Scotch drinking night

Tonight I found a penny, heads up, on the street. A little while later, I found a dollar bill on the sidewalk. Then by the Metro station, I found another heads-up penny. I'd say it was the luck o' the Irish, but tonight was Scottish night. There was a tartan kirking and dinner in honor of St. Andrew's Day tonight way down in Alexandria, Virginia, at the Church of St. Andrew and St. Margaret of Scotland, so I thought I'd pop in.

The church is one of those "Anglican" splinter groups from the Episcopal Church that uses the 1928 Book of Common Prayer, the 1940 Hymnal, the KJV Bible, and doesn't allow female clergy. Their facility is fairly new; it's a small church in the meetinghouse style with the choir and electronic organ rather awkwardly in the left rear of the nave.


Exterior view


The Sanctuary
(see the purple Scottish heather on the altar?)

St. Andrew's Day services have been a tradition in Alexandria for centuries. When the first Lord Mayor of the town was elected in 1761, the mayor and council toured the town in blue sashes and crosses in honor of St. Andrew's Day; later that evening, the Scotsmen of the town hosted a St. Andrew's Day ball, followed by bonfires.

Tonight's service was spoken Evening Prayer with a sermon and a special "kirking" or blessing of the clan tartans. Because of the parish's traditions and their use of the 1928 BCP and the 1940 Hymnal (they sang the "Amen"s!), it was like stepping into a time warp. My first clue was seeing two women wearing chapel caps—those little round, lace, doiley-like things women used to wear on their heads in church—and I immediately thought back to my early childhood and remembered when some of the girls forgot their chapel caps and had to bobby pin Kleenexes to their heads.

As much as these Anglican parishes try to be "conservative" and traditional, I'm always amused at some of their technical faux pas. The rector, who officiated tonight, was wearing a cassock, surplice, and hood, but with a red stole (eucharistic vestment) instead of the more-correct tippet or scarf. He also officiated from the center of the altar, rather than the old-style north end. When the readers finished reading the lessons and announced "Here endeth the lesson," most of the congregation responded with "Thanks be to God," which didn't enter the Episcopal service until 1979. And, in their calendar, they referred to their Sunday morning service as "Holy Eucharist," which under 1928 rules should have been called "Holy Communion."

While there was an organist and a small choir tonight, the hymns, psalms, and canticles were all done congregationally. They opted to do Anglican chant for the Magnificat and the Nunc dimittis as well as for the psalms. The congregation tonight wasn't familiar with the chants; I don't know how many people there tonight were Episcopalian and how many were visiting Presbyterians/"others," though, cause I also noticed a goodly number of people who sat rather than knelt for the prayers. The all-unison hymns were Lancashire for opening, Galilee for sermon, "Scotland the Brave" during the kirking, and Webb for the closing, and the three familiar hymn tunes all used non-standard words. A sole bagpiper played the opening and closing processions and the processions in and out of the tartan clan representatives. The choir did the Slumber Snot Song ("He watching over Israel" from Elijah) for an offertory, and I can say that they made a joyful noise unto the Lord.....

After the service, I lingered a bit trying to look "lost" and "visitorlike," as well as to listen to the piper play a postlude, before going downstairs to their undercroft parish hall for the dinner/reception. The priest shook my hand and said "good evening" back in the narthex, but otherwise, none of the people sitting around me or anyone else talked to me. Most everyone was dressed up tonight, and I saw a lot of tartan ties and maybe a dozen men in highland dress. Even the young boys were in their suits and blazers, but that's very Virginia Episcopalian/Anglican.

The food was potluck style with a big U-shaped table arrangement in the center of the room full of food, including a big pile of shrimp and cocktail sauce, ham, turkey, egg salad sandwich triangles, cheeses and crudités, and three or four different whole fish presentations. A side table had a big punch bowl surrounded with desserts, including shortbreads, scones, and American holiday candies. Another large side table held the booze, with at least ten different Scotch whiskeys, a couple of bottles of gin, some Spanish cava, and some cheap California wine (none of which I drank). I heard that some judge who's a member of the parish had brought cigars and cognac for the gentlemen, but I never did see where they were. I stood around for about ten to fifteen minutes nibbling on fish, cheese, and scones (I couldn't find the Scotch eggs or the advertised haggis), but there was no one there I knew and nobody was talking to me except for one women who'd backed into me and said "excuse me" without looking at me.

So, I left.

Advent Lessons and Carols

Went to a packed Advent lessons and carols service tonight at St. Paul's K Street featuring their boys' choir and their full adult choir. For those interested, there will be a repeat performance (save with different readers) next Sunday evening for Advent II. Here's the line-up:

An Advent Procession with Lessons and Carols
Saint Paul's Episcopal Church, K Street, Washington, D.C.

Matin Responsory: G. P. da Palestrina, "Aspiciens a longe" (I look from afar)
Choral Hymn: Puer nobis nascitur, Veni Redemptor gentium (Come thou Redeemer of the Earth)
Invitatory Carol: Orlando Gibbons, "Hosanna to the son of David"

First Lesson: Zechariah 2:10—13
Carol: Philip Ledger, "Adam Lay Ybounden"
Hymn: 15th century French Franciscan Processional, Veni, veni, Emmanuel

Second Lesson: Isaiah 11:1—10
Motet: Gustav Schreck, "O how shall I receive Thee"
Hymn: Valet will ich der geben, O how shall I receive Thee

Third Lesson: Isaiah 40:1—8
Motet: Guillaume Dufay, "Ut queant laxis" (So that these your servants)
Hymn: Merton, Hark! A thrilling voice is sounding

Fourth Lesson: Baruch 4:36—5:9
Hymn: Wincester New, On Jordan's bank the Baptist's cry
Chorus: George F. Handel, "And the glory of the Lord" from Messiah
Anthem: Anton Bruckner, Ave Maria

Fifth Lesson: Luke 1:26—38
Hymn: Nova, nova, Gabriel of high degree
Motet: Albert Alain, Ave Maria

Sixth Lesson: Jeremiah 31:31—34
Hymn: Little Cornard, Hills of the north rejoice
Offertory Anthem: Jonathan Dove, "Seek him that maketh the seven stars"

Seventh Lesson: Revelation 21:5—7; 22:12—13, 20
Hymn: Wachet auf, Wake, awake for night is flying
Responsory: William McKie, "We wait for thy loving kindness, O God"
Hymn: Helmsley, Lo! He comes with clouds descending

Organ Voluntary: J.S. Bach, Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland, BWV 661

---

What a wonderful, inspirational evening to start the season of Advent! I loved hearing so many of the traditional Advent hymns and carols, and several of the anthems and motets were things I've sung for years, too.

I may go again next week just to hear the offertory anthem again—it was stunning, but very English contemporary (Dove is living and in his forties). Musically, the service should be a much better "performance" as well, since a few of the things sounded quite ragged and underrehearsed tonight, especially the Bruckner "Ave Maria." Of course, this is a parish that does a huge amount of music, with different full Mass settings and two anthems, plus an Evensong service and a different anthem, every Sunday, so I have to cut them some slack for these long special services. Anyway, if you're a musician and want to hear a lovely musical service (without being subjected to the usual barrage of "Living Christmas Trees" and contemporary pop Xmas carols), this is a perfect place to go on a Sunday evening.

This parish—one of the older and wealthier in the Diocese—has the most wonderful vestments and hangings! Instead of purple Advent togs that get recycled in Lent, they have a specific Advent set which are Sarum blue with red orphreys and gold metallic trim. I couldn't quite see the Advent wreath clearly enough to note whether they were using blue or purple candles (I did see the one pink one).

With all the parish choirs singing tonight, there was not enough room in the chancel to seat everyone, so they had the choir processing and standing in various places around the nave and chancel, starting with everyone in the narthex around the baptistry. At one point the men were all in the Angel Chapel, which gave their voices a lovely monastic sound. The Handel was done (in Victorian style, rather than period messa di voce) with everyone on the chancel steps and eventually by the time of the offertory anthem, the choirs were on the sanctuary steps with the boys in the stalls.

There was light incense in the opening procession and more incense for the recessional procession; the thurifer was even doing "around the worlds" on his way out tonight!

Those of you who may want to go hear the service next Sunday evening beware: St. Paul's is a very traditional, very high church parish, meaning the parishioners won't initiate conversations with you or be "friendly"; they believe that people come to church to worship, not socialize (or at least that's the excuse), so if you're used to warm welcomes and lots of chit-chat with strangers, don't expect that here. I've been popping in to this church several times a month since Epiphany (that's early January), and I'm just now getting the two priests to recognize me, but other than the ushers I've only had two people in the pews say anything at all to me (and I suspect they were visitors). It's also a dressy parish: men in suits are common, and I've never seen jeans or highly casual clothing here.

And, while I doubt it's anywhere near as crowded next weekend, I walked into the church about twenty minutes before the six o'clock start time, and the church was full! I'll remember that for next year......but, like I said, I doubt next Sunday will be as crowded, since so many people have already seen the service.

Vatican wisdom falls short

An Italian Catholic newspaper earlier today published the "officially leaked" version of the Vatican document on homosexuals in the priesthood set for release next week. As the document has been in draft for years and small leaks have been proliferating over the past couple of weeks, the contents come as no surprise.

What is a surprise, though, is how the highly educated gentlemen of the Vatican Curia can be so ignorant about biology, psychology, and human nature in the 21st century.

For those of you who haven't heard the details of the new homosexual priests policy, the Catholic Church is going to allow existing gay priests to continue in their priestly service. However, seminarians who 1) are actively gay, 2) have deep-seated homosexual tendencies, or 3) support gay culture will not be eligible for ordination to Holy Orders. Men who have "experimented" or had "transitory" homosexual "tendencies" can be ordained if they have been celibate for over three years and they have "clearly overcome" those "tendencies."

The new policy is fraught with problems as to interpretation and enforcement.

No one denies that homosexuals have been very competent and capable priests, bishops, and even popes over the two millennia of Catholic history, and noone denies that there are homosexuals currently serving as good priests, bishops, and even cardinal archbishops (some authorities estimate that as many as 40% of American priests are gay). Those homosexual clerics, just like the heterosexual ones, take vows of celibacy, and the vast majority of priests, gay and straight, abide by their vows.

The Church, though, is still reeling from pedophilia scandals in the United States, Canada, Ireland, Australia, and other countries, and many ill-informed cardinals are trying to lay the blame for the scandals at the feet of homosexual clergy.

Well, let me take a moment to explain my background: I have taught criminal justice at the university undergraduate and graduate level at two different schools, so I am not speaking as a "pro-gay" rabblerouser. We know from academic sociological research that pedophilia is a sexuality all to itself, and that the children victimized are selected primarily because of access and availability, not because of gender. The great majority of pedophiles are men who identify as heterosexual, not homosexual, and most of those men are married with children. We also know that pedophiles are not gender exclusive. They may molest a little girl today and a little boy tomorrow—it makes no difference to them because the object of their sexual desire is simply "child." Further, there are some scholars who suggest that pedophilia develops in men and women (women can be pedophiles, too; recall the current case of Debra Lafave and previous newsmaker Mary Kay Letourneau) because of sexually repressed atmospheres during their childhood and adolescence, while others suggest that a major factor in pedophilic behavior is a history of childhood incest or molestation.

We know certain things about the pedophiles and the Catholic priesthood. First, boys were not the only children molested; there are a lot of reports of girl victims, as well, and in reading Church case studies, school children of both genders often knew to avoid being alone with Father X. We also know that the incidence of priest-pedophiles is not widespread; we hear of huge numbers of victims, but we should note that an uncontrolled pedophile typically has dozens of victims (former Boston priest John Geoghan had at least 86 victims who sued the Archdiocese). Of the priest-pedophiles who have been caught, some identify as homosexual and some identify as heterosexual. And, while it hasn't made the headlines like the vast numbers of child victims, there are a few notorious priests who've made the rounds of the high school and college girls in what can only be thought of as less than consensual sexual contact, and still other priests engage in consensual adult homosexual and heterosexual actitivity in breach of their vows.

Contributing factors? Well, everyone immediately points to the Church's antiquated rule requiring clergy to take vows of celibacy. While celibacy contributes to the sexual oppression of priests' natural sex drives, it isn't really that big of a deal. The sexual oppression blame can be placed with Saint Paul, the Jewish convert to Christianity in the years after Jesus' death who decreed that all Christians should strive for celibacy, but those who were "weak" could marry and have sex, but solely for procreation, and only if they didn't enjoy it. Catholic parochial schools have certainly played their part in carrying on St. Paul's wish, though I think it's the girls who get the brunt of the antisex pressure, not the boys, and Catholics certainly aren't the only Christians to have to deal with sexual Victorianism.

The bigger factors, though, have to do with Church jurisprudence and the simple fact that Catholics believe too strongly in God and his potential micromanagement of mankind. Over the centuries, separate systems of jurisprudence evolved for clergy and for laity. During the Middle Ages, it was quite common for members of the nobility to arrange to be ordained to the minor Holy Orders so they would be subject only to Church tribunals and not to civil authority; the Church only used capital punishment for heresy, unlike the civil system where all felonies were originally capital crimes. Rome has gotten used to handling criminal matters internally, and that tradition butted heads with modern American jurisprudence in many unfortunate ways, not least of which was Rome's secrecy. The other issue is the Catholics' belief in the power of confession and absolution; a similar concept often voiced today by Protestants is "With God, all things are possible." The Catholics felt that if an errant pedophile was truly contrite and confessed his sins with the intention not to sin again, God would forgive him and heal him of his illness. It was this blind faith in God's active benevolence that led well-intended bishops to forgive their pedophile priests and then place them in a different parish, where, as we saw all too well, temptation again reared its ugly head. Unfortunately, too many bishops believed in serial forgiveness and kept posting and reposting and reposting men who had no business in the priesthood.

So, the Vatican's new homosexual policy is going to do very little to solve the problems which led to the pedophile scandals. In fact, I believe that the policy will markedly increase the risk of additional problems. Why? Because the most sexually repressed people are those who are insecure in their sexuality and trying to hide it. If a man is devout and struggling with his sexual urges, gay or straight, he may create that very environment of repression which breeds pedophilia. And, if the man's urges border on the homosexual, the politics of the new Church policy is bound to make potential seminarians deny to themselves their urges, if not lie about them altogether to others, and in both cases, keeping them from getting the psychological counseling they need. And the policy is certainly not going to help the victims of those pedophiles whose "opportunity" will come from being around little girls.

With this atmosphere of hostility, I'm sure the Church will lose a lot of very good gay priests who are celibate, who are not pedophiles, and who are wonderful pastors for their parishioners; they know they are not welcome, and they know their opportunities for advancement in the Church will be thwarted. Many potentially good priests who are gay, bisexual, or questioning in their orientation, however celibate and chaste, will never seek to serve the Church. Sadly, new gay priests will continue to be ordained, but they will be forced into a medieval ecclessiastical closet, living a lie to themselves, their bishops, and their flocks, often compelled to act in prejudicial ways against gay Catholic laity to help bolster their alleged heterosexuality and show their conformity and obedience with anti-gay Church politics.

With as much as the Church demands of us in beliefs and financial commitment, we deserve better.

Where to go to church?

We're trying to decide where to go to church in D.C. on Thanksgiving morning. Since this is our first Thanksgiving weekend in D.C., does anybody have any recommendations?

We tend to prefer more high church places with music, either Catholic or Episcopalian (though we would consider others). Thanks for your help!

Christmas rules

It's not even Thanksgiving yet, and I heard Christmas music playing in a Chinese fast food restaurant last week. I've heard people at the malls already talking about putting up their Christmas trees at home before Thanksgiving! As many of you know, I've long complained about the evolution of Christian practices amongst low Protestants (please note that "low" refers to the level of ritual and liturgy in their worship, and is not a negative term), who often misunderstand traditions and forget their history and evolution. So, in keeping with my professorial nature, I am pleased to offer this information about Christmas and the correct observance thereof:

CHRISTMAS HISTORY AND RULES

Christmas is a religious holy day. Specifically, it is a holy day of Christians dealing with their tradition of the human birth of the Christian god, which actually took place in September (some scholars argue for April), but that is a different story for another post.

Christians from the liturgical denominations (Catholic, Orthodox, Anglican/Episcopalian, Lutheran, and some Methodists) should celebrate Christmas by going to church on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, not at St. Mattress's or the Bedside Assembly.

Christians who are Jehovah's Witnesses do not observe Christmas at all.

Other Christian denominations (particularly those from Calvinist or Congregationalist traditions) should not have special Christmas services, since they descend from churches which decided in the 16th and 17th centuries that Christmas was a "popish" holiday. In many cases they enacted civil laws prohibiting the observance of Christmas; therefore, they should not pretend to be Catholic or Episcopalian and have faux-Midnight Mass services, especially at an earlier hour. They may have an indulgence for this year, since Christmas Day 2005 is on a Sunday, but they should remember that in 1659, they passed a law in Massachusetts fining people for celebrating on December 25.

Atheists, Jews, Muslims, Druids, Wiccans, Hindus, Buddhists, and so forth are not Christians; it is inappropriate and offensive to many Christians for adherents of these beliefs to conscript aspects of the Christian holy day because they are fun or a "nice idea." This includes Christmas trees, parties, and gift giving, even if shrouded in "holiday" euphemisms.

Hanukkah is not the "Jewish Christmas." It's a minor Jewish holiday that commemorates a lamp burning eight days longer than expected during a war.

Christmas is properly observed from December 24 through January 5. These are the "Twelve Days of Christmas" made popular in the carol.

The period of quiet introspection and preparation for Christmas is called Advent. Advent starts four Sundays before Christmas Day; this year, Advent begins on Sunday, November 27. Advent decorations include the use of evergreen branches, particularly for wreaths and garlands, and purple ribbons are used.

Traditionally, Christmas carols and Christmas decorations are not used during Advent. If one starts singing "Silent Night" before Thanksgiving, how will it be special on Christmas Eve? How will one not be sick of Christmas carols during the Twelve Days of Christmas when they are supposed to be sung?

Christmas decorations go up on Christmas Eve; they come down on Twelfth Night, which is January 6. Decorations and trees do not go up Thanksgiving weekend and come down Christmas night.

Realizing that the low Protestant denominations do not have liturgical seasons and often don't know any better, it is permissible for them to begin to do some low-key Christmas decorating prior to Christmas, but they should wait until December to start and under no circumstances may they do so prior to the First Sunday of Advent. Malls, department stores, and other retailers are not the example for Christians celebrating the birth of their Lord.

Christmas (the shortened form of Christ Mass) is often abbreviated "Xmas" because X is the first letter of Xristos, the Greek word for Christ, and has nothing to do with commercial merchants trying to save space in sale ads or a vast left wing conspiracy to "X" or cross Christ out of Christmas.

"Santa Claus" is an Anglicization of the Dutch name Sinterklaas (in early U.S. history, the Dutch were the people who colonized New York), also known as Saint Nicholas, a generous Turkish bishop in the 4th century who was tall, skinny, and dark-complected. Incidentally, bishops usually wear red and white vestments at Mass. His feast day is December 6; in much of Europe, that is the gift-giving day, and traditionally children were given raisins and adults potatoes, although candy for all is popular now.

January 6, or Twelfth Night, is the Feast of the Epiphany, which commemorates the visit of the three wise men to the Christ child. In many traditions, esepcially Orthodox, Epiphany is when gifts are given.

In most of the world, gifts are brought to children only by St. Nicholas on December 6 (in Greek tradition, he came on New Year's Day) or the Three Wise Men on January 6. In America, somehow St. Nicholas gets confused and comes on Christmas Eve; this is probably due to children's poem A Visit from St. Nicholas, now known as The Night Before Christmas, generally attributed to Clement Moore ca. 1823 (though many modern scholars believe it was written by Henry Livingston), which is technically inaccurate but seems to have become the American bible for "Santa Claus". Interestingly, Santa Claus probably originated with pagan Germanic traditions of the god Wodan who gave gifts during Yuletide, the Germanic observance of the winter solstice.

Most Christmas decoration traditions have pagan and druidic orgins dealing with the winter solstice and other winter holidays, particularly trees, holly, greenery, mistletoe, and Yule logs. The Catholic Church has had a long history of adapting indigenous customs and traditions and giving them their own special Catholic meaning and twist, though, so these things have centuries of "approved" Christian use.

Christmas trees began to be common in Germany in the 1700s and were not used in the United States at all outside of German immigrant communities until the late 1800s, after Queen Victoria's husband introduced his German tree tradition in England and it caught on there, then migrated here. In order to fulfill Christian symbolism about the promise of everlasting life during the dark days of winter, the tree should be a live evergreen. Since live trees dry out in a heated house, they were put up on Christmas Eve and taken down twelve days later. That used to be common in the U.S. in the early 20th century, and only since World War II and the invention of fake trees have people been pushing and extending the dates.

It is tacky to have more than one Christmas tree per house.

Personal Christmas cards, another Victorian tradition, should be sent only to family and close personal friends. Personal cards MUST be hand addressed and hand signed; mailing labels and computer-printed envelopes are tacky and indicate the sender doesn't care enough about his or her 1,000 closest and dearest friends to write them a personal holiday greeting. Christmas letters need to be shorter, less egotistical, and much more sparingly used.

Business "holiday" cards should be non-religious and sent by the business, not by the businessman's wife signing the card from "Biff, Muffy, little Susie and little Johnny." They, too, should be hand addressed and the postage should be a stamp rather than a meter.

Christians who want to include their Jewish, Muslim, Wiccan, etc., friends on their Christmas card list should not send a Christmas card (or a Hanukkah card!), but may use "New Years" cards in lieu of a Christmas card.

Christmas lights on houses serve the same purpose as candles or lights on a Christmas tree, which is to chase away evil spirits and demons and to represent the "light of Christ." House lights should be tasteful. If they illuminate the entire neighborhood or if one doubles ones electric bill during December, that is a good sign one's decorations are not tasteful.

Traditional holiday feast foods were made with rich, high fat ingredients because the harvest was recent, the winter famine was about to begin, and people needed a little extra weight on them to get them through the winter. There seem to be very few Americans these days who are in need of extra holiday fat to get them through the winter, so keep that in mind when cooking, planning menus, and eating!

That red-leafed Mexican plant which is popular in the U.S. during December is a poinsettia, which is not pronounced "POINT-set-uh," but "POIN-set-tee-ah" (the big difference is there is not supposed to be a T on the end of the first syllable).

Office Christmas parties are some of the most perilous times for subordinate employees, who are being watched by their superiors. Therefore, one must make an appearance at the office party, but it is IMPERATIVE that one not get drunk!

Christmas is supposed to be a time of rejoicing and celebration about a baby's birth in a religious story. It is not about conspicuous consumption, greed, or stress. Keep Christmas simple and both you and your family will be much happier!

Pozdrevlyayu s prazdnikom Rozhdestva is Novim Godom!
Joyeux Noël!
Kung His Hsin Nien bing Chu Shen Tan!
Fröhliche Weinacht!
Hyvää Joulua!
Buon Natale!
Shub Naya Baras!
Feliz Navidad!
U-li-he-li-s'di Da-ni-s'da-yo-hi-hv-I!
Have a blessed Christmas (after a blessed Advent)!

What is a Spanish organ?

Today is Christ the King Sunday. It's always a festive day in Roman and anglo-catholic Episcopal parishes since it's the end of the church's liturgical year; next Sunday is the First Sunday in Advent and "new years day" at church. I went to the bowling alley church (a/k/a St. Stephen Martyr here in Foggy Bottom) this morning for Mass. Several of you have asked me why I call it the "bowling alley church," so I took a few pictures the other day to show you.





You remember all those bowling alleys that were built back in the early 1960s with exactly this style of arches and undulating architecture? Every time I go to Mass here, I'm reminded of the Rose Bowl back in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Anyway, since this is a festival day at St. Stephen's they had a special service program for today. The inside front cover was reserved for comments about their music program and organ. Let me excerpt a few things:

...your encouragement helped Msgr. Hill and now Msgr. Filardi to articulate a developing vision for St. Stephen's as Washington's Musical Catholic Parish........However, unlike many of our Protestant and Jewish neighbors with fine music programs, our music department doesn't function on an endowment.

All music for organ is based on whatever parts of our broken organ happen to be working in a given week. While the remaining instrument may "sound OK" to some ears, it is extremely difficult to play and the last remaining division will very soon be completely unplayable. Help! We need generous angels to help us raise the remaining $814,000.

As a special project in Washington's most musical neighborhood, please consider helping to build the country's first Spanish-inspired orchestral organ......

What is a Spanish organ?

Now, I'll be the first to confess that my tastes (and knowledge) in organs lean heavily towards the modern British sound, though I am tolerant of French organs (largely because there are so many French composers whose organ works I love). I know the German sound, which I'm not terribly fond of, but I just don't know the "Spanish" sound. When last I was in Spain, it was summertime and they wouldn't let me in to the cathedrals because I was wearing shorts, so I've not heard or seen a Spanish organ. I'll have to refer this explanation to some of my infinitely more knowledgable musician readers.

Acoustic design at St. Stephen's is difficult. If you look at the interior photo above, you'll see on the left three bays on the "mezzanine" level; that is the choir loft, and the organ console is located in the bay which is closest to you. The pipe chamber, however, is in a room at the far end of the choir loft, and opens into the loft, not into the nave or the sanctuary! I should think that problem needs to be fixed. It's also a large enough nave that an antiphonal division in the back would be useful. Of course, I don't know the "Spanish" solutions to the organ. I also have no clue why this parish wants a "Spanish sound," since the previous pastor was Irish, the current is Italian, and I see very few New World Hispanics in the pews, let alone Spaniards.

Anyway, this morning's Mass was nice. I still think the organist/choirmaster comes from an Episcopalian background (as I've previously observed), since the opening hymn was Diademata, the offertory hymn was Leoni, the closing hymn was Nettleton, and the communion motet was Healy Willan's "O King All Glorious." Of course, they still do a few of those "unfortunate" modern Roman congregational antiphon/cantor-choral verse songs for communion and the Gloria, and I continue to fail to see why this parish does a not-sung-by-95%-of-the-congregation congregational hymn during the offertory, instead of an anthem. It's not as if they don't have a competent choir! This morning, the choir sang an a capella choral prelude ( John Amner's "Come, Let's Rejoice") then did a new plainsong arrangement of "The Lamb Who Was Slain" for an introit, so we know they are capable of an offertory. The usual female cantoress was not there this morning, so they were playing musical cantors with a woman I could barely hear and a college boy who bleats and hasn't learned to negotiate his passaggio.

Now I just have to decide where to go for Mass on Thanksgiving morning. I don't know which parishes make a big deal out of it and which just have a low Mass.

Rejoice!

Yay! I'm so excited!

My four tickets to Midnight Mass at the Washington National Cathedral arrived in today's mail!!!

Now all I have to do is find two or three people who'll be in town on Christmas Eve and who want to go with me.

A DS9 beginning

The very first episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine is airing right now on the Spike cable television network.

For those of you who aren't home during weekday daytimes, Spike has been running two episodes of DS9 followed by three episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation in the noon to 5 p.m. time slot. Yesterday, they ran the final two episodes of the DS9 series, and I didn't know what to expect with the time slots today; often, networks use syndicated series endings as a time to change their programming and switch to other shows. DS9 has had no such terminal fate today, though.

As I watch this "first" episode, it brings back a lot of memories from years ago. DS9 debuted over a dozen years ago, on January 3, 1993. That day, I had flown to Miami to attend a legal continuing education conference, so I had to watch the show from my room at the Fontainebleau Hotel on Miami Beach. It was quite different from what we were used to: The Next Generation was still in the last two years of its production, and this new show was so different! DS9 is a very dark show, both in terms of scene lighting and in terms of plot themes. Non-human characters were much more prevalent. And, DS9 became much more of a prime-time soap opera, with story arcs that continued from show to show and season to season. Eventually the series would become rather bogged down in the bleakness of interstellar war before its conclusion in 1999, but along the way, it presented a number of important social issue discussions.

Two of the most important issues were related to critiquing religion as a force in society at a time when America was uneasy about its religious beliefs while the nightly news was constanting discussing the sexual peccadillos of a Southern Baptist president and a nice Jewish girl.

Set on a space station near the planet of Bajor, DS9 balanced the secular humanism of the Next Generation tradition with the extremely devout religious beliefs of a near-theocracy on Bajor. Bajorian religion also had a lot of interesting parallels to Hinduism and Buddhism, and included a group of "Prophets" or gods who intervened regularly in the day to day activities of the people on Bajor; non-Bajorans, however, thought of the Prophets as "wormhole aliens" who were superior, powerful, supernatural beings living in a space "wormhole" tunnel. The Bajorans also struggled with their religious leadership controlling their laws, politics, and government, something with which modern-day Muslims and Evangelical Christians are similarly struggling.

The other major issue was more subtle, yet academically more important. A character, security officer Odo, was a part of a race of people known as the Founders or the Shape-Shifters, all of whom had the ability to assume any shape, be it humanoid, animal, plant, inanimate object, or even gases and fire. On their home planet, they lived in "The Great Link," a conglomeration of all the beings combined as one in liquid form, making most of the planet a vast ocean of beings. When I was teaching my ancient and medieval humanities classes, I had my students consider the Great Link and compare it to the ancient Egyptian concept of "ka," where each living thing in the universe contains a little piece of life force/sustainance from a common source. We then explored the evolution of that thought into Judeo-Christian concepts of the "soul," asking if humankind's soul is a little piece of "God" broken off, and after the death of the corporeal body, which returns to "God" or "The Light" and becomes again one with the whole. We also looked at parallels between Founders in the Link being one, yet being able to pull out into a separate corporeal entity, and the Christian concept of Trinitarianism.

And, thus, we teach with popular culture.

So, the impact of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine continues, and cable-connected Trekkers across the country can continue their watching and worshipping. The sociological impact of Gene Roddenberry and producer Paramount Pictures on American society has always been significant and they have never been shy about addressing controversial issues. Their artistry in raising these issues and molding opinion is something I've always admired.

Meanwhile, when is some network going to show the reruns of Star Trek: Voyager or Star Trek: Enterprise? We all pretty much have the original series and Next Generation shows memorized, and we're getting close to the same with DS9 shows. There are dozens of Voyager and Enterprise shows I've never even seen. If Spike-TV can devote five hours a day to the Star Trek franchise, surely they can allot a single hour for one of the newer shows. If not Spike, maybe someone else can take the lead.

Why? Because (to my friend Tony's grammatical consternation) it will allow them to boldly go where no man has gone before.

St. Mary's reprise

Just around the corner from me in the midst of all the George Washington University buildings is an old Episcopal church called St. Mary's. It was founded in 1867 as an African church in the years following the Civil War, back when Foggy Bottom was the District's predominantly black neighborhood. Noted D.C. architect James Renwick designed the church, which was completed in 1887. St. Mary's was one of the first churches I visited when I got moved into my condo in January, but that morning happened to be a snow day with a limited service, and they met rather casually in the parish hall, since the nave (worship space) was being remodeled.

Earliler this month, the remodeling was completed and the bishop came for a rededication service. I let all the fuss and newness die down, and went to church yesterday morning for a regular service.

The structure is traditionally oriented so the altar is in the east end of the church; since the church is on the west side of 23rd Street, this means one must go through a courtyard between the church and the parish hall to get to the entrance of the church. As one enters, there is no formal narthex, but the end of the long, rectangular church is open to serve that function. The interior design is classically Victorian neo-gothic revival, and the remodel has "cleaned up" the look, rather than radically modifying it. Perhaps the most modern change is the new cast concrete floor throughout the nave. Walls are exposed red brick and pointed arch stained glass windows line the side walls of the nave. Only about the front half of the windows have images; the back half are just filled with art glass. All of the old wooden pews had been restored and were bolted to the new floor; there were no kneeling rails or kneeling cushions, though.

As one looks up towards the front, the space narrows for the sanctuary and chancel, with the vesting sacristy on the left and the organ pipe chamber on the right. A brass pulpit is on the right of the chancel and a large, carved, wooden eagle serves as the lectern on the left. In the chancel, the organ is on the far left with one row of choir pews in front and then three rows of choir pews are on the right side, all facing the center. In the sanctuary, dark, carved, wood reredos fill almost the entire wall behind the wall-attached wood altar, all under a tryptich of stained glass windows, and no altar rail separated the sanctuary from the chancel. There was some lovely dark olive stenciling all over the sanctuary walls which had been cleaned up to stop the peeling, but which would be stunning if they could have a restoration done.

I entered the nave and was greeted warmly by a greeter and by an usher offering a program. The priest was also making his way to the narthex area and he stopped to talk and welcome me. The small congregation was largely elderly black women with a couple of handfuls of white GWU students. The all-black choir was also middle aged-plus and actually had more men than women. I was a bit surprised at the new pew arrangements. About mid-way in the nave, there was a bit of a break allowing for a walkway, but I can't imagine why, since this is not a large church at all. It is space which I think would have been better used at the front of the nave, since it was quite crowded up there. Instead of using the high altar, they had a very narrow, sofa-table looking "altar" set up just below the chancel step which was set with the eucharistic vessels and missal stand.

As I found my seat, the black male organist was playing a rather traditional prelude. I wasn't sure what to expect musically at this service. Rather than being African or gospel, everything turned out to be very "suburban," standard, small parish, Episcopalian. The hymns were St. Anne, Morning Light, St. Petersburg, Liebster Jesu, and Ora Labora. The organist played a long key modulation between the last two verses of the opening hymn, which I thought odd since they certainly didn't need extra time to get the altar party in place (that only took one verse!). The Gloria, Sanctus/Benedictus, and Agnus Dei were a hodge-podge of standard Rite 2 service music. The choir sang a three part offertory anthem I didn't know which was not identified in the service program, but it was a lot of "Praise ye the Lord" stuff. While the choir was clearly not professional or dotted with paid singers as are so many churches around here, it was actually quite pleasant to listen to them.

The priest-in-charge at St. Mary's is an old retired white guy. Mass was very middle of the road Rite 2 without being either high or annoyingly contemporary. Oddly, most of the congregation didn't seem to know the service, as in when to stand, when to sit, etc. The only thing annoying about the service was the passing of the peace—this is one of those places where everybody wanders around and tries to greet everyone, instead of just those in their immediate vicinity. At least this time the priest didn't ask me to stand up and introduce myself! I opted to leave after communion, partially because the ushers had assisted a barely mobile woman into my pew where I was sitting, and partially because I didn't want to have to deal with a bunch of socialization and chit-chat on my way out of church.

So, that's St. Mary's. I said back in January I'd visit again once they got their church done, and I did. It's a friendly church, but I do tend to like a little more structure and ceremony to my regular worship.

KIng James, the Bible, and the Bedchamber

It always amuses me when I run across a sincere and devout Christian Fundamentalist who believes that the King James Version of the Holy Bible is the one and only way of looking at Christian sacred texts. To hear them talk, one would think that God personally dictated the Bible to his royal servant James in Shakespearean English.

For these poor people, the idea of retranslating from original source languages of the scriptures, hearing about idiomatic evolution in languages, looking at modern archeological discoveries of ancient copies of the writings, and considering unbiased scholarship on cultural contexts are all heretical acts. They say "God said it (to King James); I believe it; and that's that." I've even seen bumper stickers conveying that sentiment.

Paul Harvey was in town this past week to receive the Presidential Medal of Freedom from President Bush. I don't know about my younger readers, but my older readers will no doubt remember Harvey's short radio broadcasts where he told true stories about things to make us think, always ending with the line, "And that's the rest of the story."

Well, sometimes I feel like Paul Harvey, trying to tell my students and others the "rest of the story" about their well-intended, but factually questionable beliefs. Let me tell you a little more about King James and the great Bible translation.

First of all, a little historical background is in order. As everyone remembers, the Protestant Reformation began in 1511 when Martin Luther posted his theses on his church door. Luther and other reformers believed that, contrary to papal doctrine, the Bible contained all things necessary to eternal salvation; consequently, they thought that the common people should be allowed to read the Bible for themselves in a language they understood. So, reformers started translating the Bible into their normal languages, usually working directly from the Latin version (the Bible was originally in Aramaic, Hebrew, or Greek—the Latin version was a translation by St. Jerome finished in 405 A.D.). Naturally, the Church in Rome was not happy about this unauthorized translating, and several people got into big trouble, most notably William Tyndale, the English translator who was burned at the stake for "heresy" in 1536.

Well, once Henry VIII got involved in religion and took England down the reformation path in 1533, faith and worship in England became a perilous game for the rest of the century. On Henry's death in 1547, his nine-year-old son became Edward VI, but the young king died at age 16 in 1553. England's twenty years of Protestantism wasn't enough to stop the mutual religious arrests and executions as Edward's Catholic half sister assumed the throne as queen; thousands were persecuted and nearly 300 were burned at the stake for the "heresy" of being Protestants during Mary's brief reign. After her death, her Protestant half-sister Elizabeth assumed the throne and reigned from 1558 to 1603 and it was the Catholics' turn to be persecuted. Towards the end of Elizabeth's reign, another religious problem arose, and that was the growing number of adherents to the more ascetic form of Protestantism known as Calvinism and especially the Puritans.

Elizabeth was succeeded by her cousin, James I of Scotland, who became James VI of England. Upon his arrival in London, he was immediately faced by religious conflicts in England because of the Puritans, who were refusing to abide by Anglican religious practice. So, in 1604, he met with Puritan representatives at the Hampton Court Conference; while refusing the Puritans' demands in general, he did agree to their request to have a new official translation of the Bible done. Thus, the "King James Version" was authorized.

Now, the "KJV" was not really a great work of Biblical scholarship. Certainly it was poetic, but the translations left a little to be desired. James agreed to the new translation, though, because the then-"official" version of the Bible, the "Bishops' Bible," was not very popular with the people; the biblical best-seller of the day was the Geneva Bible, a translation done in Geneva by Puritan refugees from the reign of the Catholic Mary. James (and most of the English bishops) didn't like the Geneva Bible because of its Presbyterian leanings and its use of explanatory footnotes, which they found "offensive."

James wanted the translation to be non-controversial, to reflect traditional beliefs about ordained clergy, and to be free of the Calvinist ideas of the Puritans. He gave the KJV translators specific instructions, including:

• The ordinary Bible read in the Church, commonly called the Bishops Bible, to be followed, and as little altered as the Truth of the original will permit.
• The Old Ecclesiastical Words to be kept, viz. the Word Church not to be translated Congregation &c.
• No Marginal Notes at all to be affixed, but only for the explanation of the Hebrew or Greek Words, which cannot without some circumlocution, so briefly and fitly be expressed in the Text.
• These translations to be used when they agree better with the Text than the Bishops Bible: Tyndale's, Matthew's, Coverdale's, Whitchurch's, Geneva.

So, while the translators looked at the Hebrew and Greek texts, what they wrote was filtered by previous translations, ecclesiastical tradition, and English cultural tradition. And, once the KJV was completed in 1611, it was slow to be accepted by the English people, who still continued to prefer the Geneva Bible. It wasn't until after the English Civil War and the Restoration in 1661 that the Geneva Bible became a symbol of the now-rejected Puritan era, and people began to use the KJV.

The KJV was formally edited and revised four times; what we know today as the KJV was actually the revision of 1769. I guess after God went to all that trouble to dictate His Bible to James VI, he had to whisper some final edits in the ear of George III (or perhaps they were a hallucination from one of George's bouts with porphyria).

That's the story of the translation of the Authorized Version of the Holy Bible, also known as the King James Version.

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Now, though, it's time for my Paul Harvey-esque "rest of the story."

James's sexual orientation was so widely known that Sir Walter Raleigh joked about it in public saying "King Elizabeth" had been succeeded by "Queen James."

—Catherine D. Bowen, The Lion and the Throne

James, the married father of eight, had a long and historically well-documented history of preferring men to women in the royal bedchamber. From the time he was thirteen and king of Scotland, he took up with the French nobleman Esmé Stewart, eventually making him the first Duke of Lennox. Reports of the time said James was "in such love with him as in the open sight of the people oftentimes he will clasp him about the neck with his arms and kiss him."

In England, he developed a relationship with Robert Carr, who was noted for his "handsome appearance as well as his limited intelligence," eventually making him the first Earl of Somerset. When Carr wanted to marry a married woman, the king arranged for the divorce and annulment. Their relationship cooled considerably when the earl began to prefer the company of his wife to that of the king.

About that time, the king met George Villiers, who was said to be exceptionally handsome, intelligent and honest. The king knighted Villiers, and then eight years later created him as first Duke of Buckingham; Villiers was the first commoner in over a century to have been created a duke. Their relationship was widely known, even by the queen, who had a friendship with Villiers and they carried on a lot of written correspondence. When the king finally died in 1625, the Duke of Buckingham was at his side.

So, there you have the rest of the story: the King James Version was the world's first gay Bible.

Wednesday night

Well, Ascension and St. Agnes isn't the church I vaguely remember from my internship days, at least not unless they have done a major remodel in the past twenty years. It's a very old, gothic-style church in a neighborhood that's still a touch on the "transitional" side. Inside, it's a big, wide space with both a center pace and two side aisles; the vintage, center-divided, dark wood pews creak and moan; the interior walls are trompe l'oeil-painted in two shades of light grey to give the space a stone cathedral effect; a couple of murals are painted on the walls in the style of mosaics; the dark wood "ribs" of the ceiling in the nave are highlighted with coral red painted stripes; the lower decorative tracery work around the thin, cast steel "pillars" are painted the same coral red; a balcony houses a fairly new pipe organ and the choir loft; the side aisles each lead to small devotional altars. It appears the parish is very traditional: I noticed both 1940 hymnals and 1928 prayer books in the pew racks.

Tonight's All Souls' Day service was a "Solemn Requiem in Commemoratione Omnium Fidelium Defunctorum" (in memory of all the faithful departed), and they treated it just like a funeral—so much so, in fact, that in the crossing they set up a pall-covered catafalque with three tall candlesticks flanking each side of it. The rector of the parish celebrated, served by a deacon and subdeacon, and three other priests were vested in cassock, surplice, and black stole. The three principal sacred ministers were vested in black with the deacon in a two-barred dalmatic, the subdeacon in a one-barred tunicle, both in black silk with the decorations worked on beige damask with cream and yellow embroidery and fringes, and the celebrant wore a black, fiddleback-shaped chasuble (Anglican chasubles are usually round) with a large white cross with a large "IHS" monogram on the back that featured exquisitely worked floral vine embroidery on the arms in metallic silver and gold threads and small pearls. It appeared, oddly enough, that both the celebrant and deacon were wearing maniples. During the absolution and commital section of the service (following communion), the celebrant switch to a gorgeous, full, black cope with black and beige damask trim and beige and gold needlework. Also in the all-male altar party were a lay master of ceremonies, three adult acolyte servers, and four other adults acting as thurifer, crucifer, and torchbearers.

The choir was rather small, appearing to be about 12 to 14 mixed voices, seated in the balcony around the organ console from which the organist/choirmaster directed. Having been to the National Cathedral, St. Matthew's Cathedral, and St. Paul's K Street so much lately where they have such large and splendid instruments, I'm a little spoiled and found the organ a little lacking (I'd guess it only had 12 to 18 ranks). It was adequate for this particular service, though, and a few times overpowered the small choir.

The Mass setting tonight was the Requiem of the late-19th century Bavarian composer, Josef Rheinberger. This is Rheinberger's only requiem mass (he wrote twelve other regular masses), and included an Introit, Kyrie, Offertorio, Sanctus, Benedictus, Agnus Dei, and Communio with the funeral versions of the words, and I can only say that it sounded "requiemy." Rheinberger is strangely popular around D.C., yet I've never been overwhelmingly impressed with his works. I guess they are easy to sing or something. The choir filled in a few holes with works by the organist/choirmaster, Haig Mardirosian, for the psalm setting and an "In Paradisum" which was used as music during the recessional. Mardirosian's works were both written with "modern" chords and harmonies, some of which resembled modern jazz, and which were interesting, but not to my taste for liturgical music. There were two congregational hymns: Michael for the end of the offertory and Pax at the end of communion.

I may have to pop in to Ascension and St. Agnes for a regular Sunday service: their high mass is at 10, a convenient hour which helps fill in the void between all the 9 and 11 o'clock services around town. While I didn't go down, they were hosting a wine and cheese party after tonight's service in the undercroft.


Edit: I've been advised that the organ at Ascension and St. Agnes is actually a 55-rank Letourneau.

Ramblings and reflections on the Day of the Dead

Saints Sergius and Bacchus
Roman Soldiers and Lovers
Martyred in Syria, ca. A.D. 303
for refusing to worship the Roman god Jupiter

(This is a contemporary icon which I'm sure is copyrighted, but I have no idea who wrote it (icons are "written", not painted).)

My user picture for this post is a 7th century icon showing SS. Sergius and Bacchus, with Christ Jesus between them. Some scholars believe that it depicts the wedding or union of Sergius and Bacchus, with Jesus as their best man.

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There has always been something about the Triduum of Hallowe'en, All Saints' Day, and All Souls' Day which has made it holy and one of my favorite times of the year. Perhaps the names have special symbolism to me: my parents were married in a parish called "All Saints'" and my formal church membership is still in an Oklahoma City parish called "All Souls'." Perhaps it's because the very idea that not only saints but all souls—all people—are a beloved part of God's creation.

I always remember a children's hymn from church, Grand Isle. I still have the hymnal which belonged to my grandmother, who was the organist at All Saints' half a century ago...let me find the words:

I sing a song of the saints of God, patient and brave and true,
Who toiled and fought and lived and died for the Lord they loved and knew.
And one was a doctor and one was a queen,
and one was a shepherdess on the green:
they were all of they saints of God—
and I mean, God helping, to be one too.

You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea,
in church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea,
for the saints of God are just folk like me,
and I mean to be one too.

Hmm. One was a queen. When I used to sing this song, I never had any visions of crowns or majesty. Interesting. And another thing I love about this hymn, something I didn't discover until adulthood, is that the words were written in 1929 by a woman named Lesbia.

A lot of my friends and acquaintances question how I can be both a Christian and a gay man. In fact, for both some of my gay friends and some of my Evangelical acquaintances, "attack" may be a better word than "question." It's just something I've always been. It's as much a part of me as being gay or being tall or being brunet.

I was blessed by God to be born gay, and as an American Indian, we have ancient traditions that some special people are born with "two spirits:" we have positive traits of both males and of females. The Two-Spirits were often the "medicine men" or healers or reconcilors or abitrators or peacemakers, and many tribes considered them to be a third, superior gender. I was also blessed by God to be born into the Episcopal Church, the American branch of the Church of England. We're the church with the gay bishop in New Hampshire. The Episcopal Church has always been open and accepting of all kinds of people, from the eccentric to the socially outcast to the incredibly ordinary. In fact, when I was a child, the people I now know are gay were just incredibly nice, ordinary people in the congregation and in the community. Everybody knew they were "two old maids living together" or "confirmed bachelors," but nobody cared and it wasn't discussed because who was sleeping with whom and what they were doing with one another was just not polite conversation. It's only been in the last decade or so when the Evangelicals have gotten so very filled with vitriolic hatred for homosexuals that "gays" have even been an issue in the Episcopal Church. I don't worry about the Evangelicals, though. Once I point out to them the cultural evidence that the beautiful, young John—the "disciple whom Jesus loved"—and Jesus were most likely lovers, they just swoon away.

All that being well and good, I am a Christian because I am loved by God, I feel comfortable and serene in church, He accepts me as I am (after all, He made me this way), and Jesus died as the sacrifice to forgive the sins of all mankind, not just the self-righteous Evangelicals spewing bile from the pulpit. It's complicated; yet, it's simple.

So, yesterday we celebrated the Feast of All Saints, a roster which has certainly grown during my lifetime; from 1978 to 2005, Pope John Paul II named more new saints than all his papal precedessors combined! You've probably read my report on last night's service, which left me happy and invigorated.

Today, though, is the Feast of All Souls, an observance in the church which goes back to the 10th century. For those of us who aren't saints (God knows, I'm certainly not!), this is our day. It's a much more down-to-earth observance, and parishes all over the world will be offerring prayers for and reading lists of the dearly departed of the rank and file ordinary parishioners—their parents, their grandparents, their spouses, their children, their friends. In many cultural traditions, this is the day when families go to cemeteries to clean the graves of their ancestors and leave food, flowers, and other mementos, and in many rural European cultures, peasants believe this is the night when the dead return to earth to eat the food of the living. No doubt there was some ancient pagan celebration around this time that was being replaced by the Catholic Church with this feast day.

It's also a special, festive holiday for Hispanic cultures, where it is known as La Dia de los Muertos: the Day of the Dead. Back in Oklahoma, which isn't so very far from Mexico, we observed it in some way. I've yet to see if there is enough Hispanic presence in D.C. for there to be any note of the holiday. I imagine I could wander over to some of the Salvadorean neighborhoods to see, but they would no doubt force pupusas or tamales or other such wonderful foods upon me which are so totally not on my diet!

While most South and Middle-American cultures are Catholic and observe All Souls' Day in the church, the tradition of La Dia de los Muertos is ancient, pre-dating the Catholic celebration by millennia. Anthropologists believe the observance began over 3,000 years ago amongst the Aztecs, Mayas, and their ancestral indigenous tribes. Of course, when the Spanish conquistadors arrived in the New World, they were appalled by pretty much everything the Aztecs did, calling them "pagan observances," and they forced the Aztecs to move their Dia de los Muertos from August to November 2, when it could be absorbed and incorporated into the Roman Catholic All Souls' Day. Today the celebration is Christian, but the historical underpinnings remain, and people celebrate with candy and breads in the shapes of skulls and skeletons.

And so, today we remember our loved ones who have gone on to the next phase in their journey through eternity, whatever that may be. Today I'll think about my grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, neighbors, colleagues, classmates, and the dozens and dozens of my friends who succumbbed all too young to AIDS. Still yet, I'll celebrate life, firm in the knowledge of the love of God and in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life.

Requiem æternam dona ei, Domine.
Et lux perpetua luceat ei.
Requiescat in pace. Amen.

All Hallows' Day

Oh my God, I was standing in church tonight singing the first hymn, and I just about had an orgasm!

We were singing a Ralph Vaughn-Williams hymn called Sine Nomine (For all the saints), which those of you from liturgical denominations will recognize as a fun, festive hymn with eight verses: four in unison, then two in four-part harmony (sometimes harmonized if there's a good choir, but usually sung in unison by the congregation), then the final two in unison. The organist was being festive with lots of fanfares and descants and what have you (he's still having fun playing with the new tuba mirabilis) as we happily soared through the first four verses; then, we got to verse five and the whole congregation started singing in parts! I was just so ecstatic I almost wet my pants.

Today is All Saints' Day or, as it's known in England All Hallows' Day, and this is the reason we have All Hallows' Eve, or as it's known in the U.S. Hallowe'en. A lot of Fundamentalists don't like Hallowe'en, claiming it's a pagan celebration of Samhain (yet they don't mind Christmas, which was placed in late December to compete with Mithra's birthday and with the pagan celebration of the Saturnalia), but All Saints' is really a Christian holiday dating back to the Fourth Century, A.D., with a lot of fabulous Christian imagery and symbolism; it's the fourth most important Christian holy day (behind Easter, Christmas, and Ascension Day). Up until the 20th century, the church pretty actively believed in the existence of demons, spirits, goblins—from ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties and things that go bump in the night, Good Lord, deliver us! (words from an actual Scottish prayer). People portrayed the dark side of Creation on All Hallows' Eve so that symbolically Christ could break the bonds of evil and triumphantly prevail on All Hallows' Day with a grand and glorious celebration.

And that's exactly what we had tonight at St. Paul's K Street, where a packed church celebrated the Church Triumphant in a grand and glorious way.

The mass setting tonight was Messe à deux Chours et deux Orgues, Op. 36 by Charles-Marie Widor, which was at times wonderfully lyrical and at other times bombastic and spine-tingling. The prelude was a thrilling performance of Louis Vierne's Symphonie II Op. 20—II. Choral. The postlude was Marcel Dupré's Placare Christe servulis, Op. 38, No. 16, but the service started at 6:30 and the postlude started at 8:15, so I was more interested in getting out the door than listening to Dupré. Organists are so abused and under appreciated.

Tonight's Solemn Mass began with a formal Procession. After an introit antiphon, Sine Nomine started things off, then after a collect at the font in the narthex, the procession continued with the hymn Lasst uns erfreuen (Ye watchers and ye holy ones). Other hymns were Zeuch mich, zeuch mich for the sequence, San Rocco during post-communion ablutions, and an old 1940 Hymnal song, All Hallows, for the recessional. The psalm setting was Anglican chant by Thomas W. Hanforth. The offertory anthem tonight was "What are these that glow from afar," an interesting work by Alan Gray with words by Christina Rossetti that I'd never sung.

I might also mention that this is a parish which routinely chants most things which can be chanted (including the Epistle and the Gospel) and the congregation sings both the Lord's Prayer and the Nicene Creed. They always use three sacred ministers for celebrations of the Eucharist, and they firmly believe in my incense rubric that "If you can see the Altar, there's not enough smoke" (and they like my second rubric, too: "There is no such thing as a pipe organ that is too loud.").

Don't know where I'll go for All Souls' Day Mass tomorrow (La Dia de los Muertos). Might go to Ascension and St. Agnes......I'm thinking it's the church I visited on All Saints or All Souls when I was here in D.C. doing my internship years and years ago, and what I remember most about that service is they had a long, long Mass, and then only the priests received communion and they didn't communicate any of the congregation!