transcendence

The Bethany Quartet, at our 20th Anniversary (and only) Recital

I have done some singing in my life.  I have an okay voice.  It has never been strong - and lack of use and middle age has not helped that.  It has rarely been confident - aside from a brief, egotistic period in my high school days, I do not like to sing in public without at least three other people around me.  But I don't have to! 

The "Bay Belles" in the early-mid 80's

I know some extraordinary singers.  I have been blessed to meet, sing, and grow friendships with the owners of some remarkable voices.  Outside of family, I believe that I can trace every significant relationship and event in my life to singing.  I met the father of my children in choir.  I met each of my closest friends singing.  I came back to church in my 20's because of someone I met in choir.  I met my soul mate in choir.

It began in high school, this singing-makes-friends thing that has really been central to my life.  It was there that I was first exposed to the joy that is acapella singing.  It continued in early adulthood, as I joined an acapella group - we sang chamber music in Renaissance garb, and called ourselves "The Schleptet" - which formed out of the local community college. 

a reunion photo of some of the Schleptet (and our kids)

Four of the men in that group were in a barbershop quartet, so three of the women and I formed our own quartet. (This is where I first learned that long talks and sharing our lives together during rehearsal is just as important as singing!)  When the Schleptet sang together, it was sublime.  Rehearsal time was intimate, in somebody's living room, standing in a circle.  We'd quit goofing around and begin to sing, to each other really, watching the beat, eyeing each other for cues and cutoffs. 

Sometimes it was all I could do to just close my eyes and absorb the amazing, transcendent sound of 10 people, each singing a different harmony.  Talk about soaring.

The Bethany Quartet on a road trip in 2000

As those groups grew up and faded away, a new singing era began for me, at church.  We formed a women's quartet - inspiringly named "The Bethany Quartet", ha! - just over 25 years ago.  I also joined the choir, and have participated off and on over the last few decades.  More recently, my quartet and a men's quartet have joined forces.  The "Super Quartet" is the latest incarnation for me of the ability to make transcendent music with only the human voice.  Oh, my goodness, it is heaven to sing with those seven people.

We had a rehearsal just the other night.  Unfortunately, one of us is having voice troubles.  We sat around a table and discussed what to do.  The conversation was laden with love, respect, and humor.  We came away deciding that we would not sing together for a while, to allow that one voice to heal.  This was a sad conclusion to reach, but we know that we will sing together again.  We left the building, stepping out into a balmy, pre-Spring evening. I stopped to listen as we each called out quietly to the others our good nights, reminders of the next time we would meet, that sort of thing.  It all seemed so dear, it made me tear up a bit.

I love these people so much, I said to God.  Thank you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NPR has a series called "Tiny Desk Concerts".  When I clicked on this one from the Minnesota group Cantus, it captured perfectly for me the essence of the intimacy that singing together brings.  This is not something you will see in a concert hall.  Watch how they look at each other, how they curl around each other, their body language when they are singing, and when they are not.  This is bliss.

Breath of Heaven

(hearing from Joseph, we now hear from Mary's story)

I have traveled many moonless nights. Cold and weary with a babe inside. And I wonder what I've done. Holy father, you have come and chosen me now to carry your son.

I am waiting in a silent prayer. I am frightened by the load I bear. In a world as cold as stone, must I walk this path alone? Be with me now. Be with me now...

Breath of heaven: hold me together, be forever near me, Breath of heaven! Breath of heaven, lighten my darkness, pour over me your holiness. For you are holy, Breath of heaven.

Do you wonder as you watch my face, if a wiser one should have had my place? But I offer all I am for the mercy of your plan. Help me be strong... help me be... help me....

Breath of heaven: hold me together, be forever near me, Breath of heaven! Breath of heaven, lighten my darkness, pour over me your holiness. For you are holy, Breath of heaven.

This song has been a part of my Christmas for many, many years. After singing it this Advent with my little church choir, however, it will never be the same. I will now always hear Ms. Laura Grace singing in slightly anxious, dulcet maiden tones the (well-imagined) words of Mary, and the angelic choir in response. I will remember the tears and the love that were evident in response on that December Sunday morning. I will remember the look of fierce pride and love on Laura's father's face, and the calming reassurance on her mother's.

I will remember the realization that Mary's pleas - hold me together, be near me, lighten my darkness - are supplications that I have made in the past, perhaps we all have, and that my friend Sue, who sang right beside me that morning, now makes on a daily basis. And I remember that those who cry out to God - we are the lucky, the blessed ones. For we believe that there is One who hears our pleas. Breath of Heaven.

the Summer of twenty-ten (part VI) - in Memoriam

September 24

Twelve days after the wedding, a memorial service was held for the Bullis family. The Quartet was asked to sing, as well as the choir and the Prayz group. Our four living former pastors were invited to attend, and accepted. An army of ushers was formed.

Because Bethany holds 200 people at most, and estimates were that there would be five times that in attendance, we had a logistics problem. Enter 1st Presbyterian Church of Burlingame. They have a much, much larger sanctuary, with overflow rooms and even a large patio where the service could be broadcast to more overflow. The pastors worked things out, and we were told where and when to show up. When we did, it was amazing: all we needed to do was make the music. The church had thought of everything, took care of every detail from printing the bulletin - to helping with the sound check - to setting up rooms for the family, pastors and musicians to wait - to passing out water during the (quite warm) service. They were warm and gracious, unobtrusive yet enveloping. I know that the Bethany community will always be grateful for their hospitality.

Like the Sunday following the disaster, there was a feeling of family coming together. So many people from Bethany's past showed up to love and grieve with us. The pastors shared themselves without reservation, and what a comfort it was to have the rock of their presence. (The current pastoral circumstance is far from comforting, which made this even more important.) The choir sang an arrangement of "Amazing Grace" (Sung here by the Turtle Creek Chorale). The Quartet sang Bobby McFerrin's the 23rd Psalm. T. played his composition, Elegy in Eb, on the cello. The family shared with us precious memories of each loved one. A few close friends also shared memories. There was nothing about the afternoon that was not beautiful.

After the service there was a reception at Will's high school, just a mile or so from the church. (Attendees of the service were encouraged to park at the school, and buses were used to transport to the church.) It was held in the gym, with long tables spread with food down half the length of the gym under unreal, yellow lights. I got there late (took Mom home first, at her request), and had little opportunity to speak with the family. However, I did speak to a few of their neighbors - other folks from Bethany, who survived the blast - and I was so grateful to hug them and tell them that I was glad they had made it.

Winding down, T. and I sat out on the front lawn of the school, looking at the moon and replaying the previous few days and amazing event we'd just been part of. (This is part of what we do for each other: help one another to digest the big events in our lives.) I remember thinking that I was so grateful (there's that word again!) for the relationships I hold with the many dear friends I saw that day. I thought about how the grass felt on my bare legs, and when was the last time I sat on the grass? I remembered my own high school days. I thought about how - even in the midst of terrible sorrow - it was, truly, a perfect evening.

old 1st

Rose window, taken from across VanNess Ave

Visited a different church yesterday, Old First Presbyterian in SF, on Van Ness Ave. It's a place I've wanted to visit since I first saw the place a few summers ago (whilst waiting for T. to buy some sound equipment at the Guitar Center.) I took these photos then, not on Sunday...

Since that first glimpse, I've learned a few things about the church: They are the oldest active Protestant congregation in the state. They are a More Light congregation. And a local saint, Glenda Hope, was ordained into service by that congregation. Since I'm taking a bit of a break from Bethany, I thought I'd stop by and see for myself what they're up to.

the narthex is ornately painted and illuminated

I did not arrive on time. I was actually vacillating about whether to go or not... and I ended up splitting the difference and going 30 minutes late. The sermon had just begun when I walked in. I was being warmly greeted by an usher (who "ushed" me to sign the guest book and then "ushed" me to put on a name tag, and then "ushed" pointed out to me through the plate glass window - the entrance doubles as a crying room - a good place to sit) when I recognized a familiar, drawling voice. "Is that Glenda?!" Yes indeed, it was.

Rose window, from inside the Sanctuary

I had stumbled upon the celebration of Glenda's 40th anniversary of her ordination into the Ministry of Word and Sacrament. (In 1970 it was no small thing to ordain a woman to be the pastor of a church!) It was an honor to hear her preach, and that honor was doubled when she served me communion later.

I enjoyed my time at Old First. When I have visited churches in the past, they have mostly not been Presbyterian. This time, the liturgy was familiar, as was the hymnal and even the congregation... it was as if I was visiting a branch of the family I'd not yet met. The pipe organ was impressive, the choir was ... adequate, the hymns familiar, joyful and decidedly not weird - a nice change of pace for me.

exterior detail

There was an adult baptism, an infant baptism, and new members were welcomed. Communion was served in a simple and beautiful way, by intinction. They offer the congregation the choice of wine or grape juice - those who choose wine walk up the chancel steps to where the pastors serve (which is how I managed to be served by Rev. Hope.) I cannot remember the last time I had wine for communion, but it was a very long time ago, and I truly appreciated the difference.

Perhaps the most blessed thing about my experience was that I was totally unknown. All I needed to do was be there. No meetings after, no one I "had to" speak with, no duties, no distractions. It was peaceful. I want to go back - this time, for the whole service. Maybe in a couple of weeks.

exterior brick work

dust, to dust returning...

Almost didn't make it to the Ash Wednesday service. (It's always so hard to get anywhere by 7:00 on a work night.) I decided to grab an "after school snack" and then go, having dinner later. Though I probably missed the first half, I'm glad I went. The service was quite spare, and the songs simple.

Ubi caritas et amor, ubi caritas Deus ibi est.
(Where there is charity and love, God is there)

Come and fill our hearts with your peace; you alone, o Lord, are holy.

Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true. With thanksgiving, I'll be a living sanctuary for you.

The first was sung in English, but I love the Latin - probably because that is how I learned the song. The second is one of my very favorite (and well-used) meditative songs... it is best to sing it over and over and over again, until it sinks in deep and becomes part of my breathing and being. The third has not been a favorite of mine; it has a fairly modern, "pop"esqe tune. However, tonight the words were what carried me, and I went into a good place with those.

The silences were the most wonderful...

In the last, long period of silence all was still - until a distant train whistle broke the silence. It reminded me that we are not (as I tend to imagine on holy days) in ancient Christian times, walking in the dust that Jesus trod. No, we are in 21st century America, where trains whistles still blow, cell phones go off, and electronic gadgets remind us that we are late for church.

Even so. Lent comes to this wonderfully imperfect, American culture - as surely as it came to the English and Germans in the 1930's, slave traders in the 19th century, our founding patriots in the 18th century, to the Italians and French during the renaissance, and so on, through the ages.
It is so odd to see people walking around with an ashen "†" on their foreheads. These people with whom I share my experience - my family of friends, brothers and sisters in Christ - are all 21st century beings, too. And yet we carry the ancient symbol on our foreheads tonight. We are but dust and ashes, (carbon-based beings!) and to dust we shall return. What we celebrate is eternal - even in this modern time. And so we observe and celebrate Lent in our way, in this time.
I think this is the first time I've wrapped my brain around the idea that liturgy is not a reenactment of events that happened long ago. Though our traditions have their origins with Christ, through the timeless hand of God they stretch through the ages, morphing and evolving with the centuries, to meet us here, and they will greet us again in the future.

I'm still trying to figure out how I'll observe Lent this year. A while ago, I thought I might be giving up Facebook. I heard on NPR this morning that English priests asked their congregations to give up carbon emissions for at least one day of Lent, to relieve climate-change suffering for the poor around the globe. (A lofty goal! Imagine not using electricity/gasoline for even one day per week!) I might be working on this. I might keep you posted. ;o) Time will tell.

gratitude, day 8 (ish)

Saturday(the true day 8) was so full that I did not have time to pause and write about how very thankful I am for all that occurred. Let's see...

On the Saturday before Thanksgiving, my church has a big celebration. It is, for me, one of the best days on the church calendar, and my favorite non-worship event. This has evolved over the years, from being an all-out dinner cooked in the church from soup to nuts (well, from jello salad - with questionable mayonnaise topping, as I recall - to pumpkin pie.) The ladies of the church - and it was always the ladies, of course - got pretty tired, and then they retired, and no one stepped up to take their place in such a monumental endeavor. We didn't want to end the tradition, though, so we adapted (hello, Mr. Darwin!) and now it's a pot luck. The volunteer cooks (and one head chef - hello, Anne!) prepare the turkey, dressing and cranberries. The rest of the meal - mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, veggies and salads - we bring to the dinner. And oh, what culinary delights! Some folks (moi) bring the same thing every year, and we all look forward to our favorites (hello, Berta's heart-attack-potatoes!)

This year Mom & Dad actually made it home from their annual fall road trip in time to join me at the dinner. I haven't been able to really sit with them to hear stories about their travels, but there were non-family members at the table, so I got to hear about some of their trip. Dad's off-hand comment about "what we'd really like to do next year" nearly made me choke on my turkey. The trip is strenuous, and Dad's health has not been great, I didn't really think they'd go this year! I guess it's good to have something to look forward to... Lord, have mercy!

And then, after dinner, the best part! We have an annual talent show! This, too, has evolved over the years, depending on who is in the congregation. We've had 10-year olds with clarinet solos (hello Ed!), Dana Carvey's "church lady" impressions (hi Geoff!), readings of "Gunga Din", youth club skits, classical music, songwriter's presentations... oh, how I could go on. It's always such a delight, and (current era) always so darned impressive that we have so very many talented people in our congregation!

This year we evolved yet again, and combined the evening with our monthly Open Mic night. We had two guest acts, as well as the slew of Bethany performers, and oh, boy it was so fun. One of the couples did an hilarious rendition of a scene from Oklahoma! and ended up smooching. (In church! the scandal!) I did my annual reading of this delightful writing by Ian Frasier. (It's now in book form, too!) There was a song about hellfire - with a really tight band - and all of the music was just amazing. I came home with a glow, and that didn't wear off for ... oh, hours and hours.

And for these things, I am truly grateful.

gratitude, day 7

(no, not these. these were for Laura Grace, three weeks ago.)
photo courtesy of the Henry family

I am really looking forward to this weekend. With a terrific my favorite event at church (pot luck thanksgiving dinner and open mic talent show!) tomorrow, and

a b s o l u t e l y . n o t h i n g .

scheduled for Sunday, it sounds pretty much perfect. Before all that starts, though, there is grocery shopping, gas-filling (oh, that must be first on the agenda), flowers to buy and arrange (happy birthday, Andy!) and a sweet potato - cranberry dish to fix. Oh, yeah, and at some point I'll be making that veggie green chili.

Whew, I should go to bed.

And for that, I am truly thankful.

circle of life

I made this basket of flowers for a family a couple of Sundays ago. They requested all white flowers, and I do love the effect. Turns out, it was the family's way to announce the pregnancy of a young couple in our congregation. Much celebrating was made, and rightfully so. A bright light will be joining us soon.

This morning, a good man I know, terminally ill and filled with love and determination, took his own life. He was Father to my dear friend. I grieve his loss ~ and their loss. A bright light has left us.

Rest in peace, dear Deris. Thank you for everything.

Deep Peace

It is Thursday night. It has been a very long couple of days, and earlier this evening I described myself as feeling like an old dish rag, used up and wrung out. Battling with learning about computer functions, programming (?), upgrades. Doing battle with my bank. Getting really upset and angry with the bank situation - which equals, in my case, crying about it.

[Side note ~ I wish that I could get angry and upset and just - be angry and upset. The tears come, every time. And I feel weak and stupid for crying at a time when I feel I should be more powerful and focused. It is the time when I feel most like a "stupid girl" instead of an empowered woman. Half a century into this life, and I'm still doing the crying thing. Don't get me wrong: I think crying is a good and important thing to do. Just... not when one should be making a point, or standing up for one's self.]

Okay, so all wrung out. But by late afternoon, a few things changed. I did some baking. I got a call from T. to go have a coffee break, and we sat out on the sidewalk sipping our beverages and just talking about our feelings. I could feel the pressure just seep away... and I was looking forward to choir rehearsal tonight.

I love choir because I love to sing, and I still feel like I don't sing enough. I love choir because T. is there, and so many of my dear, dear friends are there, and I just love being with those people. I love choir because I come away feeling more centered than I did coming in.

Our anthem for Sunday is an acapella piece that T. wrote months ago, not knowing the circumstance under which it would ultimately be sung. He dedicated it to B., who is struggling with cancer and putting up a real tough fight. The words are a Gaelic blessing, arranged by John Rutter:

Deep peace of the running wave to you.
Deep peace of the flowing air to you.
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you.
Deep peace of the shining stars to you.
Deep peace of the gentle night to you.
Moon and stars pour their healing light on you.
Deep peace of Christ,
the light of the world to you.

I had a feeling about this particular choir practice. We had a death in our congregation last week, B.'s husband. It was sudden and jarring, and we are still trying to wrap our minds around the loss. Sweet B. is doing well - considering everything, remarkably well. She was there tonight, and we all got to sit and just be with her. Folks asked gentle questions about how she and the kids are doing, what sort of things she'd like for the memorial service... and we all just sat together like a family and loved her. It was a precious, sacred time.

When it was time to go, K. suggested a song. We sang "Breathe on Me, Breath of God", and it was... perfect. A beautiful ending to a sacred time.

Breathe on me, breath of God,
Fill me with life anew,
That I may love what Thou dost love,
And do what Thou wouldst do.

Breathe on me, breath of God,
Until my heart is pure,
Until with thee I will one will,
To do and to endure.

Breathe on me, breath of God,
Till I am wholly thine,
Until this earthly part of me
Glows with thy fire divine.

Breathe on me, breath of God,
So shall I never die,
But live with thee the perfect life
Of thine eternity.

hot hot hot!

weather: Yeah, it's in the 90ºs here today. Which is weird, because even though we usually have a few warm days in May, around these parts it's not usually this warm. So I'm using San Bruno AC: a battery-operated fan and a squirt bottle. And I am comforting myself in the knowledge of the Warm Weather Rule: 3 hot days, and then the fog rolls back in. Like clockwork. It'll be great.

church music: The Bethany choir had a real good day today! Sang a centuries-old piece of music, "Cantate Domino", (which is *not* about pizza delivery) acapella. It was... magnificent. I am so happy to be part of the choir again. I had a long drought when I didn't really get to sing anywhere. But with T. as the new Director of Music this year, even going to choir rehearsal can be a worshipful experience. Surrounded all night by dear, dear friends in the choir loft, I leave each week feeling both energized and content. Sunday mornings are similarly at-peace, but with a whole 'nother energy. Today the Spirit was very tangible, and the whole experience was satisfying on many levels.

Open Mic Night: Bethany is hosting a monthly event, and so far it's going even better than I imagined. About 40 people attended last night, and 8 of them were guests - folks who saw the ads I put up on line and just showed up. Perfect! Last night was a little bigger, a little better than the previous event.

Next month it will continue to grow. How do I know this? I guess the best way to describe it is faith. Last night it was apparent, so very clear, that God is blessing this endeavor. Do you remember that scene in "Field of Dreams" where the little girl says with certainty, "people will come. They won't even know why they're coming here, or where they are going when they get in their car..."? It feels like that - with little or nothing to do with logic, people will come. This is happening for all the right reasons and we are following the guidance of a Power greater than all of us. The event will, simply, grow.

One of our guests last night said, "you people ALL belong to the same church? This place is amazing!" Modesty aside - it's true. About half of the congregation are incredibly talented - professional quality - musicians. It hardly seems fair, until we realize that God has brought all of these talented people together into one congregation for a reason. The whole push behind doing an open mic night is to multiply our "talents". (A small biblical pun.) We are providing a warm and welcoming space for others like us... others who may not have a place to go, who may not know that a church can be such a place. We are here, and we are ready.

It is SO exciting to watch this unfold!