Visuals for Advent 2020

 Here is a hodge-podge of images from our visuals during Advent 2020. I made the iron frame back in summer to hold fabric. In Advent it held a wreath and globes that represented candles and/or stars. Early on the frame was bare, but I added black fabric as a base to keep things from showing through between the sides. This first shot shows what the wreath with lights looked like (before the black fabric).

This is the "candle" side. Youth made these globes a couple of years ago for a youth Sunday. I was really delighted I had held onto them. Each one lights. It doesn't quite show but there is a fairy light curtain behind the blue fabric. There is also a glittery toile type fabric in front of the sheer blue piece. The lights glistened through with a  pretty cool effect. For Epiphany I changed the blue sheer fabric to gold lame'. It was very dramatic.

Our big group project was this outdoor Advent wreath. We were slow getting all four panels finished so their installation was staggered. But the final effect was good. The hassle was getting the battery-operated strands turned off and on. The central candle in each panel was on a solar control.

These candles we paired with this large star. A guy into metal-working in our congregation made it. It went up the few days between Advent 4 and Christmas Eve. It's lit from below. About 6 feet across.

I saw a picture from another church that did this and promptly stole it. The green boards are a bit too narrow (I forgot about the fickle nature of lumber measurements). But this was about 3/4 through the season. We took in a huge amount of food for our local ministry partner.

Advent 2019

This is from Advent 2019. I had this on Facebook but never got it here. Our alternative worship space is set for a dinner at the moment, but this is the visual installation for Advent-Christmas, a representation of "immanence" with stars coming near to the earth. This is three hues of toile fabric, with small lights interwoven. A group of youth made the stars several years ago.

 

Singing during a pandemic

"How can we sing the Lord's song in a strange land?"  The words of the psalmist are hauntingly relevant for us these days. The people of God making this cry in Psalm 137 had been dispersed from their homes and cast into a culture of non-belief in the God of Jacob. Familiar sights, sounds and smells were gone. All hope seemed lost. There was, it seemed, no balm in Gilead for their suffering bodies and spirits. They longed to sing, but the words wouldn't come out.

One of the first things I heard as the pandemic was unfolding several weeks ago, and we began to shelter at home away from friends, family and routines, was, "I miss singing together." Indeed some of the most creative energy I witnessed in response to the pandemic revolved around trying to make music with other people in the midst of isolation. We heard tales of Italians leaning out their balconies to sing in the evenings. We have heard of neighborhoods in the US where persons clap and bang and stomp at sunset as an expression of solidarity, and a testimony against all that is drear.

And then we heard grim reports of choirs that met for rehearsal with one symptomatic person, only for germs to spread on the very breaths of music. We've heard perhaps that singers, as they release music from their bodies, are also  potentially "super-spreading" germs.

In the midst of such gloom and despair, and in the midst of such confusion over what is safe and what is harmful, how can we sing the Lord's song? My response, indeed, "how can we keep from singing?" We were designed to give praise to the Creator. We can barely take a breath without vocalizing a hum. It is our creaturely nature to transform vowels and consonants into pitch and rhythm.

Our music-making will look different for a while. But whenever we create music, our pulsing voices join the universal music of the spheres. Singing together in a visible, corporeal way will be suspended for a time. But we know intuitively that corporate music-making continues: mountains sing, trees clap their hands, rivers roar. So I remark every morning that the birds still sing (especially one particularly boisterous robin outside my window); my music making joins theirs. Somewhere around this tremendous globe, someone is singing with me.

This is a gloomy time for those of us who make music, especially those who find great meaning in making music in smaller or larger ensembles. The people of God have at many points in history found themselves in similar situations. This is just a season. A new and glorious morning will come: I'm rehearsing even now for that glad day.

Pentecost 2019

We went with something of a variation on a theme this year. We've used toile hung from the ceiling in the sanctuary before, but it was more abstract, from point to point.

This year I used a central nexus for the fabric, so the long pieces shot off in various directions. It was hard to get the rack centered and level at height, but the end effect was fine.

We also used toile for the lectern and pulpit paraments, and one of our member's large stained glass made a return appearance.

In the fellowship hall I went with a single strip of toile from ceiling to floor, and then laid more fabrics on top of it to continue under the table all the way to the lectern/podium.

Fabric strips on the table puddled on the floor. The idea was to symbolize the flame engulfing all of the liturgical furniture.

Post-Easter installation

We have based our Lent-Easter worship loosely on resources from Sanctified Art, "cultivating and letting go." After letting go during Lent, we are now cultivating! This installation is simply brown butcher paper taped and hung in our narthex. There is a Bible verse from Galatians (5.22-23), and a simple question: what will you cultivate this season? One week in and there are few leaves popping out.

Defiant Requiem

A couple of singers are participating in this next month. This is a write-up provided by one of them, Linda Sperath.

In 1868 famed opera composer Giuseppe Verdi was grieving the loss of his colleague, the equally famous Gioachino Rossini. Verdi suggested to his publisher that the leading composers of Italy should collaborate in writing a mass for the dead in Rossini’s memory. Sadly, the project failed and the performance never took place. However, a few years later Verdi realized that the Requiem sections he had written constituted a valuable core that he could develop into a complete work – which is exactly what he did in 1873, and it was performed for the first time in 1874.

Fast-forward to 1941, when Rafael Schächter, a brilliant young conductor, was arrested by the Nazis and sent to the Theresienstadt (Terezín in Czech) concentration camp, along with many other accomplished artists and musicians. Schächter was determined to sustain courage and hope for his fellow prisoners by enriching their souls through great music. He recruited 150 prisoners and taught them Verdi’s Requiem by rote in a cellar using a single smuggled score, after grueling days of forced labor. He was forced to recon­stitute the choir three times as members were transported to Auschwitz. The Requiem was performed on 16 occasions for fellow prisoners. The last, most infamous performance occurred in June 1944 before high-ranking SS officers from Berlin and the International Red Cross, to support the charade that the prisoners were treated well and flourishing.

Fast-forward again to the 1990s, when American conductor Murry Sidlin discovered the story of Rafael Schächter and the Requiem at Terezín. Sidlin began to ask himself: Why would a large group of Jews, imprisoned for being Jewish, willingly volunteer to learn, rehearse, and perform such a demanding choral work of Catholic liturgy? He became convinced there was a hidden reason that this chorus of prisoners undertook such a risky endeavor. His research, including interviews with survivors and relatives of the prisoners, made it clear that the Verdi performances were a statement, an act of defiance and resistance against the Nazis. As Schächter told his choir and musicians, “We will sing to the Nazis what we cannot say to them.”

By this point in his exploration, Sidlin had also perfected a new kind of performance that he called the “concert-drama,” a combination of music, narration, and multimedia elements, as a new way to present traditional repertoire. He conceived and created the concert-drama Defiant Requiem: Verdi at Terezín, which premiered in 2002. More performances followed, including three at Terezín, as well as documentary films. The production has now been presented more than 40 times worldwide and has raised more than $10 million in funding for survivors and Holocaust education.

Time-travel now to the near future – June 1, 2019 – when Defiant Requiem: Verdi at Terezín will be presented at the Thomas Wolfe Auditorium in Asheville. The concert-drama will feature a full performance of Verdi’s Requiem, with an international cast of soloists, the Asheville Symphony, and a choir including members of the Asheville Symphony Chorus and the Asheville Choral Society. Video testimony from survivors of the original Terezín chorus, film segments, and actors’ interpretations will accompany the music. Sponsors include the Defiant Requiem Foundation and Carolina Jews for Justice. Tickets are available via Ticketmaster or at the US Cellular Center box office.

Why bring Defiant Requiem to Asheville? the sponsors provide this explanation:

“As time passes, there is a tendency to relegate tragedies such as the Holocaust to the distant past, diminishing their relevance to today’s world. [This performance] not only preserves the memory of the Holocaust, but also demonstrates how resistance to oppression is possible even in the most trying circumstances. The event raises these issues [across the region], stimulates thoughtful discussion, and provides educational opportunities for all ages – especially children – who may not know about the Holocaust. Music is a perfect vehicle to move beyond words and feel the essence of suffering and defiance.”

[Excerpts from defiantrequiem.org and local promotional materials.]

 

Art Installations Lent 2019

To begin, our art installations this year were characterized by two very different formats for our two worship spaces. We envisioned a set of five pieces for the sanctuary that spanned the (liturgical) east wall of the nave, the lectern, table, pulpit and were complete on the opposite wall. Thematically it was one large-scale piece, in 5 segments. The idea was that over the six weeks of Lent, elements of the pieces would be let go as we passed them in the Sunday readings. We used a similar color scheme in the fellowship hall, and used a six-part plan, but the panels were much more closely configured on a single pole hung on a wall. For the thematic elements we selected vivid images from any/all of the weekly lections though in reality most Sundays we actually hear only the gospel lection read in worship. Because of the peculiarities of our worship life we switched Lent 2 and Lent 3 this year. What follows is based on how we executed everything. From the Bible readings we got, in order of the weeks: eagle/wings (Psalm 91); water (Isaiah 55); stars (Genesis 15); fence (the prodigal son story in Luke and the imagined fence that must have corralled the swine with whom he dwelt for a time); oil/pitcher (when Mary anoints Jesus in John 12). Finally the tree will be removed to reveal a cross that will carry us through Holy Week. Here are some pictures of the final products. We are much-indebted to the many hands that helped bring this off!

The sanctuary:

The fellowship hall:

Folk immediately noticed the missing eagles in the sanctuary. With the blue (water) gone for the second week, things look rather stark already. Some folks have had a bit of a hard time wrapping their heads around "letting go" of certain Bible images, but we hope that repetition of the concept that we are letting go for a time as an act of spiritual discipline will begin to resonate more fully with them.