Richard and Vickie picked us up at 9:30am. We, the four of us, went to Orinda to do some poaching. We are in search of a new music director. Dr. David Farr, having served the Church devotedly with his music and his scholarship, decided to retire. St. Paul’s needs to find a new choir boss. That’s what we were doing in Orinda.
The processes of choosing a new music director is fraught with misunderstandings. What do we as a church need? What do we as a choir, who have sweated so much blood and gotten so good, need? How do I do as a Congregationalist not blow up a meeting of sweet Episcopalians trying so hard to be nice to each other that nothing is being done? No, I don’t understand why the Episcopal Church runs itself the way it does, but it does.
Philip, the non-believing Liturgy-loving Baptist and Vicki, without whom St. Paul’s Music would collapse, are both on the search committee. Your humble servant is not, for reasons noted above. Thus it was surprising when Philip asked, “Do you want to go to Orinda Community Church on our Sunday off?” He gave me the bona fides on the organist/choir director and I was very impressed. So armed, we headed east to Orinda.
It was a beautiful day on the other side of the hills and Vicki knew where we were going. And where that was, was a beautiful A-frame church where we were sweetly and graciously greeted. And there, in fact was the rub. We seated ourselves on the left hand of the main aisle, in the back (to quote the great Dr. Mary Ellen Kilsby, “the unholy amen corner”). There we sat, five (Sarah Smith joined us) strangers to Orinda Community Church, and tried to be unobtrusive. We failed spectacularly.
The first tip off was that nobody knew us. We shook the hand of anyone who offered, smiled and said we were just visiting. Now, this line might have worked if there had been just Sarah or even just V & R or P & E. But no, there we were, the five of us, sitting in a row and singing way too well. One can only say “we’re just visiting” so many times before it sounds ridiculous.
The music was why we were there and it did not disappoint. The choir was 17 strong with two first rate soloists, baritone and tenor. Thy did a handsome job on the anthem they sang, “Draw us in the Spirit’s tether” by Harold Friedell. We know this so well we were singing along and that was one more nail in our unobtrusive coffin. Then there was the keyboard music. The organist in question did elegant and complex changes on “the Lord of the Dance.” As the service continued and I took Communion at a UCC church again for the first time in over three decades, I was offered a Cup of juice or wine for intinction. I went for the juice and was taken all the way back to Welch’s grape juice in little glass cups, in beautiful trays passed by friends to each other. Ah yes, I remember it well. Sap that I am, I wept for nostalgia and joy at being in a Congregational church again. They have pew Bibles but why they use the Methodist Hymnal is beyond me.
We did our due diligence and listened the postlude. The director/organist played holy hell out of Buxtehude. On a very limited instrument he was able to show his real stuff. Damn, he is good, his choir is good and I for one want him very much. Now the hard work began. Could we get out of the church without one more lovely person asking what we were doing there? Not a blessed chance. From where we were sitting there was no way out except through the classic Congregational greeting line. If we tried to go out the side door, on the far right side, it would be just too obvious. So I stepped up and faced the gentle minister. “So what brings you to our church?” He was being so nice. I looked up into those mild sweet eyes and said “Do you know your organist is looking for another job?” He was a professional. First he said no and then the penny dropped. He shook my hand and I almost ran out the front doors.
We the poachers met briefly in the parking lot and exchanged first impressions. My fellow felons were not unduly wroth with your humble reporter. What else was I supposed to do? LIE? No, that wouldn’t have worked, I’m not that good.
Loretta Castorini: What am I going to tell him?
Cosmo Castorini: Tell him the truth. They find out anyway.
The work goes on.
The processes of choosing a new music director is fraught with misunderstandings. What do we as a church need? What do we as a choir, who have sweated so much blood and gotten so good, need? How do I do as a Congregationalist not blow up a meeting of sweet Episcopalians trying so hard to be nice to each other that nothing is being done? No, I don’t understand why the Episcopal Church runs itself the way it does, but it does.
Philip, the non-believing Liturgy-loving Baptist and Vicki, without whom St. Paul’s Music would collapse, are both on the search committee. Your humble servant is not, for reasons noted above. Thus it was surprising when Philip asked, “Do you want to go to Orinda Community Church on our Sunday off?” He gave me the bona fides on the organist/choir director and I was very impressed. So armed, we headed east to Orinda.
It was a beautiful day on the other side of the hills and Vicki knew where we were going. And where that was, was a beautiful A-frame church where we were sweetly and graciously greeted. And there, in fact was the rub. We seated ourselves on the left hand of the main aisle, in the back (to quote the great Dr. Mary Ellen Kilsby, “the unholy amen corner”). There we sat, five (Sarah Smith joined us) strangers to Orinda Community Church, and tried to be unobtrusive. We failed spectacularly.
The first tip off was that nobody knew us. We shook the hand of anyone who offered, smiled and said we were just visiting. Now, this line might have worked if there had been just Sarah or even just V & R or P & E. But no, there we were, the five of us, sitting in a row and singing way too well. One can only say “we’re just visiting” so many times before it sounds ridiculous.
The music was why we were there and it did not disappoint. The choir was 17 strong with two first rate soloists, baritone and tenor. Thy did a handsome job on the anthem they sang, “Draw us in the Spirit’s tether” by Harold Friedell. We know this so well we were singing along and that was one more nail in our unobtrusive coffin. Then there was the keyboard music. The organist in question did elegant and complex changes on “the Lord of the Dance.” As the service continued and I took Communion at a UCC church again for the first time in over three decades, I was offered a Cup of juice or wine for intinction. I went for the juice and was taken all the way back to Welch’s grape juice in little glass cups, in beautiful trays passed by friends to each other. Ah yes, I remember it well. Sap that I am, I wept for nostalgia and joy at being in a Congregational church again. They have pew Bibles but why they use the Methodist Hymnal is beyond me.
We did our due diligence and listened the postlude. The director/organist played holy hell out of Buxtehude. On a very limited instrument he was able to show his real stuff. Damn, he is good, his choir is good and I for one want him very much. Now the hard work began. Could we get out of the church without one more lovely person asking what we were doing there? Not a blessed chance. From where we were sitting there was no way out except through the classic Congregational greeting line. If we tried to go out the side door, on the far right side, it would be just too obvious. So I stepped up and faced the gentle minister. “So what brings you to our church?” He was being so nice. I looked up into those mild sweet eyes and said “Do you know your organist is looking for another job?” He was a professional. First he said no and then the penny dropped. He shook my hand and I almost ran out the front doors.
We the poachers met briefly in the parking lot and exchanged first impressions. My fellow felons were not unduly wroth with your humble reporter. What else was I supposed to do? LIE? No, that wouldn’t have worked, I’m not that good.
Loretta Castorini: What am I going to tell him?
Cosmo Castorini: Tell him the truth. They find out anyway.
The work goes on.
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