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Yes, Lord, I guess I really did hear you correctly…

Posted December 19th, 2009 by admin | 1 Comment
Calling, General, Music | , ,

Last Sunday, I was baptized.  It's not that I had not been baptized, I had.  And it was not that I had not been baptized as an "adult", because I was 12 at the time of my first baptism.

But during the course of our preaching class this fall, we read parts of Barbara Brown Taylor's The Preaching Life.  In that book, she talks about how the preacher is really just someone that a community has decided to support in their full-time study of the Gospel, so that that person can act as a conduit between the community and God.  And part of that job is for the preacher to wear the outward mark as one of God's community and to wear that mark 24/7, for all to see.  Then, she makes the most curious comment, that maybe there would be fewer people in God's community if everyone had to wear that mark as the preacher wears it.

This struck me to the bone.  I haven't been able to stop thinking about that comment since I read it.  I think constantly about the ways in which I can be a visible member of God's community, a visible missionary, a visible example of God's grace in action in this world.  And then I knew, it was time for a public statement of faith:  it was time to be baptized.

For you see, while I was baptized as an adult, I was baptized a Presbyterian and well, it wasn't a full immersion baptism.  Now, I'm not going to say that there is anything wrong with a baptism that isn't full immersion, but I will say that it became increasingly uncomfortable to me to be active in a Baptist church without the statement of faith made by  public, full immersion baptism.

And so, I asked for it.  Now, as is so typical of my psyche, I didn't really think it through in any logical way.  And when I went to Pastor Amy to ask to be baptized, I left out one really big detail -- the fact that I am absolutely terrified of water. 

Perhaps terrified is not a strong enough word -- for most of my adult life I have been convinced that if my face were to actually go BENEATH the water line, that I would die, instantly.

Not as irrational a thought as it appears at first glance, though, for someone whose earliest memories include the dreadful, awful night on which storms knocked out the power citywide  and her beloved older brother, 14 years her senior, died in an accident in which the car containing him and his friends plummeted off an incomplete bridge and into the Missouri River.   Early lesson learned; water was not my friend.  And that negative life lesson was followed by one disastrously unsuccessful swimming lesson after another.

Now, I did let Pastor Amy know that I was afraid of water.  But, I didn't tell her all the details. But my dearest JL, in that way of hers, tried to make it really clear just how bad a relationship I had with water, so, waiting to go into the baptismal font, Pastor Amy asked.  Still not going into all the details (just didn't seem like the time), I just said that it had probably been 35+ years since I had put my face in water. 

My baptism, Calvary Baptist Church, December 13, 2009

My baptism, Calvary Baptist Church, December 13, 2009

And so, as she reached for my hand to lead me from behind the curtains into the visible portion of the baptismal font, I knew that the only answer was surrender.  What else could baptism be about? The water frightened me, but the amazing faith of Pastor Amy and the wonderful congregation at Calvary Baptist was palpable that morning, and so, at least for a brief moment, I just let go.  As I came up from the water, and she hugged me, and said, "You did it", I was stunned.  It is not a cliche that in that moment, you feel the surge of new life, another chance, a new strength and a new hope.  As I walked carefully back to the steps with my candle in my hand, I opened my ears to listen, and breathed in all that I could in that moment (particularly since I only had a few moments -- I had to run down the stairs and change to join the choir for the Biebl Ave Maria and the Pinkham Christmas Cantata!)

And here, most surprisingly,  is the biggest lesson from those few minutes, and from the next few days afterwards:  after being baptized, I felt the same way that I feel when I have just sung a song or a recital program, and I know for certain that I was fully communicating, that everything worked to deliver the message of faith and grace and beauty that for me, is always a part of music and musical performance.  All my cells were active: I could literally feel the new energy flowing through me, I felt like a Roman candle and I was pretty sure that with the right camera, someone might see fire coming out of my head.

So, perhaps I use a little hyperbole to make my point.  But the one thing that the similarity between the act of baptism and the act of singing showed me is, well, yes, Lord, I guess that I really DO hear your message loud and clear, and I'll keep going.  What a gift that day gave me, the renewal of energy, the renewal of hope, the knowledge of so much love, and the validation of purpose and calling.  Thank you to everyone who was there for being a witness.

Yes, I’m going to Germany…to buy socks

Posted November 16th, 2009 by admin | 1 Comment
Calling, General, Music, Travel |
I just booked the ticket for a few days at the German Christmas Markets between the end of my holiday concert season and the actual holidays and I'm really quite excited...I get to buy new socks.

socks2I won't waste your time listing the virtues of German-made socks (a very long list, mind you),  or enter into a discussion about why the people in a country where many are happy to sun bathe nude in public parks make the very finest socks.   Let it suffice to say that, for the past several weeks, it's not Carolina that's on my mind....its Germany.

There are a variety of reasons that I am suffering from my seasonal compulsion to eat sausages and drink Kinderpunch (although this year I may graduate to Gluhwein like a grown-up), and since the compulsion has been leading me to spending time planning my trip (which is not until the end of December) rather than doing things that need to be done NOW (like launching the new web site for Serate Musicali), I thought that I well, should take a moment and think.

There are some obvious reasons, probably.  For example, maybe it is simply that I'm awaiting the box of CD's from the production company for my first ever commercial CD, Weihnachtsfreude, which contains mostly German Christmas music and sports a wonderful picture of my favorite Christmas Market of all time, that in from of the BerlinKonzerthaus on the Gendarmenmarkt, and preparing for an upcoming recital of some of this music on December 3, 11:00 am, at the Mansion at Strathmore.   These are good reasons to be thinking about rosti (German hash browns) and hot chocolate (no, not at the same time).  And while I ecstastic that this project is finished and that the CD's will arrive today and that I can share this music that I love so much with my friends and those who so kindly support my singing, there are some other important reasons to be thinking about my favorite German cities.

You see, it was just about a year ago that I returned from a second devastating audition trip to Germany, vowing to never ever sing opera again.  It was a year ago that I was asked to sing at the funeral of a beloved member of our congregatation at Calvary Baptist Church and that while singing at that funeral (still jet-lagged out of my mind and having  just barely recovered my voice from the effects of a sinus infection that had forced me to cancel my last audition) that for the first time I clearly heard the call of God in my life. 

What a year it has been:  struggles with my voice, struggles with my life, struggles with that call and just what it means.  In the last year I have sung great oratorio works, done recitals, preached a sermon, led a service at Thomas House, started a fledgling social group, organized big and small concerts, begun my work with a spiritual director, and through all of that, come back to a place where it is okay to sing opera alongside with oratorio, as long as I sing to communicate the amazing power of God's grace.  And, most importantly, I started and completed a personal project that means so much to me:  Weihnachtsfreude.

CDR410.inddSo, if you are one of the people (thank you in advance) who manages to get a copy of this musical project (hopefully it will be available on CDBaby and ITunes very soon), remember while you are listening, it's not just Christmas music:  it is the first step forward in my new life, the first tangible product of a lifetime of listening and praying and trying, and a musical gift I would never have been able to give if it was not for the events of the last year, since November 2008. 

And now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go back to planning just which Christmas markets I will visit, and thinking about sausages.  It is, after all, my day off...

Well, who would have thought…

Posted October 26th, 2009 by admin | No Comments
General |

First my apologies...I've been away and distracted by other things.   I've started and stop more posts than I care to admit, and I really will finish them.  Someday.

But if you followed the earlier entries in my blog, you know that I've been doing a lot of soul-searching about music and faith and how best to roll these two together into a life of meaning -- well, one of the things that I have done is toWooden Pulpit participate in a preaching class offered by my pastor.  And, last night, I preached my first ever sermon.

So, rather than write more about this experience and what it means in the greater scope of things, I thought that I would post my sermon text, just in case anyone would like to read it.

And a little bit later, I'll have more to say.

------------------------------------

Yes, the Plan is Working (Romans 8:26-39)

I have to start today with a confession:  my choice of this passage from Romans 8 was based purely on the mental image that flashed in my brain when I read v.31b, which says: “If God is for us, who can be against us?”.  I saw the actress Bette Davis, dressed as Queen Elizabeth I, standing on a cliff, facing her followers, reciting the famous Tillsbury speech, calling her men to arms against Spain’s Armada, that had come to conquer England and return it to Catholicism: 

“The enemy perhaps may challenge my sex for that I am a woman, so may I likewise charge their mould for that they are but men, whose breath is in their nostrils, and if God do not charge England with the sins of England, little do I fear their force… Si deus nobiscum quis contra nos? (if God is with us, who can be against us?)”

If God is with us, who can be against us? These words appear as royal and institutional mottos, over medieval doorways in Krakow, even in online discussions about whether or not the Cheetahs deserve to win today’s whatever sports match (courtesy of Supersportsforum.com).  But always it seems that are used to say, see, we are right, and the people we fight, they are wrong.

But as I read and reread our epistle passage for today, these words of the Apostle Paul, written to show first the church at Rome, and now us, how to live a Christian life, I see that what I had always suspected about these words was true:  they were not meant as tools with which to conquer our enemies, they are intended to help us conquer ourselves and our lesser nature and our fears. That is, when we take closer look at Paul’s words and see what they really say to us: the story that they tell us is about prayer, hope, and faith, not about superiority and separation.

Our passage for today is a small portion of a very long, letter written by Paul of Tarsus to the church at Rome, a church formed out of the Jewish community there around 40 CE.

What we know as the book of Romans was written around the year 58 CE, as Paul waited in the city of Corinth, readying himself for what his return to Jerusalem after many years of mission.  And we do know that it was written by Paul: of the 13 books in the New Testament attributed to Paul, 7 were written by the Apostle himself, and the remaining 6 come from the writings of his students.

Paul had spent the previous 14 years of his life, telling the story of Jesus to the Gentiles, or non-Jews, in the lands today know as Turkey and Greece, and working to reconcile the antagonistic cultures of Jew and Gentile within the teachings of Christ. What we know of Paul comes to us through is letters and through the historical accounts of his mission in the Book of Acts.  But it is the Pauline letters that provide the greatest written teaching on the doctrines and practices of early Christianity.

The letter, or epistle, in the Greco-Roman period of early Christianity, was a specific rhetorical form with a dictated structure:  an opening, followed by an offer of thanksgiving, then the body of the message, and a concluding formula. Paul, as a reasonably educated man, followed this form. Our text for today comes from the closing portion of the body section of the letter to the Romans.

I think in many ways we have forgotten the importance of the written letter. Certainly without Paul’s letters, we would not know him as well. Recently ,my favorite radio talk show Diane Rehm interviewed author John Freeman about his new book The Tyranny of Email.  In that interview he talked about the lifetime of letters he had shared with his grandmother and mother, letters still in his possession even though the writers are now gone.  He reminded me what a gift an actual letter is from the sender to the receiver and I immediately thought about Paul and his letters.  Imagine the excitement in the community when the courier arrived with the parchment, the message to come together went out and the members of the church community gathered, perhaps over a meal (dare I say, over a potluck) and then the reader stood  and unrolled the parchment and began to read aloud.

That’s the other thing that we often forget.  We forget that Paul created his letters TO BE READ ALOUD. We read them aloud in community to this very day – but we treat them now as sacred texts rather than as what they were: actual communications between one man and a group of faith pioneers living in a far outpost, people alone, people trying to learn a new way of living, trying to live in a new kind of community, trying to uphold a life of faith when surrounded with the scorn and disdain of those who just didn’t agree with their choices.  (pause)

The last thing about the letter itself is this:  as you read this text from the letter to the Romans or any other Pauline letter, never forget the context of Paul’s mission:  evangelism to the Gentiles and the weaving into community two very culturally different groups, the Jewish Christians, who believed that the practice of the Covenant Law was a necessary part of the road to salvation, and the Gentiles, who came directly to the teachings of Jesus.

I said earlier that really, this section of Romans is a letter to all of us on the topics of prayer, hope and faith.  We’ll go back  to v. 31b, “If God is with us, who can be against us,” in a minute, but before we do, let’s examine another portion of our reading that is also often used to separate and divide rather than to unite: the text on predestination and justification in v. 29-30. 

Let’s look at this text again: “For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the first born within a large family;. (30) And those whom he predestined he also called; and those whom he called he also justified; and those whom he justified he also glorified.” I will admit that the more I read this passage, the more my head wants to explode.  And yet these concepts occur throughout Paul’s letters:  predestined, justified, glorified.

Now, please bear with me here – apparently you can take the girl out of the history department, but you can’t take the history department out of the girl – clearly the use and abuse of these words has hidden the meaning of this text for many believers and I’m one of them.

Predestination. Well, there have been in the history of Protestant doctrine two very different interpretations: the logical and the experiential.  The reformation theologian John Calvin offered the logical interpretation:  he taught that predestination is “double-edged”, there are the faithful and there are the damned and only God knows to which group you belong.  No act of faith or merit could change your status. Predestination in the logical interpretation becomes nothing but a tool for exclusion and inequality in human society.

The experiential approach to predestination, as it appears in the works of James Arminius and others, takes on a more neutral meaning.  Predestination simply means that salvation awaits and is constantly present; once we open ourselves to that grace, we realize that our salvation comes not from our own actions, but from God’s.  The only thing that the word “predestination” is meant to exclude is any idea on our part that we as human beings did anything to receive this grace:  our performance or lack thereof has nothing to do with God’s reaching out towards us or God’s love for us.

This latter understanding of “predestination” is more in keeping with the context in which Paul wrote. The concepts of foreknowledge and predestination were common concepts in Jewish theology: these words simply described the pre-creation activity of God.  And Paul echoes this same understanding in his letters to the Philippians and to the Corinthians. But the truly important point here is that predestination is an action of GOD

Okay, so God’s action of foreknowledge and predestination mean that a world of grace and of love is always there, always available to us. How do we get there?  We simply accept the faith that is offered us. And how do we do that?  We access that grace by justification and the result is our glorification.  Two more words:  justification and glorification.  Remember v. 30:  And those whom he predestined he also called; and those whom he called he also justified; and those whom he justified he also glorified.”

Justification refers to the act by which God raises us to righteousness, and that action was the resurrection of Jesus Christ as Paul writes in Romans 4:24-26: “...It will be reckoned to us who believe in him that raised from the dead Jesus our Lord, who was put to death for our trespasses and raised for our justification. “  

Justification occurs through our acceptance of God’s pre-ordained grace when we accept the way of Jesus Christ, and for Paul, most specifically, it comes through the act of baptism (Romans 6:1-4): “What shall we say then? Are we to continue in sin that grace may abound?  By no means!  How can we who died to sin still live in it?  Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death  We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the father, we too might walk in newness of life.” 

So, the result of God’s actions (predestination and justification):  is our glorification, as we take our place in the family of Jesus Christ, as we share in the life and death of Christ.

Lets breath, stop a minute, and put these words together.  If we take a moment, and listen to the same text from the Biblical translation known as “The Message”, it becomes more clear to the modern listener:  “(29) God knew what he was doing from the very beginning (predestination).  He decided from the outset to shape the lives of those who love him along the same lines as the life of his Son.  The Son stands first in the line of humanity he restored.  We see the original (Jesus) and indeed shape our lives there in him.  After God made that decision of what his children should be like, he followed it up by calling people by name.  After he called them by name, he set them on a solid basis with himself (justification).  And then, after getting them established, he stayed with them to the end, gloriously completing what he had begun (glorification).”

And so we see the structure of God’s eternal plan and God’s promise of action on that plan: foreknowledge, predestination, calling, justification, and glorification.  And all we really have to do is accept our place in the family of Jesus Christ, as his brother or sister, and respond to the love and grace that was always on offer to us through God’s plan.

For me, at least, those words we started with now take on new meaning in light of this knowledge of God’s plan of salvation:  “If God is with us, who can be against us?” no longer rings in my ears as the battle cry of tyrants and dictators, but as the assurance of Grace that completes our reading for today.  Our text asks:  Who will bring any charge against God’s elect? Who is to condemn us? Who will separate us from the love of Christ.  No one. And Paul’s own words in v. 38-39: “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love god in Christ Jesus our Lord.”  Is there a greater statement of faith and security than that?

I started this sermon with a confession, and I guess I will end with one.  When we all met for our first session and talked about why we were in that room at that time, I gave my standard speech that I’ve been using for the last year, that I was in a time of discernment and exploring new things. The truth is, for the last year, I have been in a kind of spiritual turmoil.  My heart could feel the tug of God’s plan described so strongly by Paul, but I just couldn’t move, I couldn’t see and well, I didn’t know what to do.  And then a very wise person said to me, “You know, whatever you decide, whichever direction you go, you just can’t fall off God’s plate.”  And that is for me the lesson of Romans 8:26-39.  Prayer, faith and hope…these are the actions required of us.  The rest is left to God.

We, like those early believers in the City of Rome, hear the words of Paul’s letter in a world in which we exist sometimes as an island in what seems a sea of scornful unbelievers:  a world in which secular triumphs over sacred, in which belief is sometimes explained away as the actions of a single protein in our brains, in which the words of our own faith are used to harm and to exclude.  But if we listen, as those listeners of old, as the reader unrolls the letter parchment,  we can hear the real message of Paul’s letter:  that God knows each of us, individually and collectively, that we were known before the world was created, that we are known when we are too afraid to know Him and that even when do not know how to speak to Him in prayer, if we but stand silently in the grace of salvation, the Holy Spirit will find the words we need and see to it that our prayers are heard.  And, we just simply can’t fall off God’s plate.

An Audience of One

Posted July 22nd, 2009 by admin | No Comments
Calling, General, Music |

So, I'll admit it -- I have been procrastinating.  I typed this title and saved an empty page as "Draft" months  ago, after I read the  chapter by the same title in Os Guinness's book Rise to the Call.  Maybe I believed that if I thought about it for a while, the  feeling that my head would simply explode at the concept might subside.

It did not.   But I read the chapter again yesterday, and I didn't explode, so now I think that I am ready to write.

Guiness's term, "an audience of One", should really be a simple concept relating to call and motivation. But nothing is really simple when it relates to a discussion of call and motivation.

When I consider the nature of God's call in my life, as a 21st-century American steeped in the concepts of planning and productivityand usefulness so common to our society, I immediately think about the ways in which this call influences my goals, my ambitions, my achievements.  Maybe I need to go to seminary, definitely I need to cut activities 20 and 27 out of my to-do list because they are no longer relevant; I must  add more volunteer and service activities, give more to some organization that aligns with my perception of my call.  Maybe I should throw over everything in my life to follow a life in the church--seek ordination, become a pastor, minister to the flock. Over achievers, one and all, ruled by our concept of the puritan work ethic, being busy in response to that voice in our head and our heart.

I never stopped  to consider the question: who is the audience for all of this striving?  Does my new awareness necessitate more and different activity, or simply  a change in venue, a transformation from performing for the audience in my life -- my friends, my family, the society in which I live, the profession of classical music-- to a complete focus on the audience of One, or God?

And yes, this is a critical issue in the life of one who is evaluating whether or not to continue in the world of secular classical music, where audience is everything. If you have the wrong audience, your message doesn't get through; if your message doesn't get through, no one wants to hear you.

We as those attempting to live a Christian life often refer to ourselves as "bucking the crowd," "marching to a differentYour audience drummer", and the colloquialisms go on and on, but,  in simply acknowledging this other crowd, are we not still in thrall to it and its approval or disdain?  One of the basic concepts in the  psychology of self development and individualization is this:  as long as you are rebelling against it (and the "it" can be anything -- parents, Madison Avenue, colleagues, whomever), the "it" still owns you.  If you spend your days working to "improve" yourself so that you can fit in with a certain group, pass a certain hurdle of recognition, then that group owns you and that is your focus.  As Harry Truman, my fellow Missourian, once said:  "I wonder how far Moses would have gone if he had taken a poll in Egypt."

So,  the Audience of One.  Guinness refers to this concept as one of the vital features of the "truth" about calling:  "A life lived listening to the decisive call of God is a life lived before one audience that trumps all others --  the Audience of One."

May I say, that, having spent the last 20 years of my life developing my skills as a performer, this thought turned my world on its head.  And, at the same time, it led me to understand many of  my failures  as a performer and as a person.

I will admit it, I have read more than my share of self-help books.  I can tell you in great detail the features of my personality that are still hold-over survival tactics from my childhood in an alcoholic home, I can point out to you the ways in which I behave oddly because I was raped when I was 17, the psychological and spiritual virtues that are now a part of me because of the work that I had to do just to strive towards wholeness.   I could catalog for you my co-dependencies, show you just which behavior pattern reveals the best glimpse of the empty, damaged hole in my soul.  I am happy to say that today my reading material and my musings display a less narcissistic orientation, but what NEVER came through in any of the hundreds of books that I read was the simple idea that I had the wrong audience.

Oh, these same books would tell me to turn within, to spend time in meditation, to try to hear my own voice through the cacaphony of the crowd I was trying to please or appease, but an audience consisting only of my Self is no better than an outer audience -- it is not the Audience of One, despite the fact that it is an audience of one.  And these books  never told me, as theologian Henri Nouwen has in his book The Inner Voice of Love, that the only relief from these individual pains comes with the realization that my pain is humanity's pain.  We fail to hear our call when we think that we struggle on alone.

So, the truth is, we have it backwards.  We play to the many and we struggle alone; we must live in solidarity and focus on the One, the Audience of One.

With that understanding, I return to the question of opera or no opera that started this blog and this particular The audience at La Scaladiscussion, and just why the Audience of One is so important to that decision.  You see, just after I had made the decision to give up the world of opera, I discovered Guiness's book.  I thought that I had it all clear, that secular music was not in line with my newly heard calling, that I should find a life in music devoted to the sacred, to the reasons that I really sing, that I should not try to exist in a world where many were seeking recognition and applause above all else, where I found it difficult to experience the sacred.  And I read this book, and I knew that I was wrong.

A life devoted to sacred communication through music does not mean never singing opera.  It does not mean withdrawing from the the larger musical community to seek only those needing the message or working on communicating the message through music.  It does mean using the gift of music to communicate the sacred wherever I am, whatever I am singing, whatever I am doing.

I still don't know exactly where this will take me, but I do know that it is NOT my calling to retreat or to quit, that it is my calling to be a good steward of the gifts that God expresses in my life, including my voice.  And that all I can do every day is remind myself:

"I live before the Audience of One.  Before others I have nothing to prove, nothing to gain, nothing to lose."
-- Os Guiness, Rising to the Call

Le'ts see where this one takes me...

Learning to say NO

Posted April 25th, 2009 by admin | 1 Comment
Calling, General, Music |

Well, maybe not NO, just no -- but clearly and without hesitation, and not in a panic at the last minute.

Lillian Nordica, a famous American opera singer of the Gilded Age, wrote in her "Hints to Singers" (appended posthumously to her biography, Yankee Diva, written by Ira Glackens in 1963), that a career is built more upon the "no's" than the "yes's".  And I have long pondered that dictum, even if I didn't put it into practice. For years, as I worked day and night to build my singing career, if someone asked, I said yes. 

Lillian Nordica

Lillian Nordica

But several years ago, I started to observe a new behavior pattern -- I would say yes, and then, as the date came, I would panic and after the event I would realize I should have listened to the panic -- I should have said no.  And then, at least in regard to auditions (not performances, that would be too flaky), I would work hard to get the audition, and then the day of or the day before, I would realize what a mistake it was, and I would cancel.

Or, I would be absolutely convinced in my deepest soul that I should do something, I would move heaven and earth to make it happen, and then...it would be a collosal disaster.

Truly, I realized that my sense of discernment was totally broken, but why?  And with that knowledge, it became almost impossible for me to decide what to do next.  I was frozen, unable to hear my voice or God's, and so very afraid of making more errors in judgement.

It has taken a while, but I now understand that a lot of those "yes's" were offered up by my logical mind, influenced by the voices and dreams of other, by need to please and to be accepted -- that true discernment springs from the heart and the soul, not from the intellect.  It's not that the voice of my deepest calling cannot come through another person's voice (yes, we all know the row boat and the flood joke), but it might be a while before I can be sure of that one. 

And so I struggle on, working to clear the channels and see the way to my next right step.  And, while I still make mistakes, I have a few victories, too.  I recently auditioned for a local theatre company doing a Gilbert & Sullivan production, and got called back for the final audition, only to panic and withdraw.  But, if I hadn't withdrawn, I would have been unable to accept the offer to sing a piece of Haydn with a local choral group that came just this week, a much better and more welcome offer. 

So hear I sit, facing big decisions about what offers to accept or decline over the next few months, and I'll admit that I don't have a clue.  But, this time, I will sit here until I do have a clue, and without that, the answer will be NO.

How's that, Lillian?

Why I became a Baptist…

Posted April 9th, 2009 by admin | 2 Comments
Calling, General |

As we moved through the worship experience of Palm Sunday last week at Calvary Baptist Church, I couldn't help but think back to the year before.  In 2008, despite my two years of service in the music department there, I had not yet become a full, card-carrying (well, we really don't have cards) member of the congregation.  No one had ever treated me as an outsider, no one had ever pressured me to join -- everyone I encountered had truly lived to their congregational mission of inclusion and acceptance.

Yet, I had not yet joined the church.

You would have had to know me for a long time to understand what an unusual experience in my life that "not-joining" was...I'm usually the first in line to sign on the dotted line, the first to send in my dues,  definitely what one would call an "easy" joiner.  And I was mightily puzzled by my own reticence...in front of me was everything I had been saying I was looking for...a community composed of people of great sincerity, of great inclusiveness, of depth of belief, people working hard to do the best that they could to represent the Gospel here on earth.

And still, I had not joined.  Oh, I had been feeling the pull.  Probably for several months before that Holy Week, I had felt my knees bending to rise when Pastor Amy issued the invitation at end of the service, but I had stopped myself.  This seemed like the biggest committment that I could ever make, and I wanted to get it right.  And then, there were the memories of Brenda D.

First, before I continue, I would like to issue my overall apology to Brenda for this blog entry, which, I am pretty certain she will never see.  I'm certain that she has grown into an elegant, loving, kind woman, and has done much good in her life.  But, in elementary school, she was the quintessential stereotype of the bratty pastor's kid.  And she formed forever my understanding of what it meant to be a Baptist.

Brenda's father was a Missouri Synod Baptist, and very, very conservative.  Brenda never smiled; Brenda couldn't participate in folk dancing on Fridays in gym class; Brenda couldn't play organized games if they involved boys at recess; she couldn't sing a song in music class if it wasn't a sacred song; and the list goes on and on and on with what Brenda couldn't do.  And, to make it worse, she delighted in sitting on the sideline, and smirking at the rest of us, and telling us that we would burn in Hell because we DID folk dance, sing, play softball with the boys, and well, just about anything that  we did to have fun.

I didn't see much of Brenda after the 6th grade, but there were others along the way to teach me that Baptists were narrow-minded, literal fundamentalists who felt they had all the answers, who felt that it was their way, or literally, the highway to Hell.  And I went along my own spiritual path, leaving the Presbyterians and spending many years with Unity School of Religious Science, then, ultimately, nothing. 

For five years in my adult life, no church.  No community, no place to be on Sundays.  I was done with all that, I thought.  Beyond it -- my spiritual understanding had superceded the need for such things.  I was one of those Americans who would have responded "Believes in God, but doesn't go to Church" to the Pew Research Center Poll on the state of religion in America.

Then, one year I thought I would make a little extra cash and do some subbing at churches on Easter, and I ended up, on Maundy Thursday, at Calvary Baptist Church.  And on Easter Sunday, my first words to Pastor Amy were, "And what kind of Baptists are you people?"

The Last Supper by Jacapo Bassano

The Last Supper by Jacapo Bassano

It took two years from that event, to yet another Maundy Thursday evening, for me to realize it was time to join.  I had answered all the hard questions for myself--I knew that I wasn't joining just because I liked Amy or the people at the church, I had verified to my own satisfaction that they were as inclusive as they said they were, and I had repeatedly been in awe of the true sense of faith and love that I had experienced in that place.  And, I had cried through a whole lot of  sermons.

So I joined, but it has taken me to this next Maundy Thursday, to truly understand why.   And I was greatly helped in that understanding by two pamphlets from the Baptist Heritage Library:  "An Introduction to Baptist Principles" by Bill J. Leonard, and "The Meaning of the Baptist Experience," by William E. Hull. 

And do you know what I found out?  I always was a Baptist.

The beliefs and experiences that link the Baptists together, they were the things I always believed, in fact, my belief in many of those things had been at the root of my failure to find community in my earlier religious experience:  that baptism is an adult choice to make, that we are a priesthood of believers, all equal in our relationship to God, that testimony comes most strongly through the life you lead for others to see, that I as a believer, have the ability to read and interpret scripture, to speak directly to God, to hear God's voice for myself, and the list goes on and on.

This Maundy Thursday, I know why I am a Baptist.  And in that knowing,  I hope, I hear and see more clearly, and have a stronger will to accomplish what I meant to accomplish.  And for all this, and for the love and kindness of the people of the Calvary Baptist Church, I am deeply grateful.

Lenten Thoughts…

Posted March 18th, 2009 by admin | No Comments
Calling, General |

When I grew up, every morning, next to my school books, I would find a cup with my daily vitamin supplements and, next to that, a copy of Unity School of Religious Science's The Daily Word, turned to the page of that day's devotional.  And there was no leaving the house until I downed the vitamins and read aloud that day's word and prayer.

So, imagine my joy when, at my new spiritual home, I was asked to write a devotional entry for our congregation-created Lenten devotional book.  Then, imagine joy turned to panic when I received my assignment -- the 10 Commandments themselves, in 250 words or less.

As yesterday was the day my piece appeared, I had a chance to read it out loud with my breakfast and think about it again, so I thought that I would share it with those of you reading me here...and if you want to keep up with the Calvary Baptist devotational book through the Lenten season, just click here.

And now,  my musings on the 10 Commandments, Exodus 20:1-17... 

Rembrandt van Rijn

Rembrandt van Rijn

Let’s face it – Moses’ little band was a pretty defiant club. It took courage and conviction to leave Egypt – leave the “devil they knew” to journey into the unknown.

Put in historical context, the Israelites were surrounded –surrounded by voices saying, if you just worship OUR god everything will be fine, you will fit in, you won’t be an outsider, you won’t make us uncomfortable.

But even after God led them from the land of Egypt, after the miracles of the plagues and of the Red Sea, even then, in their doubt and fear, as they waited for Moses to return from Mount Sinai, some of them listened to that siren song and made idols to those other gods, thought that their God had deserted them and maybe those other gods were a better choice. And then Moses returned with this text, which we know as the Ten Commandments, the clearly delineated call of God to live a life of faith and community: have no other god before me, respect your family, respect your neighbor — radical concepts even today.

How like the Israelites I am every day – distracted by other voices, unable to see the miracles and the clear path right in front of me. And what defiance is required to focus – focus on the true voice that leads us onward. But if we can just clear the noise, and listen to the Moses in our lives who brings us our very own tablet of laws, there is hope for us all:

“Open my ears, that I may hear voices of truth thou sendest clear;

And while the wave notes fall on my ear,

Everything false will disappear.

Silently now I wait for thee,

ready my God thy will to see.

Open my ears, illumine me, Spirit divine.”

Words by Clara H. Scott, 1895.

Reminders…

Posted March 10th, 2009 by admin | 2 Comments
Calling, General |
"I am half-sick of shadows" said the Lady of Shallott; painting by J.W. Waterhouse, Art Gallery of Ontario

"I am half-sick of shadows" said the Lady of Shallott; painting by J.W. Waterhouse, Art Gallery of Ontario

The problem of being,  perhaps for the first time in your life, clearly aware of that sense of calling that surrounds us all, is that -- well, you may be even more confused than you were before.  Honestly, that is what has happened to me.

At first, I thought -- sweeping change is in order.  Give up opera, focus on sacred music, work on musical outreach, maybe even consider switching from my DMA program to a seminary program, dare I say it -- seek ordination?  All of these possibilities and imperitaves ran through my mind, the detective-investigator persona of my personality kicked into high research mode, my fingers flew across the keyboard as I Googled and Yahooed! frantically, and the book reading began.

And then three  things happened.  First, I encountered a tiny, intense book by author Os Guiness -- Rising to the Call, and it told me that acknowledging the presence of God's call in your life didn't mean, necessarily, throwing out the baby with the bathwater.  And I could feel and see the truth of that statement.   Second, shortly after I devoured Mr. Guiness's book, my voice teacher sat me down and said, look, what does singing mean to you (this, after a particularly stunning lesson in which some technique changes had opened my voice up even more).  In answer to that question, I gave the standard singer's answer and said "Everything", which is not really true in the way most singers mean it.  What I meant to say is that, at this time in my life, my voice is the most clear, most true expression that I can find of the fabric of faith that exists in my soul. 

Those two events, combined, made my brain say "Maybe I'm not supposed to give up on opera and the opera world."  And I shuddered at the thought, and I once again became afraid to attempt any forward motion or change, and my depression set in again.

And in the midst of all this came a third event.  Ah yes, the third event:  my involvement in a project that I had believed was one of those gifts along the way that say "yes, you are on the right path, you are listening and acting on what you hear, you are stepping out in faith without needing to know" -- that project became a crazed, chaotic mess that mostly served on a daily basis to revive and display old, painful demons in my life, feelings I thought long resolved and released.   It became a project that reminded me all of the reasons that I could not continue to pursue a career in the operatic world.  And in that reminder, I felt shame and a sense of failure -- how could I have not seen, how could I have not known that this was an old path, not a new one?

Maybe its Lent -- maybe that's the reason, but it seems that there are old demons and old attitudes everywhere I turn.  Situations and fears that I thought I had laid to rest, suddenly again before me.  But in the demons, I think I see God's reminders, like painted lines on a highway, reminders that answering the call means putting aside the things of ego that lead to fear and exclusion, the need to be wanted, the need to be praised, the need...well, of anything.

And then, another reminder came to point the way -- the latest post on my favorite blog,  Talk with the Preacher --  a reminder that the call is a call to inclusion and love,  not a call to protectiveness and exclusion, and that church is a verb, not a building.   And after that, I started to find different questions to ponder:  do I have the strength to walk as who I am in the wilderness (which for me, sadly, is the world of professional and semi-professional opera), to be who I am in the face of demons, and to know that the demons, no matter how old or how frightening, that they have no power as long as I remember who I am, truly, and why I am here.

So, I may be working on a project with people I find incompatible, and it may not be going the way I would want it to go, but maybe there is a reason that I am there.  And maybe I will learn lessons that will help me make better choices in the future, but I cannot define making better choices as choosing only to work with people who are on a similar path or with people that I find spiritually compatible or just generally compatible.   Why should I think that responding to the genuine sense of call in my life should be comfortable or safe?   As I re-read  the Frederick Buechner quote my pastor gave me,  "The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet," I find no promise of peace or ease except the promise of a sense of purpose that comes from fulfilling my reason to be, and the opportunity to see the next right action to take.

So, maybe I was listening after all.  Thank you God, for the reminders.

But, is it really art?

Posted February 27th, 2009 by admin | No Comments
General, Visual Arts | , , ,
Marcel Duschamp's "Fresh Widow"

Marcel Duschamp's "Fresh Widow"

Not an original question, but one I have been asking a lot lately -- AGAIN.

Someone very dear to me has been, for the last year and a half, in the gruelling process of qualifying to be a Docent at the National Gallery of Art  in Washington, D.C.  And I do mean gruelling -- day long classes most Saturdays for nine months, and then torcherous research to develop each specialized tour, and finally, the nerve-wracking process of  "qualifying" for each tour category -- Introduction to Western Art, East Building Tour (20th century art), and on and on.

And so, because my friend has her big test for the East Building tour very soon,  I agreed to be her test subject  on President's Day.  Okay, my primary goal was to visit the Pompeii exhibition and enjoy the Italian buffet lunch in the Garden Court restaurant, but with mind and eyes wide-open, I followed her to the Gallery to experience the "wonders" of 20th century art.

Before I go any further, I should clearly state that it has always been my belief that the progress of the visual arts ended with the early Impressionists.  But my friend has been my witness through many years of recitals, operas, and other performances, and therefore, I, as good and faithful companion,  went  off  to be educated .

And so my friend  presented me with a wonderful  and detailed journey through the works of Matisse, Picasso, Brancusi, Duschamp and others meant to inspire; I heard about  and saw for myself the works supposed to suggest  man embracing the ever-increasing pace of change that is our modern culture.  I was interested to hear why Picasso turned women into cubes and why the art world considers a window frame with leather-covered glass a work of art.  And I was perplexed to hear about the queues of people that come during the Lenten season to stare for hours at Barnett Newman's "Stations of the Cross" narrative series, which, I must confess, to me looks like a lot of nearly blank canvases with a couple of lines on each.

It was all very interesting; I feel like a learned a lot.  But my conclusion was , as it always has been -- NONE OF THIS IS ART.

In the process of making changes in my life, I frequently think about this question:  What is art and why do we as humans feel compelled to make it?  I thought about this a lot after the 9/11 attacks, as I was in graduate music school  at the time.  And my conclusion at the time remains

I'm sure that my thoughts are neither original n or earth-shattering.  For me, art that simply documents the narcissism of modern society, portraying the human alienation that is all too common, well -- I think by now you know my opinion.  But more importantly to me, I don't believe that a sculpture, a painting, a piece of music, ANYTHING, is art if it must be explained to the receiver to make it interesting. 

I once read a book that described the different ways in which people learn, and I found out from that book that I am what education experts would call a "kinesthetic"  -- I have to feel something in order to experience it.   I would describe a book that is really reaching me as a book that is "about to make my head explode", a lecture or sermon that really gets to me as "rearranging my molecules", a piece of music that moves me as "taking my breath away".  Because that is truly the way I experience all of these things.

But what I know most about the answer to the question "is it really art" is this -- our relationship to art is very much like our relationship to God -- a personal, private experience that no scholar or friend can define for us.

After all, there are two participants (at least, in the artistic act) -- the creator and the receiver.  To me, the best art satisfies both.  But for me, not here, not this "art".

So, with my deepest apologies to all of those who consider the works in the East Building to be great art of the 20th century -- I beg to disagree.

It’s only three chords…

Posted February 14th, 2009 by admin | 2 Comments
Music, Service |

That's what I kept telling myself as I crawled onto the bench of the tiny electric organ in the chapel at Thomas House a week ago Wednesday.   Not a digital piano with an organ setting, but a real, live  (well, mostly live) organ with pedals and stops and everything.  I was about to "stretch" myself and my musical skills, by playing an instrument for which I have no training, accompanying myself as I sang.  I was participating in my church's mission week series, EchoDC.

So, I haven't played any instrument in public for over 20 years, except my voice, and I have probably never played and sang together where anyone but my dog could hear the result (and she is not always complimentary!).

So there I sat, playing and singing, "Balm in Gilead" and "Trust and Obey",  desperately trying not to be distracted by just how out of tune that organ was, and despite my initial terror and the fact that I hadn't been able to sleep all night from the anxiety, I had one of the great moments of my life.  Maybe it wasn't  the greatest "performance', but the fifteen members of that audience didn't care -- they only cared that someone took a Wednesday morning to come and worship with them.   And I would say, that, for me, it was more satisfying than singing Aida with full orchestra and chorus in a big opera house (which, I have also done). 

Why?  Because, well, it wasn't about me.  Nor was it about co-dependantly trying to live up to someone else's expectations for me. It was about community, comfort, service.  And it is moments like that Wednesday that I finally feel in alignment, like all of the pieces of my personality and talents are finally working together, that I am finally doing what I am supposed to do.

And so, who really cares that the critics weren't there, or that I didn't get killed by the tenor or throw the baby into the fire (okay, for you non-opera nuts, these are references to Carmen and Il Trovatore), because when this fat lady sang, a wonderful older woman named Esther Jubilee smiled and clasped my hand and told me how wondeful it was.

That my dears, is what makes life good.