then, as quickly as we could, Betsie and I made our way to the rear of the dormitory room, where we held our worship “service.” Back here a small lightbulb cast a wan yellow circle on the wall, allowing us to read the Bible.  An ever larger group of women gathered.
     They were services like no others, these times in Barracks 28. A meeting might include a recital in Latin by a group of Roman Catholics, a whispered hymn by some Lutherans, and a soft-voiced chant by Eastern Orthodox women.      The women around us packed the platforms, hanging over the edges. Then either Betsie or I would open the Bible. Because only the Hollanders could understand the Dutch text, we would translate aloud in German. We would hear the words passed back along the aisles in French, Polish, Russian, Czech, back into Dutch. They were previews of heaven, these evenings beneath the lightbulb. I would know again that in darkness God’s truth shines most clear.
     No guard ever came near us. So many women now wanted to join us that we held a second service after evening roll call. On the Lagerstrasse we were under rigid surveillance. It was the same in the center room of the barracks: half a dozen guards or camp police always present. Yet in the large dormitory room there was almost no supervision at all. We did not understand it. 
. . .
     One evening when I got back to the barracks, Betsie was waiting for me, eyes twinkling. “You know we’ve never understood why we had so much freedom in the big room,” she said. “I’ve found out.”
     That afternoon, she said, there had been confusion in her knitting group about sock sizes, so they asked the supervisor to come and settle it.
     “But she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t step through the door and neither would the guards. And you know why?” Betsie could not keep the triumph from her voice: “Because of the fleas!”
     My mind rushed back to our first hour in this place. I remembered Betsie’s thanks to God for creatures I could see no use for.

The hymn Amazing Grace comes to mind. Not only does God's grace save our eternal souls, but He provides for our daily lives in ways that we may never understand. 

I have just returned from Convergence, having recorded organ accompaniments for Holy Week. (I like to work ahead, but as this is either the fourth or fifth plan, and the decision was made midday today, I worked about as quickly as I could). Just now, as I write, a loud buzzer on my silenced phone startled me with the emergency message that Alexandria residents are to stay at home, with the   single exception of what is absolutely essential. 

From our solitude, we will gather virtually in the next weeks to remember Christ's sacrifice, and His victory over sin and death. In the mean time, we will wait for His second coming in this imperfect world. I want to encourage us all to look for and find the blessings where they are. 

The second forwarded message was a much shorter excerpt based on  The Screwtape Letters by C. S. Lewis:

Satan: "I will cause anxiety, fear and panic. I will shut down business, schools, places of worship, and sports events. I will cause economic turmoil."

Jesus: "I will bring together neighbors, restore the family unit, I will bring dinner back to the kitchen table. I will help people slow down their lives and appreciate what really matters. I will teach my children to rely on me and not on the world. I will teach my children to trust me and not their money and material resources."

Enjoy the listening link below, and my prayers for health and abundant life go with each of you.