[This went out as a Friday Letter to my church, but I thought I'd repost it here for my other friends.]
My Brothers and Sisters in Christ,
26 December, also known as Boxing Day, holds a special place in the life of clergy and their families. With all professional obligations of the holiday discharged, we are free to soak up whatever atmosphere of festivity remains. If we are particularly brave (or particularly foolish, depending on your opinion of the matter) we can partake of the many after-Christmas [sic] sales. This is helpful, as I, at least, often fail to complete the requisite shopping and shipping before the magical date of 25 December.
So it was that Jieun and I found ourselves contending with a myriad others for space in the parking garage at the Bellevue Mall this past Monday. Traffic within was no less crowded, yet we managed to acquire several gifts (at reduced prices I might add) before fleeing the premises. We whiled away the afternoon in downtown Seattle before making our way to Town Hall, an historic meeting room that has become my favorite Seattle venue for concerts.
We'd purchased tickets in advance, but they were only general admission, and here general admission looked a lot like arriving late to board a Southwest Airlines flight. We found seats just a few rows back from the stage, but all the way around at the side. The horn players were mostly hidden from view, but we had a privileged line-of-sight to the drummer and pianist at work.
Grace Episcopal Cathedral in San Francisco began life as Grace Chapel in the gold rush year of 1849. It was rebuilt twice over the years as the city became more prosperous and more populous, and the third church was grand enough to be casually referred to as Grace Cathedral until it burnt down in the fire caused by the earthquake of 1906. Work on the current structure began in 1928 and was completed in 1964.
As part of its grand opening year, the new Grace Cathedral atop Nob Hill was to host many celebrations, ceremonies, and cultural events. Among these was a sacred concert—a body of music composed by Duke Ellington. Ellington had had a religious upbringing (I'm quoting the concert bulletin here) and intended to compose spiritual music for much of his life. He drew inspiration not only from his childhood but also from the civil rights movement, saying, "Every time God's children have thrown away fear in pursuit of honesty—trying to communicate, understood or not—miracles have happened."
Earshot Jazz in Seattle has been putting on annual concerts made up of Ellington's sacred work for the past 23 years. On a whim, following an email sent at the last minute, Jieun and I ended up at this year's performance, sitting due South of a stage facing East and packed full of a twelve piece jazz orchestra, a twelve voice choir, and a pair of soloists. Thank God we did.
They opened with In the beginning God. I assumed the title had been bereft of its punctuation and the verse shortened merely for logistical reasons. I was wrong. Ellington meant to leave that comma out, and he found enough theology in those four words that the three that usually followed had to wait their turn. The lyric is amazingly simple:
In the beginning God.
In the beginning God.
In the beginning God.
No heaven.
No earth.
No nothing.
In the beginning God.
The power of these words is evident just written on the page. When sung they transcend.
The soloist was listed as a baritone in the program, but if he was a baritone I'm glad Ellington didn't write a bass part. If the soloist and James Earl Jones had a conversation I'm pretty sure an earthquake would result from the sympathetic resonance. Throw Barry White in and it's armageddon for sure.
That original sacred concert in Grace Cathedral began with In the Beginning God and ended with David Danced Before the Lord with All His Might, a piece the Seattle Repertory Jazz Orchestra arrived at after intermission. It's really something to hear a full big band—five saxophones, four trombones, four trumpets, piano, drums, and base— really go after a song. Throw in a full choir and you've got something powerful that is seldom heard anymore. Then they brought out the tap-dancer.
I know.
I can't believe I'm going to try to convince you that tap dancing can bring tears to your eyes. Perhaps you know more about dance than I do (not difficult, given how little I know) and will believe me. If not, you'll probably have to see it yourself before you'll credit what I'm saying. All I know is that when that young man in his three piece suit walked out on stage, and stepped forward onto the mic'ed up wooden platform... What happened next was magical. I'll never in my life read that verse again—"David danced before the Lord with all his might"—without thinking of that tap-dancer and knowing the depth of passion that dwelt in that dance.
Music is a language, and Jazz a dialect of that language that I have come to love. I leave you, on this the sixth day of Christmas, with the wisdom of The Duke: "Every man prays in his own language, and there is no language that God does not understand."
Peace,
Ben.
My Brothers and Sisters in Christ,
26 December, also known as Boxing Day, holds a special place in the life of clergy and their families. With all professional obligations of the holiday discharged, we are free to soak up whatever atmosphere of festivity remains. If we are particularly brave (or particularly foolish, depending on your opinion of the matter) we can partake of the many after-Christmas [sic] sales. This is helpful, as I, at least, often fail to complete the requisite shopping and shipping before the magical date of 25 December.
So it was that Jieun and I found ourselves contending with a myriad others for space in the parking garage at the Bellevue Mall this past Monday. Traffic within was no less crowded, yet we managed to acquire several gifts (at reduced prices I might add) before fleeing the premises. We whiled away the afternoon in downtown Seattle before making our way to Town Hall, an historic meeting room that has become my favorite Seattle venue for concerts.
We'd purchased tickets in advance, but they were only general admission, and here general admission looked a lot like arriving late to board a Southwest Airlines flight. We found seats just a few rows back from the stage, but all the way around at the side. The horn players were mostly hidden from view, but we had a privileged line-of-sight to the drummer and pianist at work.
Grace Episcopal Cathedral in San Francisco began life as Grace Chapel in the gold rush year of 1849. It was rebuilt twice over the years as the city became more prosperous and more populous, and the third church was grand enough to be casually referred to as Grace Cathedral until it burnt down in the fire caused by the earthquake of 1906. Work on the current structure began in 1928 and was completed in 1964.
As part of its grand opening year, the new Grace Cathedral atop Nob Hill was to host many celebrations, ceremonies, and cultural events. Among these was a sacred concert—a body of music composed by Duke Ellington. Ellington had had a religious upbringing (I'm quoting the concert bulletin here) and intended to compose spiritual music for much of his life. He drew inspiration not only from his childhood but also from the civil rights movement, saying, "Every time God's children have thrown away fear in pursuit of honesty—trying to communicate, understood or not—miracles have happened."
Earshot Jazz in Seattle has been putting on annual concerts made up of Ellington's sacred work for the past 23 years. On a whim, following an email sent at the last minute, Jieun and I ended up at this year's performance, sitting due South of a stage facing East and packed full of a twelve piece jazz orchestra, a twelve voice choir, and a pair of soloists. Thank God we did.
They opened with In the beginning God. I assumed the title had been bereft of its punctuation and the verse shortened merely for logistical reasons. I was wrong. Ellington meant to leave that comma out, and he found enough theology in those four words that the three that usually followed had to wait their turn. The lyric is amazingly simple:
In the beginning God.
In the beginning God.
In the beginning God.
No heaven.
No earth.
No nothing.
In the beginning God.
The power of these words is evident just written on the page. When sung they transcend.
The soloist was listed as a baritone in the program, but if he was a baritone I'm glad Ellington didn't write a bass part. If the soloist and James Earl Jones had a conversation I'm pretty sure an earthquake would result from the sympathetic resonance. Throw Barry White in and it's armageddon for sure.
That original sacred concert in Grace Cathedral began with In the Beginning God and ended with David Danced Before the Lord with All His Might, a piece the Seattle Repertory Jazz Orchestra arrived at after intermission. It's really something to hear a full big band—five saxophones, four trombones, four trumpets, piano, drums, and base— really go after a song. Throw in a full choir and you've got something powerful that is seldom heard anymore. Then they brought out the tap-dancer.
I know.
I can't believe I'm going to try to convince you that tap dancing can bring tears to your eyes. Perhaps you know more about dance than I do (not difficult, given how little I know) and will believe me. If not, you'll probably have to see it yourself before you'll credit what I'm saying. All I know is that when that young man in his three piece suit walked out on stage, and stepped forward onto the mic'ed up wooden platform... What happened next was magical. I'll never in my life read that verse again—"David danced before the Lord with all his might"—without thinking of that tap-dancer and knowing the depth of passion that dwelt in that dance.
Music is a language, and Jazz a dialect of that language that I have come to love. I leave you, on this the sixth day of Christmas, with the wisdom of The Duke: "Every man prays in his own language, and there is no language that God does not understand."
Peace,
Ben.
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