John Donne, for Ash Wednesday:

At the round earth's imagined corners blow
Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise
From death, you numberless infinities
Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go;
All whom the flood did, and fire shall o'erthrow,
All whom war, dea[r]th, age, agues, tyrannies,
Despair, law, chance hath slain, and you, whose eyes
Shall behold God, and never taste death's woe.
But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space;
For, if above all these my sins abound,
'Tis late to ask abundance of Thy grace,
When we are there. Here on this lowly ground,
Teach me how to repent, for that's as good
As if Thou hadst seal'd my pardon with Thy blood.

— John Donne, Holy Sonnets, VII. (Westmoreland numbering)

Organ Preludes and Postludes through Lent

22 February (Ash Wednesday):
Jan Pieterszoon Sweelinck: Erbarm dich mein, o Herre Gott
Samuel Scheidt: Modus ludendi pleno organo pedaliter, SSWV 157
26 February (Lent I, Invocavit):
Louis Vierne: Berceuse (sur les paroles classiques), Op. 31, No. 19
César Franck: Poco allegro, in C minor (from L'Organiste)
4 March (Lent II, Reminiscere):
Johann Adam Reincken: An Wasserflüssen Babylon
Heinrich Scheidemann: Praeambulum in D minor, WV 32
11 March (Lent III, Oculi):
J.S. Bach: O Mensch, bewein dein Sünde groß, BWV 622
J.S. Bach (arr. Edwin Arthur Kraft): Komm, süßer Tod, BWV 478
18 March (Lent IV, Laetare):
Tiburtio Massaino (tablature by Bernhard Schmid): Laetare Jerusalem
Friedrich Wilhelm Zachau: Mit Fried und Freud ich fahr dahin, LV 9
25 March (Lent V, Judica; Annunciation):
Marcel Dupré: How Fair and how Pleasant art Thou, Op. 18, No. 5
Dieterich Buxtehude: Herr Christ, der einig Gottes Sohn, BuxWV 192
1 April (Palm Sunday):
Jeanne Demessieux: Hosanna filio David, Op. 8, No. 6
Jehan Alain: Litanies, JA 119
5 April (Maundy Thursday):
Olivier Messiaen: Le banquet céleste

As a matter of fact, only my Lutherans will be hearing preludes; for the Episcopalians we will be omitting the prelude and instead singing the proper introit for each Sunday from the Liber.

Book as Sacrament

I grow increasingly tired of incorporeal worship. Scripture and music are good, and all — of course they are; would I be a church musician if I didn't think church music was important? — but I don't get much out of a church service without sacrament. I almost added "and without ritual", there, but of course a sacrament is by its nature an act of ritual. The really sustaining thing about sacrament is the thrill of the tangible — and I use the word here according to its root: tangere, "to touch". It is remarkable that we should be made aware of God's mercies by means of things as simple as water, bread and wine. It helps remind us that we cannot dwell entirely within abstractions; that is to say, it goes some way towards rescuïng us from gnosticism.

It is for similar reasons that I cannot abide e-books (among other e- things; I grudgingly use e-mail, but that completes the list of e-nouns and e-verbs I employ. No doubt some wag will point out the irony that I am writing this on a web-log. My only response is to sigh). The experience of reading a book is a tangible pleasure. Bibliophiles will tell you how pleasant is the crispness of new pages, the smell of the ink, the heft of a weighty tome in one's hands. These things I could take or leave, but they are certainly preferable to the antiseptic experience of staring at a screen.

More important is the notion of book ownership, something that is only possible so long as books remain physical items and not a series of zeroes and ones in a hard drive. (Indeed, the notion of ownership is an ephemeral one on this series of tubes: when we are dead, who shall inherit the mp3 files that replaced our records? The Word documents that replaced our manuscripts? Those jpegs that have replaced our family albums?) I am a habitué of used-book shops, so perhaps I am more aware than some that a book ought to outlast its reader. Moreover, it is an gratifying experience to be lent a book, or, better (though indeed, worse), to inherit one. The book becomes more than an object: it is the signifier of a bond between us and those who have shared with us this collection of characters, locations, ideas. If the secondhand book has annotations in someone else's handwriting, so much the better. The tangible object that points us to a greater reality: that is what we are truly losing if we switch to e-readers.

Admirable Words, Vol. IV

1. Antimacassar
   
2. Aumbry
   
3. Chrestomathy
   
4. Cumbrous
   
5. Filigree
   
6. Mezzanine
   
7. Obdurate
   
8. Panopticon
   
9. Sledge
   
10. Uxorious

Downton Abbey: the Interactive Fiction Video Game

Perhaps you, dear reader, like everyone else, are watching the television programme Downton Abbey? I saw the first season when PBS re-aired it back in December, and am currently in the midst of the second season (unlike the Limeys, who have already completed the second season, but like all the rest of the Americans who hesitate to watch it illegally on the series of tubes that is the internet). For those who enjoy costume dramas, the Edwardian era, Maggie Smith, and Anglophilia, as I do, it is the perfect storm. It is commonly observed that the first season is far better; indeed, it is nearly perfect. But the second season, so far, is still quite satisfactory, even though the plots feel far more rushed. I almost hesitate to recommend it, for everyone is doing that now and popular media usually drive me to be contrary, but Downton Abbey really is quite good and you should probably watch it. Start at the beginning, though.

There's already been some merchandising — observe the PBS store, should you need proof of that — but the obvious next step is Downton Abbey: the Text-Based Video Game. I am clearly the man to make this happen, but for the fact that I have only great ideas and no relevant skills to do so. (Such is the plight of the "Idea Man", as no doubt Newt Gingrich could tell you.) Nevertheless, a taste:

You are a DOWAGER COUNTESS.

You are in the library. There is a SWIVEL CHAIR here. There is a FOOTMAN nearby.
Exits are EAST, SOUTH, and WEST.

What do you do?
>


South Bend, Again

It was pleasant to visit South Bend for a few days this week. Officially, my stated reasons for the visit were gastronomical: Madame Chen's (the best Chinese food in the world, so far as I know) and the South Bend Farmer's Market. These were both worthwhile. But it was a pleasure to visit with friends as well, and to play the Fritts (oh, how I've missed playing a tracker instrument!), and to see campus. I was struck by how nice it was, just being in South Bend again. I assure you that the climate does not appeal to me, nor the charm of the city. More than anything it was like seeing an old friend again — not a particularly close friend, but someone worth seeing nonetheless. After a certain amount of time one becomes aware of those little annoyances (or indeed, great glaring flaws of personality) that have prevented closer friendship. But before that happens it is very pleasant, indeed.

Perhaps this goes some way towards explaining our culture's incurable mobility: we long to be somewhere else because we are constantly overstaying our welcome. What we must learn is how to be at home. To do this we must become comfortable not only with a particular place and its particular people, despite their flaws, but also with ourselves. Introspection requires a certain stability, and stability encourages a certain introspection. Doesn't it?

Upcoming Orgelmusik

Organ preludes and postludes through Quinquagesima, 2012:

1 January (New Year's Day; Holy Name):
J.S. Bach: In dir ist Freude, BWV 615
Johann Gottfried Walther: Das alte Jahr vergangen ist
6 January (Epiphany):
Dietrich Buxtehude: Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern, BuxWV 223
Max Reger: Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern, Op. 135a, No. 29
8 January (Epiphany I, Baptism of the Lord):
J.S. Bach: Prelude and Fugue in G Major, BWV 541
Friedrich Wilhelm Zachau: Christ unser Herr zum Jordan kam, LV 3
15 January (Epiphany II):
Claude-Bénigne Balbastre: Fugue in D minor
Gerald Near: Alleluia. Laudate Deum omnes angeli eius
22 January (Epiphany III):
César Franck: Prélude, Fugue & Variation, Op. 18
César Franck: Andantino poco allegretto, in Eb Major (from L'Organiste)
29 January (Epiphany IV):
Friedrich Wilhelm Marpurg: O Ewigkeit, du Donnerwort
Johann Ludwig Krebs: Toccata in G Major
2 February (Candlemas):
Marcel Dupré: Élévation (Très modéré), Op. 32, No. 2
Marcel Dupré: Herr Gott, nun schleuss den Himmel auf, Op. 28, No. 31
5 February (Epiphany V; Septuagesima):
Clemens non Papa (tablature by Bálint Bakfark): Circumdederunt me
Anonymous (tablature by Jan z Lublina): Conradus
12 February (Epiphany VI; Sexagesima):
Domenico Zipoli: Canzona in C Major
Girolamo Frescobaldi: Preambulum tertii toni
19 February (Transfiguration; Quinquagesima):
Gerald Near: Visionem
Felix Mendelssohn: Sonata, Op.65, No. 2: II. Allegro maestoso e vivace

It should also be added that St. Luke's Episcopal Church (Dixon, Illinois) will host Mr Kevin Vaughn for an organ recital on 29 January (at 4:30pm). It promises to be a worthwhile occasion; I am looking forward especially to his Howells and Reger.

In dulci jubilo

In dulci jubilo,
Nun singet und seid froh!
Unsers Herzens Wonne liegt
in praesepio,
Und leuchtet als die Sonne
Matris in gremio,
Alpha es et O!

O Jesu parvule
Nach dir ist mir so weh!
Tröst' mir mein Gemüte
O puer optime
Durch alle deine Güte
O princeps gloriae.
Trahe me post te!

O Patris caritas!
O Nati lenitas!
Wir wären all verdorben
Per nostra crimina
So hat er uns erworben
Coelorum gaudia
Eia, wären wir da!

Ubi sunt gaudia
Nirgend mehr denn da!
Da die Engel singen
Nova cantica,
Und die Schellen klingen
In regis curia.
Eia, wären wir da!

"The Blessed Son of God"

Listen: Ralph Vaughan Williams — "The Blessed Son of God",
Being the fifth movement from his Christmas cantata Hodie
Performed by The Tudor Choir on this CD.
Or, if you are averse to downloading, listen to a fine performance here.

The blessed Sonne of God onely
In a crybbe full poore dyd lye:
With oure poore flesh and oure poore bloude
Was clothed that everlastynge good.
Kirieleyson.

The Lorde Christ Jesu, God’s Sonne deare,
Was a gest and a straunger here;
Us for to brynge from mysery,
That we might lyve eternally.
Kirieleyson.

All this dyd He for us frely,
For to declare His great mercy:
All Christendome be mery therfore,
And geve Hym thankes evermore.
Kirieleyson.

— Myles Coverdale, after Martin Luther (a loose translation of selected verses of "Gelobet seist du, Jesu Christ")

St. Lucy's Day

The best method of getting into the mind of prehistoric man is to spend more time outdoors. Perhaps the first thing one notices, upon doing so, is that one becomes far more aware of natural cycles: the phase of the moon, the barometric pressure, the time the sun sets (or, if you are un buen madrugador, the time it rises). Around this time of year it is quite possible to believe that the days will continue to get shorter and shorter until some scientist finally notices that the Earth's axis has somehow started tipping and our hemisphere will never see light again. This is, of course, implausible, though stranger things have happened elsewhere in the galaxy. The worst-case scenario would be a tidally-locked planet, with constant light in one hemisphere and constant darkness in t'other. Another possibility is a fate like that of the planet Uranus, the axis of which is so tilted that each pole is in complete darkness for forty-two years; of course, its orbital period is also much longer than Earth's. Whatever our axial tilt is, for those of us sensitive to a lack of sunlight the solstice can't come too soon.

Coïncidentally or not, today is the feast of Saint Lucy, long thought to be the shortest day of the year. ("'Tis the year's midnight", as Donne says.) The saint's connection with light needs little explanation.

There are, as it happens, quite a few hymns appropriate for this time of year. Many are used at compline. Perhaps the best is Christe, qui lux es et dies. (If you ever get a chance to hear Robert White's four polyphonic settings, do so. Here are the first and last; I can't readily find the other two.) This hymn was, in turn, adapted into two German chorales: Christe, der du bist Tag und Licht and Christe, der du bist der helle Tag. Another compline hymn is Te lucis ante terminum; my favorite version is the mode VIII melody used on ordinary Sundays and minor feasts. Other hymns include Conditor alme siderum and Lucis creator optime.

Some might complain that we've become too accustomed to the dichotomy between light and darkness, with its implication that light is to be preferred. This does not bother me. As anyone who has woken before the dawn can tell you, it is natural for man to want light. Consider Psalm 130:

I wait for the LORD, my soul doth wait, and in his word do I hope.
My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the morning: I say, more than they that watch for the morning.