I LOVE my German Shepherd!

I'm in the middle of reading Pope Benedict XVI's first encyclical, Deus Caritas Est (God Is Love) and will likely comment on it during the coming week. For now, though, a word about the commentators who seem to be bemused at the former "Grand Inquisitor" of the Church turning out a such a tender document as his first encyclical. They seem to be of the opinion that Benedict has somehow become a different man from the former head of the Congregation of Divine Faith, which is the office of the Church concerned with orthodoxy, etc. What they have utterly failed to recognize is that the very same love, wisdom and cognizance of Divine Love as the ground and being of all Christian service -- from the marital relationship to social activism -- was also the ground and center of then-Cardinal Ratzinger's impetus as Prefect of the Congregation of Divine Faith.

This encyclical is great reading. My Protestant friends will be astonished at how poetically idealistic the Church is in matters of Love... but there it is. Yet it's an idealism linked inextricably to Truth, not some pie-in-the-sky unattainable mush.

Hello again

It's been a while since I've posted because of computer problems (again!); in fact, I'm posting from a friend's computer tonight.

Chorale rehearsals resumed after what seemed like an interminable month-long hiatus following the Messiah performance. Several of us made a point of getting together a couple of times over the holiday, but it was wonderful returning to the rehearsal venue on January 10 to pick up a new concert preparation. I'm singing soprano this semester; I've been working with Barb, the Chorale manager and my Raleigh roommate, and even with my lack of discipline and our irregular and infrequent schedule I've added almost half an octave to my upper range.

The schedule this semester is two concerts in May -- the first with the NC Symphony, performing Mahler's Symphony No. 2, followed a week later by our own subscription concert featuring the Bruckner Mass in E minor and several varied songs. I've never encountered German before and find the Mahler challenging, but the Bruckner is gorgeous and a joy to work on.

Another treat I'll make mention of is that Barb and I went, the week-end of the 15th, to the sleepy little town of Mount Olive (home of the pickle company of the same name) to visit my friend, Fr. James Garneau. We had a wonderful and heartening visit on Saturday evening, and Sunday morning Barb sang "How Beautiful" from Messiah and I played for the parish's sole English-speaking Mass and cantored the Psalm. Fr Jim is doing a wonderful work in that bastion of Baptist culture, and is greatly respected and loved by people of all faiths there; he is even teaching some history classes at the local Baptist college! Please remember him and his work there in your prayers.

I hope to be more regular in posting for a while, now. Thanks for your ongoing prayers. Much love to all.

My deepest sympathy and my prayers go out for the repose of the souls and the consolation of the loved ones of the victims of the mining disaster in West Virginia.

I was once engaged to a man from Ohio whose youngest brother had worked as a miner; even such an indirect link makes this tragedy all the more vivid and personal. I can't help but be angry, too, although I'm not sure just where to direct my indignation. Is it comprommised workplace safety? The greed of mine owners? The callousness of consumers driving a demand for services and product that kills men? I just don't know.

Merry Christmas, Y'All

Two days before Christmas Eve, and I'm still fighting the upper respiratory infection that nearly silenced me for our Messiah performance. Oh, I'm better... I'm just not well yet.

I'll be singing for two servcies at St. Timothy's on Saturday, Christmas Eve. The music Patricia chooses is always so lovely. Then I hope to be at home at St. Tony's for a Mass on Christmas Day.

I notice a lot of the same friends come in several times a day to check this little bit of my life, and for that loyalty and constancy, I thank you. I keep thinking I ought to be posting more to justify your visits... perhaps when I get well I'll be able to do more. In the meantime, please know that during this coming week-end you will be in my thoughts and prayers. I'll be making a Holy Hour during the week-end and remembering the intentions of my dear friends. That is you.

God bless and keep you as we celebrate the Birth of our Savior this week-end.

A good Review

Here's a very good review we received for our performance on Sunday. I'm so grateful and proud to have been part of it. (Oh -- and Al is the best!)

Messiah!

You're sitting in your seat in a lovely, modern auditorium. The house lights dim, the stage lights go up... the conductor steps onto the podium and lifts his baton... a small orchestra plays a lovely and rousing overture, then after a pause, the strings pick up a gentle introduction,the tenor steps forward and tenderly sings

"Comfort ye -- comfort ye, my people."

It's almost startling, even after I've heard it a dozen or so times. We expect a story about the Messiah to begin with the Incarnation, the Nativity -- but instead we're shown why we need a Redeemer: we are out of step with God, our lives are marked by sin and confusion; we need help, we need... comfort.

But this prophetic beginning also warns us of a coming Judgment. "The Glory of the Lord shall be revealed..." "for He is like a refiner's fire" "and He shall purify..."

And how shall this work be accomplished? "Behold, a virgin shall conceive..."

Then, after more vocal prophecy about the Coming One, how He will bring light to the Gentiles and Light to the ends of the earth...

there is an interlude, a "pastoral symphony," which seems musically to mark the passing of generations from the utterance of the promises to their fulfillment.

The voices return with the wonderful narrative of Luke's Gospel: "There were shepherds abiding in the field...."

How can you not be caught up in the story? The Savior is born! "Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion, for behold! thy King cometh unto thee!" And during his lifetime, "He shall feed his flock like a shepherd," so we must "Come unto him, take His yoke upon you and learn of Him --" "For His yoke is easy and His burden is light!"

And by now, after all those weeks of intense labor, the melismas dance over the tongue and the burden of them is light... and somehow all the music is pouring out of my heart even more than from my lips, and this oratorio is an offering of praise and thanksgiving to Christ.

Even after the intermission, when we abruptly turn from joy to sorrow -- "Behold the Lamb of God which taketh away the sins of the world" -- and instead of light and joyous singing we are following Him to the Cross and His passion -- we lift our voices to dramatize that Passion -- we paint pictures with our voices of the One Who, without blame or iniquity of His own, took on our own and bore it for us. We become the angry mob condemning Him with scorn and derision. We mock, we sneer, we flout... we stand back in awe, for "He did not leave His soul in hell, nor suffer Thy Holy One to see corruption."

We watch as the powers of darkness rail and try to deny the Power of God... in vain of course, for "Hallelujah! The Lord God Omnipotent reigneth! And He shall reign forever and ever!"

And we look ahead to the coming Judgment, and the Marriage Feast of the Lamb, where we all shall sing -- can it possibly be more glorious music in Heaven than this? Can my heart bear it that it is? -- "Worthy is the Lamb that was slain... to receive power and wisdom and riches and strength, and honor and glory and blessing... forever and ever -- Amen!"

And somehow through this music we are given a glimpse into that Final Day when we all shall be prostrate at His pierced feet, honoring Him for Who He is -- seeing Him clearly and without mortal hindrance for the first time for all eternity....


Wouldn't you know it, two days before our performance of Handel's Messiah, I started developing an upper respiratory infection? By Sunday, I was whispering and lip-syncing, not singing. Still, I think I would have fought my way out of far worse to stand on that stage at Meymandi Hall with these people who have become my dear friends -- many of whom are fellow brothers and sisters in Faith -- to worship Our Lord in this glorious music.

"Blessing and honor, glory and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb, forever and ever. Amen."

Messiah Mediations, continued

You'll enjoy reading these commentary notes on Messiah.

As for myself, I can hardly believe there's only a dress rehearsal and then the performance this week-end. We've been so busy preparing for the Holiday Pops concert with the NC Symphony, and that was a fun performance opportunity throughout Thanksgiving week-end, and only two full rehearsals since then devoted to this cantata, which is our main concert offering for this semester.

Messiah is a wonderful piece of music. We tend to think of it as a Christmas offering, but it was originally performed in 1742 as an Easter cantata. The cantata is divided into three parts: Part One celebrates the Incarnation of the Promised One of Israel, Part Two is devoted to the Passion, and Part Three is a reflection on the nature of our salvation and a looking ahead to the Last Judgment. It could very fittingly be performed at any time of the year, and in fact some of its arias are featured as solos in churches throughout the year: "He Shall Feed His Flock," "I Know that my Redeemer Liveth."

It has been a worshipful experience for me to work on this cantata, even at the breakneck speed at which we've approached it this semester. Al's sensitivity to the spiritual content of the work, merged with his musical expertise, have brought out elements of worship and awe unlike any prior performance or recording I've ever heard. I've mentioned the light-heartedness of the melismas in a number of pieces (you've no idea how much HARD WORK it takes to make some music sound and feel light and airy) -- lightness of joy and confidence in the Gift of God. And Awe -- that's the overriding theme I've encountered these past few months: Awe of the Incarnation, Awe of the immediate presence of God, Awe of His mercy, Awe of Who He Is. Combined, every time we rehearse this cantata, it is an experience almost of being placed in front of a peep-hole into Heaven.

A most interesting contrast!

I just got this from my buddy Bill -- don't know whether it's authentic, but I've never heard kicking and screaming from the folks up north... so I'll assume it's true in spirit if nothing else (and I hope the mugwumps down in Louisiana are paying attention):


(For those of you who are not aware, North Dakota and southwestern Montana got hit with their first blizzard of the season a couple of weeks ago)

This text is from county emergency manager out in the western part of North Dakota state after the storm.

Amusing...

WEATHER BULLETIN

Up here in the Northern Plains we just recovered from a Historic event --- may I even say a "Weather Event" of "Biblical Proportions" --- with a historic blizzard of up to 24" inches of snow and winds to 50 MPH that broke trees in half, stranded hundreds of motorists in lethal snow banks, closed all roads, isolated scores of communities and cut power to 10's of thousands.

George Bush did not come....
FEMA staged nothing....
No one howled for the government...
No one even uttered an expletive on TV...
Nobody demanded $2,000 debit cards.....
No one asked for a FEMA Trailer House....
No news anchors moved in.

We just melted snow for water, sent out caravans to pluck people out of snow engulfed cars, fired up wood stoves, broke out coal oil lanterns or Aladdin lamps and put on an extra layer of clothes.

Even though a Category "5" blizzard of this scale has never fallen this early...we know it can happen and how to deal with it ourselves.

Everybody is fine.

It's so nice to be loved --

even when the love is from a poor little stray cat. The Ghost is still here; I don't have the heart to take him to the county animal shelter. He's under my feet all day long, and on my lap when I sit down. Last night friends stopped by, and he was even friendly toward them! I'm putting the word out around town, maybe someone will want to adopt him and he won't have to go to any of our shelters, even the no-kill ones.

Here's a very thrilling article about the "reversion" of novelist Anne Rice.

and the Curt Jester provided another perspective on Advent on November 27. Good job, Jeff!

Cool new forum

Congrats to my buddy Bill (a.k.a. "Bad Hat") for this new and entertaining forum. It promises to be a good one! I hope lots of people go and register and participate!

The Beauty of Advent

(I originally wrote this article for the parish newsletter at Sacred Heart Church in Pinehurst, NC, 2003)

Happy New Year!

With the celebration of the First Sunday of Advent on November 27, we enter a new liturgical year, in which the Church will again present the history and unchanging mysteries of our salvation, from Creation to the Second Coming, together with the entire life of our Savior.

Advent is a particularly lovely season. For all its solemnity, it is a particularly exciting time as we again contemplate and anticipate the Coming of the Savior -- incarnate in history, as we celebrate at Christmas; "in Glory, to judge the living and the dead" as we proclaim in the Creed; and in grace, in the Eucharist and in the Word of God proclaimed.

Our initial focus during the first two weeks of Advent is on Christ's second coming. Again and again the scriptures remind us of our need to be ready, to be disposed, for His coming and His judgment; thus, Advent begins on a penitential note.

Then on the third Sunday of Advent, our focus lifts. Gaudete Sunday receives its name from the first word of our Opening Antiphon and of our Reading: Rejoice! The deep purple of penance is replaced today with the rose of joy. We begin our liturgical anticipation of Christmas.

While preparation for Christmas is an important part of Advent, this is also a season for us to discover a renewed vision of our lives as Christians. In the interval between the Incarnation and the Second Coming, we find our deepest meaning as human beings. Because of the great love God has for us, "He emptied Himself, taking the form of a slave... He humbled Himself, becoming obedient to death" (Phil. 2:7,8). As C.S. Lewis once said, this gives dignity to the lowliest of beggars, and humility to the most exalted of princes; how much more it gives meaning and substance to ordinary folk like you and me!

Even more wondrous is the Coming of Christ to human hearts. That the Creator of the cosmos chooses to intimately dwell with us, through the indwelling Holy Spirit and through Christ's Real Presence in the Eucharist, is a mystery about which we simply cannot afford to be come complacent.

We have a particular date to celebrate Christ's birth; we are not given a day or an hour to anticipate His Coming Again. When we face God in the Final Judgment, we will have to give an accounting: "Do you love me?" Our Lord asked this of Peter; He will ask no less of us.

Advent becomes, therefore, a time to reflect on these Truths and to renew our commitment to Christ, to resolve to live this new liturgical year more faithfully than ever before.

Aiplane by side of the Road!

You just don't expect to see airplanes parked along the side of the highway, but this is what I passed on my way to Raleigh on Saturday afternoon.

The Sound of Music

What an amazing treat -- last night, as the result of the great generosity of one of our Chorale members, my roommate Barb and I had box seats at Meymandi Hall for a concert of the North Carolina Symphony.

Guest performer with the Symphony was pianist Leon Fleisher. Fleisher lost use of his right hand nearly forty years ago due to a neurological condition called focal dystonia. Recent development of new treatments has allowed him to recover the full use of his right hand, an amazing, even awe-inspiring event. He and the Symphony performed the Mozart Piano Concerto No. 12 in A Major, K. 414. The piano was turned so that we could not see his hands -- a treat I would have greatly enjoyed -- but even being able to observe the rapt concentration in his countenance as he bent over the keyboard was inspiring.

The Fleisher performance was a pure gift. WCPE has been featuring a number of pieces from Fleisher's recently-released "Two Hands" CD. Somehow, however, it had not registered with me that he was going to play with the Symphony this week-end. It was a duel gift to be able to attend one of Fleisher's concert performances.

This week-end was important for Barb and me because Our Guys, the men's section of the NC Master Chorale, were singing with the symphony's performance of Liszt's Faust Symphony. They have been working hard since the beginning of the new season, and since Barb, as Chorale Manager, knows all of them, and since I have made several wonderful friends among them, we really wanted to hear them perform.

There's something powerfully virile about male voices, and "our guys" did not disappoint. As part of the Mephistophiles "portrait" of the third movement of the symphony, the men added depth and color to the symphony performance. We were so proud to see them sitting their in their tuxedos, singing vigorously what was really a difficult piece for them -- the tenors reaching a high "C" during the performance. They sounded just as they looked: HOT!

Next week-end we sing with the Symphony for the Holiday Pops concert. After hearing our men singing last night, I'm left in awe once again at what a privilege I'm enjoying, singing with this wonderful group.

On Southern Accents

I found out a local radio announcer is a North Carolina native, so after we had talked briefly by phone, recently, I made bold to email him with the question: Do people ever comment about your missing Tar Heel accent?

Yeah, he responded. He gave credit (or perhaps blame, depending on your perspective) on his mother, an English teacher. "You?" he asked.

Well, of course! I began to discard my accent, to pronounce words more fully, with more open vowel sounds, as a result of my middle and high school chorus teacher, who was a stickler for enunciation. Over the years, the more I've sung, the more distanced I've become from my southern accent.

No, I'm not ashamed of the way we sound down here. Some people think it's charming -- and it certainly can be evocative of magnolia blossoms and mint juleps. My family, though, is sufficiently removed from its alleged English landed gentry ancestry that when I joke about my redneck roots I'm not exaggerating by much. Our people, the rural southerners, sound more as if they might have a pinch of snuff tucked between teeth and jowl. Our vowels come out flat, able to stretch what is supposed to be a single syllable into two and sometimes three: Ca-yat, pro-nou-yance. Our voices carry more than a hint of a challenge to the listener -- or perhaps a threat of potential danger.

And let me be honest, we do laugh at people with other accents, and we hold our own stereotypes of certain accents, just as people hold stereotypes of ours. For instance, New Yorkers (from NYC or Rochester, it doesn't particularly matter) come to the South as determined to take over and rebuild us in their image as Sherman in his march to the sea. We hold these Yankees in about as much esteem as we did Sherman, too -- although we can be quite pleased to take their money when the mood strikes. And with the golf and tourism industries ruling the roost around here, the mood rarely departs.

It's funny -- a friend from California says my southern accent is charming, folks from Louisiana thought I sounded Yankee, while my cousin down the road complains that I don't have any accent left at all, that I'm gettin' above my raisin'.

Can't win for losing, sometimes.

Prayer Request updates

Two new prayer requests for you, please:

Jenn is the daughter-in-law of my dear friend Donna. Jenn had a lot of hormone-related heart trouble during her first pregnancy, and now she's early in the first trimester with her second pregnancy, and has begun having the same symptoms again. She has also lost one of a set of twins, Donna tells me; the other baby seems to be doing well so far.

Steve is Donna's daughter's boss. He has just recently been diagnosed with cancer -- his kidney is affected, and he only has the one kidney.

I've taken off a couple of people for whom I've been unable to get updates; I'm assuming that, after so many weeks, the crisis has passed. And I'm glad to be able to report that right now it looks as if Elwood may not have to undergo further treatment for the skin cancer he had removed a couple weeks ago.

Thanks, as always, for your prayers for these people.

'tis the (unhappy) season

... of tossing out dogs and cats in our rural community.

We expect -- and find -- several discarded dogs, hunting breeds, late in the deer season and for a couple weeks after it ends. We know they're throw-aways because their collars and ID have been removed; a good dog always has a sturdy collar and ownership tags.

Less commonly seen are the cats. Oh, they're there, but cats are wiley, independent and generally distrustful creatures who quickly revert to a feral nature. I know we have these wild cats -- my cousin feeds them along with the family barn and yard cats, some becoming, eventually, almost tame and certainly tolerant of their human hosts, and I occasionally see one ducking around the corner of the tobacco barn.

What I haven't experienced, until now, is the adoption by a cat. Bubba and the stranger woke me up in the wee hours of the night, Thursday morning, arguing with one another not far enough away from my bedroom window. I went outside and fussed at them; they relocated, but again, not far enough away. I didn't see The Ghost then -- the glare of the security light in my back yard was too bright.

Thursday night I was loading the car to go up to Raleigh for an early Friday appointment, and there on the back deck was a startlingly white cat. The first detail one notices about him is a very puffy tail. He miaowed at me and came within three feet of me as I stood and admired him, looking into my face and holding that lovely tail like a proud flag. Then Bubba followed me out the back door, and this little ghost of a cat serenely retreated to the shed. I left no food out, thinking he'd migrate on down the road soon enough if left alone.

Last night, shortly after I got home from Raleigh, while both Bubba and Precious were curled on the floor near my feet, I heard the high-pitched miaowing just outside the back door. I went to look, and the white cat was there. I had to feel sorry for him; I put some cat food in a plastic bowl and laid it down for him, and he rubbed against my ankles before he deigned to eat, even stretched his almost-glowing white head up to be scratched. Of course, I had to comply with his request as if I had no will of my own to resist him (and I didn't want to, really).

A little later, the miaows came again, so insistently, that I decided to allow him in if he wished. I needed something from the shed, so I left the back door open while I went to fetch it; sure enough, he must have walked in immediately; when I returned to the house Precious was standing at the back door, looking back toward my bedroom with a certain indignant expression and threatening low growls in the back of her throat. "It's going to be below freezing here tonight! I can't just make him stay out in this cold!" I told her. When he heard my voice, he came immediately to me, and Precious turned her back on us both and returned to the living room, stealthily, turning every few paces and walking crab-style while she fussed at us.

He's a simply beautiful cat -- white, pale blue eyes (and a disarming way of looking directly at one) and pink ear tips and nose. His body is too skinny right now to be obviously be long-haired; the tail gives it away. He has stretched up to prop his front paws against my knee as dogs do, talked to me most earnestly, meekly submitted to having his ears cleaned with hydrogen peroxide (he appears to have ear mites), climbed in my lap while I try to work, investigated my coffee cup, slept on my notebook, followed me like a dog when I go from the living room to any other room in the house... and even now is attempting to be my muse (mews?) as I write this.

In short, someone has loved and petted and spoiled this cat with a lot of human attention, making him happy to come close to strangers and eager to be loved again. He seems to have decided I am his for keeps. Already, Bubba ignores him unless he comes too close, and even Precious, the grande Dame of the household, tolerates him far more sweetly than she has ever done Bubba.

Problem is, my life circumstances are such that I cannot take on more pets right now. I'm going to be talking to my next-door neighbor this week-end about taking Bubba to be a barn cat for her horses; I'm getting ready to return to Raleigh. Someone has chosen to dump a cat out on the side of a country road instead of taking responsibility to find him a new home or even take him to the pound. It breaks my heart to think of the number of animals euthenised each week at our shelter; still, it would be kinder to put a pet down than to leave it at the risk of illness or serious injury, left to die alone, in pain and untended, possibly spreading disease and causing injury to other domestic pets. And it is I -- a stranger who did not ask for this responsibility -- who is left to exercise the choice.

I'm calling this little baby "the ghost" -- and I hope he can find a home soon. Right now he's lying across my left knee, dozing. He'll make someone an affectionate pet.

Warm Congratulations, Deacon Alex Jones!

Former Pentecostal pastor Alex Jones was ordained to the permanent diaconate on October 7.

Alex spoke at the Ignited by Truth conference in Raleigh, NC, in 2004, where I got to meet him and share some of the joy of being a convert. His testimony is awesome -- in promising his Pentecostal congregation in Detroit a "real New Testament worship service," he embarked on a study of the real apostolic church that ultimately led to his conversion to Catholicism -- bringing more than 50 of his former congregation along with him.

Detroit is very blessed to have such a passionately dedicated man among its ordained ministers!

Would this guy look good in a tux?

Sitting around the table last night after Chorale rehearsal, we began talking about the men's upcoming performance of Liszt's Faust (with the NC Symphony, next week, in several venues)... and somehow the subject of chorale attire came up, particularly men's attire, the good ol' standby tux...

And someone observed that all men look darn good in a tux. Even the plainest, oldest, baldest, fattest, most cross-eyed, or geekiest, gawkiest, ugliest man on the planet would look HOT in a tux! And I certainly agreed!

But then I had to think of... Larry the Cable Guy (see photo above). Somehow I just can't make the transition.... Do you suppose he'd try to wear that ball cap with... oh, now my head hurts!