08.28.09
Seeing into the Future. . .
As the new school year begins, and as the activities at St. Anne percolate into a higher gear, I thought it would be appropriate to share with you some of my thoughts and vision for the Music Ministry. Flatly stated —St. Anne is a musical church. It’s one of the reasons I accepted the position as Music Director. Imagine with me the possibilities that may present themselves in our journey together.
The current adult choir is about 30-35 strong when everyone is present. There are approximately 20 cantors to help lead us in song. About 30 parishioners who have instrumental talents (of all ages and levels of expertise) have volunteered at points in the past to share their abilities at Mass. 40 children signed up for choir last year, unfortunately dwindling to 15 or 20 by year’s end. (I’m relating these figures based on casual conversations I’ve had since arriving here.)
Now, here are a few of the things that I think are possible in this next year.
- With the number of instrumentalists available, it would be good to have one or several or an ensemble accompanying the liturgy at every Mass. To form those ensembles we need anyone who can play to participate: guitarists, bass players, drummers, wind, brass, and string players, and keyboards, harp, dulcimer, and accordion. ALL instruments have a place in praising God, and we’ll make room for you! No matter whether you haven’t played since high school, or if you a beginner, or if you make your living as a professional: all are welcome!
- The hardest part of forming a children’s choir is finding time in a young person’s busy schedule. I know that soccer or gymnastics, lessons or other opportunities create busy schedules for child and parent alike. So the hardest part is making that commitment and keeping it. This year children’s choir will be on Wednesday nights at 4:45 p.m. Once a month it will lead directly into the regular Whole Community Catechesis session on the first Wednesday of the month at 5:45. We will sing at Mass on a regular basis, maybe two times a month, sometimes on Saturday.
- One of the new ensembles that I would like to start is a bell choir, or rather several bell choirs: children, teens and adults, with and without prior musical experience. Bell choirs require one thing above all others: commitment. When one player is missing, it is like playing a piano with broken keys, or a trumpet with a stuck valve. Bells can also be expensive. I have several solutions that I am working on. One is that a set of tone chimes (similar to hand bells, but 1/10 the cost) be obtained as a start. Another is that the local association of hand bell ringers loan sets of bells to schools and churches for a year, and provide help in getting the groups started. The third is the least expensive. I was browsing the web a few weeks back and discovered plans for making a set of hand held bells for about thirty dollars in materials found at any hardware store. If there are any parishioners or friends of St. Anne that are handy with tools and would like to put a set together, come see me after Mass. You can check out the website at http://www.campbell.edu/faculty/whitley/ToneChimes.pdf .
Another thought: inviting friends, neighbors and acquaintances who have musical talent to become part of the music ministry is a great way to enlarge and enrich our community. It is an evangelistic opportunity to share what is so exciting about being a part of St. Anne.
None of this can happen without you. The most important ministers of music are the community that gathers to pray. Some of the possibilities that I have in mind include part singing by the assembly, antiphonal responses, and a wider musical vocabulary with which to praise and pray. Imagine a Palm Sunday procession with 20 instrumentalists from saxophone to flute and trumpet. Imagine processional banners and palms, a large choir and maybe dancers. And there are hand bells and drums and loud praise-filled singing from the gathered assembly. In my mind’s eye it is awesome AND possible.
So, the first meeting of the Adult Choir and anyone interested in being an instrumentalist will be a purely social event. On Thursday, September 3, at 6 p.m. we will gather at St. Anne for a summer’s end potluck and grill out. Anyone who would like to be part of the choir, or if you just want to find out more about the choir should bring a dish to pass (desserts, salads, veggies, etc.). Meat for the grill will be provided. (And we’ll need help with the grilling.) Invite a friend who might be interested. This will be a great opportunity to share your thoughts about music at St. Anne.
Rehearsals will begin the following Thursday, September 10, at 7 p.m. in the church.
If you are interested in being involved as an organizer, leader, assistant, or music filer, sound person, composer, dancer, cantor, choir member, bell ringer: email me at lstahl@saint-anne.org or contact me at church on the weekend. To make this vision a reality will take many hands and many types of talent.
08.14.09
Dogs are smarter than people…
Hank, Sadie, Cassie, and Dexter (l to r)
Let me tell you something about my life in Wisconsin with my dogs. A little over five years ago I retired (I thought), and my good friends Mitch and Paul and I combined our households. Mitch’s dog Cassie, a lab mix, and Dexter, my then 3 year old Scottish terrier got along famously. And they are both better dogs for it. Dex was suffering from the inattentiveness of my 12 hour work day coupled with frequent business road trips. Perhaps he was just a little psychotic, and with his terrier stubbornness, was a real handful. Cassie, who was a well-trained “lady” with impeccable manors, had a good influence on Dex, modeling good behavior that somehow rubbed off. He actually listens, and occasionally even exhibits model behavior. Cassie became more active, “puppy-like,” and benefited physically and emotionally from the challenge of living with Dexter. We moved to a house in Milwaukee with a huge back yard (chosen, in part, for the benefit of the dogs).
Sadie joined the household in November 2005. She is a border collie, abandoned because of owner allergy issues. I’d never had three dogs at one time, much less a border collie, and wasn’t quite sure what to expect. (Those of you familiar with border collies are probably rolling their eyes at this point.) They demand attention, and need a job to feel satisfied. (Hmmm…reminds of myself in some small way…)
Of course by adding a puppy to the mix chaos ensued. Carefully established boundaries were breached. A border collie puppy’s desire for constant attention upset Dexter, who had gotten used to being the ruler of the roost, the boss of all he surveyed. Cassie again took charge and shepherded Sadie through the dog relationship maze, putting Dex in his place if he got out of hand. And Sadie’s unfocused puppy-ness was transforming itself into channeled obedience. Things have worked out just fine.
Hank is the latest and last addition, another Scottie. He was abandoned in the northern suburbs of Chicago and was about to be euthanized in a shelter (interesting juxtaposition of words, shelter and euthanized, almost oxymoronic). My over actively creative mind has developed a back story for him that includes running away from a cat filled home to join a circus as a water diving dog, his story going absurdly downhill from there. Hank, too, has been assimilated into our own family circus.
This all has got me thinking about how owning dogs has transformed and enlightened the way I think and live. Here are some of the things I realized.
Dogs enjoy simple pleasures and take each day as it comes.
Like a true Zen master, dogs eat when they are hungry and sleep when tired.
Dogs feel guilty when they’ve done something wrong. How often do we entrench rather than acknowledge that maybe we’re the ones who screwed up?
Dogs think you sing great. Dogs love long car trips. Dogs love the wind blowing in your face.
I used to look at Dexter and think, ‘If you were a little smarter you could tell me what you were thinking,’ and he’d look at me like he was saying, ‘If you were a little smarter, I wouldn’t have to.’ Sometimes we’re just too dumb to see what’s what and hear what is really being said. How often in our lives does our superior attitude get in the way of getting the point? Corollary #1: Dogs don’t feel threatened by our intelligence. Corollary #2: No dog ever brought a Kenny G or Michael Bolton album. Just how smart are we?
When someone is having a bad day, dogs are silent and sit close by and nuzzle gently. Have you noticed that our pets have an uncanny way of knowing when we’re having a lousy day? I saw a PBS special about dogs that are trained to assist people with handicaps. There are some dogs that have a way of sensing when a seizure is coming minutes before it ever happens. They are trained to alert the person so they can lie down, and then the dog stays by their side until their master is safe and out of harm. My roommate Mitch, who has stage two leukemia, gets the benefit of Dexter’s awareness on a regular basis. When he’s having a bad day, Dex senses it, even before Mitch realizes it, and is there on his bed offering his quiet but unyielding support.
Best of all, they befriend me with an unconditional love that we would do well to imitate. Is it any coincidence that the species name of Dog is a reflection of God?
Of course my dogs have their failings. Dex is afraid of firecrackers and Sadie hides in the closet whenever we have a thunderstorm. But unlike me, they are not afraid of what other people think of them, or anxious about their public image.
Every time feeding time comes around, a passage from Psalm 145 rolls around in my consciousness: “The eyes of all wait on You, and you give them their meat at the right time.” As a quartet of eyes follow my every move, food being spooned into bowls, I think about their relation to me, filled with trust and dependence, a mirror of my trust and dependence on the God who spoons the grace and love that makes up the bowl of my life. Their dependence on me profoundly serves as an example of my utter dependence on God. And when I place the dogs bowls on the floor I can see their gratitude freely expressed in their enthusiastic acceptance of what I have offered them–a mirror of the relationship between God and me. It is just like our gathering for worship on Sundays–served up a full helping of God’s Words to us, a meal filled with grace, thanksgiving and praise.
So my dogs are my teachers. When I become too serious and preoccupied, they remind me to play. On their own canine level, they show me that it might be possible to live without inner conflicts or neuroses — uncomplicated and glad to be alive. And they remind me of how I stand in the awesome presence of a God that knows my name.
We have a lot to learn from dogs. Just because they haven’t invented anything, or written anything doesn’t mean they aren’t spiritually evolved. I have a set of spiritual guides and enlightened teachers. I have four dogs named Hank, Sadie, Dexter, and Cassie.
10.16.08
Is it your church or just a job?
When people ask me what I do, they usually seem surprised by my answer. They’re not suprised that I’m a choir director, but that I’m a church choir director. I can usually predict the follow-up questions: “What kind of church?” “But is it your church or just your job?” “Are you a music teacher, too?” It’s as if they need to find an explanation for why someone as young as I am would choose to work for the Catholic church.
I partly understand their surprise. We can all describe the stereotypical “church lady” who plays the organ for the stereotypical church choir. What they don’t know is that St. Anne’s music ministry is not like that. We have young people, old people, and people of every age in between. We have great talent, and I’m willing to bet that our music is not putting anybody to sleep.
After I answer their questions (It’s a Catholic church, yes it is my church, and no, I don’t work at a school), I love to be able to continue surprising them by telling them that both of the choirs I direct have about 30 people in them, and that the average age of our parishioners is 31!
The truth is, St. Anne was my job before it was my church. I wanted to direct a choir, and there aren’t too many places besides churches that will hire someone without teaching certification to direct a choir. That’s not to say that I didn’t care about what I was doing for the church; I did. I’ve grown up actively participating in music ministry, and I believe that it is criticially important. It is one of relatively few places in our society where people can regularly and actively participate in music, and music is one of the most direct and effective ways for people to understand and carry the Gospel message with them in their daily lives.
However, as I have gotten to know the people and philosophies of St. Anne, I am able to answer with confidence that St. Anne provides me with both my church and my job. I am proud of St. Anne! It’s a church that is alive and full of great people doing great work. St. Anne has challenged me to constantly question why I do what I do, and has challenged me to keep improving myself and my ministry. I hope that little by little churches like ours can change the stereotypes of modern Catholicism.
08.14.08
Mary and the Real World
We celebrate the Feast of the Assumption this week. It is one of many occasions in which the Church proclaims honor to Mary, the Mother of God. I have never invested myself in Marian devotions; my spirituality grew in different ways. Part of this, I believe, is the result of a childhood experience – I grew up in a very strong, Italian parish in New York where Mary was crowned and honored in many ways. One day, on my way home from school I stopped into church for prayer. It was May and the Mary altar was covered with flowers and tributes; on the other side of the church the Joseph altar stood bare. My sense of fairness was touched (the fact that I was born on Saint Joseph Day and share his name did not hurt). I began lifting and moving floral displays from one side of the church to the other, not many, but enough to satisfy my sense of balance. As I carried one vase across the church, the pastor entered the church; I can still hear his angry bellow. After returning all the flowers, receiving a severe admonition, and suffering more of the priest’s wrath, I left for home. Badly prayed Rosaries that were more race than prayer, novenas and devotions that seemed to deify Mary, and excessive pomp throughout added to my lack of concern. Strangely enough, my lack of devotion to Mary seemed to fuel a desire to know about and honor the saints of the Church.
As I grew into adulthood two experiences tempered my Marian estrangement: a graduate course that viewed Mary and Jesus in light of Mediterranean culture and a series of articles and presentations related to oppression in South and Central America. I began to see Mary, not as an unapproachable minor deity but as a real woman challenged and tormented by the trials of life, the ugly whispers of neighbors, the horrors and oppression of an unjust government. The image of Mary, the Mother of the Disappeared, touched my heart and soul; Mary became real for me; she gave meaning to a world that too often was cheap and without value.
I still don’t have a great deal of affection for the varied Marian feasts; for me they fragment, and compartmentalize, and cloud the life of a woman of courage and devotion and example. The image of Mary, crushed yet unbroken reminds me of her value to me and the Church; she offers strength when hope seems gone; she stands with grace when the world is at its worst, she is the one who says “Yes!” and doesn’t count the cost.
07.24.08
Gardens and Life and Lessons
We are now in a cycle of liturgical readings focused on seeds, weeds, planting, and harvest. I’ve learned over the years that the agricultural practices of First Century Middle East farmers is vastly different than our modern farming techniques and that those differences can effect our understanding of the parables. The presence of weeds that could choke out crops was life threatening in a world of subsistence farming. But I have also learned, from hands in the dirt experience, that the meaning of Jesus’ parables are far-reaching and universal.
Growing up in New York we always tended vegetables and fruit at home. My grandparents turned a New York City lot into a little bit of rural Italy with figs and grapes and peaches and chickens. Later, when my family moved to the suburbs, we planted corn and beans and other practical garden items. But it has only been after I was married and my wife turned me toward wildflowers and exotics that I’ve come to learn the lessons of the garden.
We share a patch of ground, little more than an alley, with a neighbor. After a few years of watching nothing grow in the patch, Laura and I approached our neighbor with a proposal to naturalize the area. Our neighbor was agreeable, so,
Hollyhock - Nature's Gift to Us
after hours of preparing soil and considerable expense in purchasing natural wildflower seed, we waited. In time a few of the wildflowers we planted came forth. But the surprise was an abundance of hollyhock. Our neighbor remembered that a long-gone former owner had cultivated rare, heirloom plants. Over the years they had been lost and forgotten. Now, with the soil upturned and refreshed, the beauty came forth.
Every year I attempt to grow a few tomato plants. Sometimes, if I’m lucky and the squirrels are kind, I will be able to harvest a few nice tomatoes, but far fewer than I’d like or that I expect. Three years ago I refreshed our wildflower patch with a few wheelbarrows of compost. The following summer the wildflower patch was filled with vines of tomatoes that had gone wild. There was an abundance of sweet, often oddly shaped, tomatoes everywhere. The wild tomatoes returned the next summer. This year they are gone.
My wife, Laura, rejoices in the abundance and uncertainty of the wildflowers we have planted. If we get “volunteers”, what some might call weeds, she rejoices in their beauty. I like a little more control over my garden. I claimed a small patch of ground where I carefully planned and planted a select variety of flowers. They grew as expected and are very nice. But my patch was also invaded by Queen Anne’s Lace. As I watch the “unwanted” plants (and therefore a weed) grow and bloom, I realize that it is far more beautiful and infinitely hardier than the flowers I wanted.
I’ve learned that patience is a necessity. I’ve learned that no amount of planning can overcome nature. I’ve learned just how little control we have over the course of life. I’ve learned that there is a wonderful beauty in surprise visitors. I’ve learned to be grateful for and to not take for granted the gifts given us.
We speak of Jesus as the “Master Teacher.” I’ve learned that the best teachers are those who open our eyes to the everyday lessons of life. Sowers who spread seeds abundantly (those who welcome everyone to the Word of God), farmers who let the weeds grow with the wheat (ministers who tend to the marginal and uncertain and difficult), growers who wait patiently for the harvest (hopefully, all of us) all show the way of the Kingdom. Patience, and gentleness, and generosity, and open hearts are the qualities we must learn if we are to thrive in the garden of the Lord.
07.14.08
What We Leave Behind
Della Simpson died last week. Della was a longtime member of Saint Anne; she had been a member more than nine years. I first met Della when she served as a catechist in the faith formation program; Della taught Second Graders. She loved preparing the children for First Communion. She often created frustration for some of the other catechists because Della didn’t always stay with lessons plans and there was always a degree of uncertainty about just what Della would present. But Della loved the Mass and Eucharist and she loved children and her love was infectious.
Della also loved to sing. She was an active and enthusiastic member of the choir. I’ve been told by other choir members that she didn’t have the greatest of voices, but Della never lacked joy and spirit. You couldn’t watch Della sing without joining in.
Whenever there was a project or activity that needed helping hands, Della seemed to be there. She’d take on anything asked of her. She worked with joy and a sense of wonder. In three years I never heard her speak badly about anyone. She was as positive and joyful as anyone I’ve ever met. I recall watching her deal with a couple of young boys who were misbehaving. When I offered to step in and assist, she observed that they didn’t need to be corrected but inspired; and she was right.
I’ll miss Della. But I know that she is not gone. She is present in the lives of the children she brought to Eucharist. She sings in the choir and the congregation. She is part of the living, loving community she helped build up. She goes on as a lesson and example of the Communion of Saints – ever present and ever connected with one another and with God.
06.25.08
Welcoming, Tolerance, and Finding a Home
In one of my favorite scenes from the movie, Jesus of Nazareth, Franco Zeffirelli melds two scripture passages to create a powerful and poignant image of acceptance and living the Word. Jesus calls as a follower, Matthew, a sinner and hated tax-collector. Matthew responds by welcoming Jesus into his home. As they share a meal with other “sinners”, the only Jews who will enter Matthew’s home, Peter literally blocks the door and prevents the other disciples from entering. Peter “knows” what it means to be a good Jew; you follow the rule and don’t associate with sinners; never, under any circumstances, would you share a meal, a most intimate ritual in that culture. Jesus sees Peter and knows his heart. At this point, Jesus tells the story of a father and two sons, one reckless and wild, the other faithful and rule-bound. As he comes to the end of the story, leaving the elder brother standing outside the father’s home, Jesus turns and looks into Peter’s eyes. Peter melts. His stony heart breaks. Peter enters Matthew’s home and embraces the sinner as brother.
Shortly after beginning my ministry here at Saint Anne I had the privilege of getting to know Vera and the story of her journey. She shared how she had first come to Saint Anne because the “new church has air conditioning and the day was hot.” But when she returned the following week and she was known to the pastor and other parishioners by name, she knew that she had found a home. She journeyed across town from a parish in which she had been a member all her adult life to a community who knew who she was and welcomed her warmly. Her story was, to me, an important lesson about the heart of Saint Anne Parish.
Today a friend sent me an article concerning a bishop who had ordered a parish’s ministry to gays and lesbians shut down, I had just read about another bishop who had extended his Communion ban to anyone who publicly supported abortion, and last night I spoke with a woman who had been refused baptism for her child because her second marriage did not come with an annulment of her first. As Church we often profess the need to evangelize and bring people into the fold, we fret about the Catholics who no longer fill our pews, we argue about authentic liturgical language and licit rituals while, too often, we stand like Peter: blocking the door, preventing others from sharing the meal and company of Jesus, knowing that we are right and that’s all that is important.
One of the truly great qualities of the Catholic Church is its universality; we have welcomed everyone, we have embraced cultures and people and brought them to Christ. We are, in the words of James Joyce, “Everybody!” In doing so, we have widened and enriched the Church. It is when we forget the lesson of welcome and hospitality, when we forget that Jesus “came for the sick, not the healthy” that we become obstacles to bringing about the Kingdom of God.
