It took me a while during that class to realize that, what the guest teacher was trying to get from me was, well, more feeling in my singing.  He used a number of interesting techniques -- walking me about the stage while I sang about "going to the fair" in Manuel Garcia's song, "Floris";  having me close my eyes while I sang "Parad Avecillas" to imagine for myself the feeling of protecting a sleeping person I loved so that their sleep could remain peaceful and undisturbed.

I'm about to spend some time this afternoon listening to the recording from that class, but I already know from my fellow participants that, particularly when I closed my eyes, my singing changed dramatically. And as our guest walked away, he turned to me and grabbed my arm and siad, "You feel so deeply.  Let them hear it." And I walked away from that experience knowing that there was something truly profound in it for me to learn and to carry forward in my performing and in my life. 

But I still don't have a clue what that lesson is.

I think, that, somehow, over the years of technical work, language work, precision tuning, I have lost something.   I think that, from time to time, I find it when I am singing a hymn or a spiritual or even a classical work of a spiritual nature -- but in favor of accuracy and of being a "good" singer who "gets it right" and "doesn't stick out" and "doesn't disrupt the ensemble",  I have lost something, something that hampers my ability to communicate.  And maybe it is time to find it and put it back.

To find it, all I had to do was close my eyes.

What did they do?  They sang, spontaneously, the most beautiful four-part harmony on the hymn for our call to prayer, "It is Well With My Soul". 

The congregation has grown so over the last couple of years, that, on any given Sunday, there are many faces that belong to people that I don't know by name.  And I'm sure that they know nothing of me other than that I'm that lady who sings and has the really loud voice.  They may or may not like what they hear, but that is probably how they know me.

What they don't know is, that when I am standing up there singing a hymn to lead the congregation, I am also listening.  I'm listening carefully for the sounds of their singing.  And sometimes I am rewarded, like yesterday.

Before the service, when we were preparing, I commented how hard it was going to sing "It is Well With My Soul" without a choir, because I was so used to hearing the harmonies underneath the sustained line of the chorus.  At my old church we used to have a wonderful choral version that we sang often, that I could still hear in my mind's ear.   I was positive that I was going to be disappointed.

But I was not.  When I heard the first strains of the congregation singing, and then I started to catch the harmonies, and then, oh, then, I heard the chorus....it was all I could do to keep singing.  By the time I finished the last chorus, the tears were so strong, I had to stop and listen for just a moment.

What a gift.  What a wonderful thing to share worship with a congregation that sings.  Thank you, Calvary Baptist Church.

That, my friends, was not vacation.  That was work.

But the last couple of weeks have been what I call "real vacation"...no true responsibility, no deadlines, no demands greater than walking the dog and doing basic life-maintenance activities such as cooking and laundry.  And in the middle of it all, a week of real vacation enjoying my favorite beach location.

But one of the great things about Washington DC and its weather extremes is this -- you certainly know when the seasons change.  And change is definitely in the air...low humidity, temperatures in the 80's instead of over 100...cool, cool mornings, by DC standards...softer, more gentle weather.  Clearly, fall is on its way. Okay, most places in this world a drop to 80 degrees would not signal the arrival of fall, but it is the quality of the air that is different.  No longer do the nights stay almost as warm as the days--cool, crisp air has replaced steamy, overly-warm evenings.

More than the temperature, however, the arrival of fall is apparent from subtle change in activity level all around me -- okay, not so subtle, really.  Those of us with too much education find it difficult to break away from the pull of the academic calendar -- for me, these last weeks of summer are filled with planning and meetings and preparations for a year that will start running forward once the twilight hours of Labor Day pass.

Fall.  Concert schedules.  Rehearsal schedules.  Committee meetings. 

Yes, they are all coming.  But first, I plan to savor these last few days as the weather, and I, slip slowly into our fall patterns.

My earlier favorite, Music and Theology, had a lot of references to Dr. Begbie's work, so I thought I would read some of his writing myself.  The two books couldn't be more different -- Dr. Begbie's writing is, so far, speaking mostly to my more left brain, academic side, but is fascinating nonetheless. 

Admittedly, I am still in the introductory chapters, but Dr. Begbie clearly has great skill at clear definition.   And, it is a few of those definitions I want to share today.  First, is his definition of theology:  Dr. Begbie defines theology as "the disciplined thinking and rethinking of the Christian gospel for the sake of fostering a wisdom that is nourished by, and nourishes, the church in its worship and mission to the world. (p. 19)"

Funny, you know, we all throw that word "theology" around with such ease--we are so sure that we know what it means, after all, I studied Greek , I've read my fair share of "theological" texts.  But I have to admit that, if someone had asked me to define really what it means in this world today, I could not have come up with something simultaneously so succinct and so rich.  With Dr. Begbie's definition, I see that theology is indeed the living embodiment of Romans 12:1-2.  Theology is active, it is alive, it is transformative, it is the breath of faith.  It is an action, not a "thing".

And so it is with music.  The music educator Christopher Small, in fact, proposes that we speak of "musicking" instead of "music" (unless of course, we are composers and our outcome is the work itself, the music).  This proposal goes against much of today's music education in our schools and conservatories -- as young musicians we are taught that "the work" is sacred; we are taught to dissect it's structure, it's meaning it's....everything.   But music is really and essential a set of actions:  the act of making music, the act of listening and yes, you composers, even the act of creating the ordered sounds and patterns that we label and recognize as music.

If you are not a trained musician, it may not be instantly clear to you how radical these concepts are...but they are.  Centuries of philosophical argumentation about the primacy of sound over text, the role of the composer, the primacy of the conductor over the stage director (or vice versa)....all of these are changed by the realization that we are musicking...not making music.

I have long held the belief that theology, being word-based, was a faith-art created to engage the mind, and that music, which, for me is not an art of the intellect (although I know that for many of my fellow musicians, it is) but an art of the spirit and of the body.  So for me, the combination of theology and music invokes the total Trinity of Father, Son and Holy Spirit (a Trinity, that, in my world view, parallels our human "trinity" of mind, body, and spirit). 

And both exist as actions in this world, not as things to be studied.

Musicking....yes, definitely.  But theologicking?  Hmmm....

But yesterday, the surprises for me were not in the music, neither the singing nor the playing, but in the discussion of our Bible passage.  You see, I've watched how Pastor Leah puts together the service and I followed her lead:  I took the Call to Worship from our previous Sunday service, and then I picked one of the four lectionary texts.  Originally, I thought that I would take the Prophets text, since that was our sermon series, but only a week back, I didn't feel capable of leading that discussion without more research than I had time.  And so, I chose the Gospel text:  Luke 12:13-21, the parable of the rich fool.

I thought that this was a discussion that I could handle -- all people of faith battle with the their own place in the consumerist culture that is 21st century America...we all struggle with the size of our barn and how much stuff to put in it.  And I did my reseach -- I understood the relationship of the parable to the following, for me, more famous, text about the lilies of the field; I read all about the other parables of the rich and the poor in Luke and the general emphasis on the economically disenfranchised in the Gospel of Luke -- I was as ready as I could be, I thought.  But, as usual, the discussion took a turn that I did not expect.

Yes, we all talked about the meaning of abundance, the meaning of just what is enough abundance, what do we do with the excess, etc.  We laughed about the people on Home and Garden Television who think that they are entitled to that walk-in closet and that bathroom with two sinks.  And then, Miss Jubilee, the most beautiful wonderful spirit who draws me back over and again to Thomas House, said:  "You know, there are riches to be shared that aren't things.  And sometimes people forget that, those of us here, have those riches and want to share them.  We need to share them."

And then I thought about all the hours when I have sat at an Elder's knee, both literally and figuratively, and all that I have learned from those hours.  And I saw before me a room full of people of faith, who had spent their lives giving and giving back, and who had the collective wisdom that results from a life such as that.  And I realized that they were teaching me still.

Sorry, I am inexperienced -- that kind of a pastoral moment, as my friends would tell me, quite took my breath away.

We talked and talked after that, and here is the bottom line:  our folks at Thomas House want to do a service project -- even if it is just collecting clothes to give away to those who need it.  Even at 90 years plus,  they feel blessed with abundance and grace, and they want to share.

Guess I know what I'm doing this fall...

Home...

I have spent a lot of time travelling back and forth between the U.S. and various European locations in the past 10 years, and it is always the same -- the trip from east to west (in other words, the trip HOME) is always substantially more difficult than the trip from west to east. 

But there are some things that are very different about this return.  First, and perhaps most important, the things I learned on this trip were very positive.  I accomplished my goals of beginning the study of Spanish art song; I met wonderful, accomplished performers and teachers from Spain and elsewhere; I did some good singing; and I faced some demons and made peace with them (if you need to find out more about those demons, check out  Those Little Choices in Life ; Focus, Focus, Focus; and It was not a mistake).

Instead of arriving home, wondering how I would incorporate some less than pleasant lessons in life, I am here, invigorated, enthusiastic, and making the world's longest "to-do" list.  I'm ready to move forward.

So, here we go.   It seems that no matter how long I am out of school, the academic calendar year rules my life...I'm devoting the next two weeks to planning for the fall, then I'm going to take one last summer fling vacation, and then, well, it is back to work.

But I'm home....and I'm ready.  Thanks be to God.

Right now, I’m on the train between Granada and Madrid on the final leg of my journey here in Spain.  In two days, I will finally board the plane and return home.

But yesterday, well, yesterday wasn’t such a good day, at least in the beginning.  I was so dreadfully tired, and to tell the truth, I wasn’t totally happy with the way I had sung on the concert the night before.  It wasn’t an awful performance; it just wasn’t up to my full potential.  So, when the chaotic schedule of the final day of the course caused conflict between coaching appointments and preparations for last night’s concert, and when in those coaching sessions I felt like a piece of taffy being punched and pulled in many directions all at once, well, I snapped.  Yes, there I was, as I had been on trips before, standing in some square in some strange town in front of some massive cathedral, cell phone glued to my ear, sobbing and talking long distance, and with the strong impulse to run.

One factor in a break down like that is, well, that by the time the final concert rolls around, I’m just plain exhausted.  And the schedule for this week was particularly brutal – usually in a country like Spain or Italy, at least your siesta time is protected, but not here.  It had been days since the schedule had allowed for dinner; we had worked and coached through many rest periods; schedules ran late, coaching sessions didn’t happen, chaos ensued.

But really, as my wise advisor said to me, the real source of the break down moment was, it was time for me to own my performance.  Yes, true, I don’t really like to be told what to do, and therefore I don’t really like being “coached”; but I needed to be coached because I knew nothing, before this week, about singing in Spanish or about Spanish art song.  That was, after all, my reason for coming to this festival.  There is, however, a kind of passivity that occurs when you are in a studio setting that, well, makes me crazy.  And that was where I was…if I was going to allow myself to be coached, I at least wanted one consistent set of information.  And I really didn’t feel like being poked and prodded and turned upside down and sideways 5 hours before I had to perform.  I was ready to walk out.

And so I cried and I screamed and I went to a café and had a big bowl of pasta (hoping that it would calm me down) and then went back to my room to get ready to head out to the concert hall.  And while I was there, I came to a conclusion – I was just going to sing, and well, if they didn’t like it, well, they would just have to not like it.

So, armed with this new resolve, I packed up my gown, my makeup and my shoes and headed off in a taxi to the theatre.

Now, here is where the little moment of choice came into play.  I had carefully written down the address of the theatre so that I could give it to the taxi driver.  You see, I had only walked to the theatre before, because, well, I wasn’t performing those nights.  It was a sizeable walk, and I simply wasn’t going to do it mid-afternoon in the Spanish heat with a suitcase in tow.  But I didn’t quite pay attention when the cab driver let me out –only to look up and see that he had dropped me at the wrong Caja (I needed Caja RURAL Granada, he had dropped me at Caja Granada). 

I had no idea where I was.  I was sure that it was a sign from God that I was supposed to run, not sing, only not only could I not find the theatre, but I had no idea which direction to go to get back to the center of town. 

The only landmark that I recognized was the giant tower of the Science Park, the one with the giant black ants crawling up the side.  But I had no idea exactly where that tower stood in relationship to where I needed to be, and I was late.

So I walked first one direction – no sign of the theatre.

Then I walked another direction – again no sign of the theatre.

I was ready to leave.  Clearly it was a sign.

And then,  the voice in my head said – try it one more time.  I looked up, and I remembered that the building I needed was all of black glass, and there it was a block in front of me.  And I said, okay, I think this is it, but if it isn’t, I really am going back to the hotel.

It was it.  It was the concert hall.

And so, I went in for more coachings, more prodding, more waiting.  And the decision to just sing, to own my own performance, paid off.

Two hours later, there I was on stage with Metropolitan Opera tenor Jose Manuel Zapata, singing (pretty well, I might add), on Spanish television.

It was a night that I might have missed, had I chosen to go back to the hotel.  Instead, it is a night of music and art that I will treasure forever.

What out for those little seemingly insignificant choices.  They might mean more than you think.

The command for this trick is:  Focus, Focus, Focus.

It just happened...I'm not really sure that she has any idea what "focus" really is, but she does know that when that command is spoken she must hold very still and not move her head so that the ball does not drop.

I've been thinking about this trick and the command "focus, focus, focus" a lot yesterday and today as I sing my last concerts here in Granada, and I realize, that well, more than Gracie, I have a bit of a problem with focus. 

Now, many who know me might say, "You?"  Yes, I have a problem with focus.  Not when I am doing something where I am confident and, let us be honest, in control.  But, other times, and often when it involves singing, I have a problem with focus.

I get distracted by steps that I have to climb to reach the stage.

I get distracted by a new room where I don't know the acoustics.

I get distracted by my need to please coaches that are giving me diametrically opposed pieces of advice.

I get distracted by, well, fear and nerves and questions of purpose and...well, just a lot of things.

I'm going to do my best today to remember to stay focused on the task at hand, and to listen, not for the voice of the coaches around me, but for the voice from within that drives me onward.    And when I get home, I'm really going to work on my tricks.

Focus, focus, focus....if Gracie can do it, so can I.

And once all that happened, I was feeling pretty good and pretty grounded -- so I immediately went back to taking classes and travelling to sing. 

By the time I had finished my class in Music and Social Justice, and had worked myself into a time crunch that left me less than the time I thought I needed to prepare for this singing adventure, I was pretty much in a panic and thinking that I had just fallen into old patterns and I was about to get in trouble again.

I spent much of Sunday worried that I had made a mistake -- that I was just doing what I had always done.

Oh, so not so.  This trip has not been a mistake.

In this one week, I have become more comfortable with the Spanish language.  I could survive on a day-to-day basis if I had to do so; with more study I will be better than that.

In this one week, I have learned that all the hard work I have done on my voice has paid off;  I actually can sing.

In this one week, I have learned that my Spanish diction is not bad, particularly for someone who has only been working on it for a month.

In this one week, I have learned that my fears that my voice was too big to sing with guitar are unfounded.

And, in this one week, I have been introduced to a whole world of beautiful music that I never knew existed.

With deepest gratitude, I thank all those who made this week possible. 

And, I can't wait to get home.

When we sing in worship, the reason is obvious.  But what about the other times?  The concerts? The masterclasses?  The opera?  Just in private for ourselves?

I have a good friend who often, after a concert, will say -- well, it was nice, but wasn't that concert for the singer?  We didn't really need to be there...She has an excellent observation, phrased from her very unique viewpoint.  What I hear her say when she says that is, the singer didn't communicate with me -- they were busy communicating with themselves.  They didn't need me.

Music is useless if it is not a form of communication.  If your performance is simply a moment of self-gratification, or a moment when you are trying to work out your own stuff through music, frankly, you are wasting the audience's time (and perhaps money).  And, for yourself, you would probably do better in therapy.

A teacher of mine used to say:  "Don't do all the work, leave some for the audience."  That was another way to say the same thing. 

The singer has to meet the audience, shake musical hands, and then do the dance together.  Otherwise, my good friend is right, it's all about you. 

You often hear the descriptor, "oh, she was such a generous performer" -- that simply means that "she" left room for the audience, and invited them in...

Seems it all comes down to hospitality, like almost everything else.  So I'm going to go out there today and do my best to be a welcoming performer, and create a nice, comfortable space for the audience who has come to hear me.

And I'll have to think more about this later.