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Night Prayer (Sing Amen! the Podcast: Episode 17)

Night Prayer (Sing Amen! the Podcast: Episode 17)

Holy Week is upon us. I figured that at this precise moment in our musical lives no one listening here is looking particularly for new repertoire or deep thoughts or formational development—we are looking to get through the week with beauty and prayerfulness, we are creating folders and scripts and parts for the trumpet players and preparing for a level of intensity that is unlike anything else we do all year.

So instead…here is a calm, lovely Night Prayer service to listen to on your way home from rehearsals this week, or to help quiet down a busy brain after a long day. It’s from Ian Callanan’s collection As Nighttime Falls, a series of 15-20 minute Compline services for each day of the week. These are good for either individual prayer and listening in solitude, or communal or retreat type settings; if you like this, I’d encourage checking out the whole set, available in both audio and music collection form and with an assembly edition as well…

So—all prayers and good wishes to all of us out there this coming week! May you be blessed with choirs who show up on time, cantors who avoid illness, organs that never cipher, string instruments that hold their tune, staff meetings without stress, assemblies with open hearts and joyful spirits, and families who understand when you doze off over Easter dinner. Peace be with you!

Music heard in today’s podcast: from As Nighttime Falls: Hymns, Psalms and Prayers to End the Day, CD-1038 (Sunday Night Prayer)

1          Call to Prayer

2          As Nighttime Falls

3          Be with Me, Lord

4          Word of God

5          Short Responsory

6          Save Us, Lord / Let Your Servant Go / Save Us, Lord

7          Prayer

8          Blessing

9          Hail, Holy Queen


Sing Amen! the Podcast, with Jennifer Kerr Budziak
Sound by Jim Bogdanich

Sing Amen! opening music: Promenade, by Bob Moore (from Let Every Instrument Be Tuned for Praise, CD-491, from Liturgical Suite #4, G-4789 ©GIA Publications, Inc).
Sing Amen! closing music: Amen, (from More Sublime Chant, CD-459, The Cathedral Singers, Richard Proulx, conductor. ©GIA Publications, Inc.)

What’s in Your “Go-Bag”?

What’s in Your “Go-Bag”?

Some musicians get to happily stay in one place pretty much all the time, and your home parish is your main place of work. But sometimes you may get asked to play or sing a wedding or funeral somewhere else, down the block or across town. What do you bring?

This question caught me up more than once during my years of full time ministry in one parish, but once I joined the ranks of the traveling subs and “visiting” musicians, I’ve been forced not only to re-think the question but to actually answer it. It’s like packing clothes for an NPM convention; the first couple of times you don’t know what you’re going to need, and then after a while you catch on and it’s second nature. (In case you were wondering, re NPM: At least 2 pairs of really comfy shoes, respectable-but-not-formal layered clothing that lets you not wither in outdoor heat nor shiver in a freezing ballroom, and a good wheeled bag with enough empty space in it to put the inevitable too many books/music you acquire while you’re there. I can do 5 days in a small overnight bag and 1 backpack and still have room for my computer and cables.)

After not very long I stopped asking the question every time I needed to do it, and just gathered what I needed into one bag in the back of my car, so now I don’t even need to check or search or decide; it’s all there. In fact, a lot of regular “musician travelers” I know have something like a “go bag” stashed in the back of their car or coat closet somewhere, packed and ready to go so they don’t need to overthink the process when it’s time to head out to a new place to make music. Here’s what’s in mine (bear in mind that I tend to drive places; if you’re on public transit, you’ll want to slim this down as much as you can):

1. Organ shoes, broken in and comfortable (for women: 1 pair organ shoes, 1 pair clean black flats)

I live in the Chicago area. And often I have to schlep through snow and ice and other grossness to get to my jobs. So knowing I have a pair of organ shoes and a respectable pair of “ordinary” shoes right there in the back of the car at all times has been a life-saver more times than I can count. (And that’s not counting the time I left the house in brown shoes, forgetting that I wouldn’t get back home before a choral concert that evening.)

2. 1 black concert binder, or 1 black concert folder + 1 plain black binder

This is less about music itself than having something respectable looking to hold it in, especially if you are singing. You don’t want to be juggling stuff or God forbid standing up somewhere with a photocopied sheet in your hand. I have a good black concert folder that has three rings in it, which is fantastic; I also have a thin and lightweight concert folder for when I don’t feel like lugging the bigger one around. (I have also had occasion to loan these to cantors or singers who would otherwise have been wandering up to an ambo with a couple of photocopies in their hand.) (Y’all. Don’t be this singer.)

3. my iPad/Hymnal app/ForScore app

Especially if I will be working someplace I know has wireless access, but even if not—this has saved my caboose more than once as well. I can put an entire hymnal of accompaniment onto my iPad, I can download pdfs I’ve legally purchased, and if I’m looking for a classical-type work published before the 20th century, probably has it for easy and quick download. (It’s worth paying the annual membership for quick access. And it’s an extremely worthy cause.) While I get a little itchy about only having the electronic option to play from, I now pretty much always bring it. (Er…this one does not live in my go bag in the car, it goes with me into the house.)  Chargers and cables too, of course.

4. Before I had a tablet, this next one was on my list, but now not so much: My own personal set of accompaniment books for the denomination I was mostly working at.

In my case, usually this would be Catholic churches or organizations. If you know what specific resource the church you’re going to uses, and you have that, that’s obviously ideal…but those sets get a little pricey, so it’s good to have a set of your own. My primary set is the Gather Third Edition, which has covered most of my bases for years, but I also make sure to own a fairly recent hymnal accompaniment set from the other major publishers as well.

6. What I call my “Survival Binders”

I actually have 3 of these: First, if you don’t already have a binder with the Ave Maria in all 17 keys, the Panis Angelicus in all 12, the Mass of Creation, and a dozen or so of your favorite preludes and postludes (particularly ones that are easy to register on an organ I don’t know very well), I highly recommend your pulling one together. Second, one has my favorite prelude/postlude pieces for solo keyboard, intermixed with versions for keyboard and solo instrument (and the back of it has the solo instrument parts, so I can pull one out for the violinist at a moment’s notice); and the third one has alphabetical dividers and holds all the “one-off” pieces I’ve needed to do for various traveling liturgies.

7. One in Love and Peace (Bob Moore and Kelly Mickus)

This is the dream collection one-stop-shop for traveling wedding musicians, and it has in it pretty much every standard wedding processional or recessional I can think of. Plus each of the pieces it includes are there in arrangements for both piano and organ, with separate available instrumental parts for either C or B-flat instrument. This one’s a keeper.

8. Favorite books and collections I’ve been schlepping around for years or decades

You know, those volumes you’ve had since college with your favorite solo organ/piano works, the stuff you can pull out cold at a second’s notice and don’t even have to find the page because the book just falls open to it. I know I don’t really need these any more, and it would be easier to just put the favorites into a binder or onto my iPad, but I carry them anyway.

So that’s my list at least…I started out with a tote bag for all this, but over the years I’ve transferred into one of those clear portable file boxes with a handle on top. I also keep a zipper tote in the back of my car so I can pull out what I need and not carry the whole thing in with me if it’s not needed.

I asked my friends and colleagues on Facebook what was in their traveling kits, and I got a lot of the same answers—things like tablets, comfy-but-respectable shoes, Ave and Panis in multiple keys, and such came up again and again. As did things like water bottles, cough drops, multiple pencils, or extra pair of reading glasses for those of us who are at that point in our lives. Probably my favorite response had not thought of but definitely will in the future was a small portable battery operated music stand light and extra batteries—I expect most of us have had the experience of finding ourselves someplace where there just isn’t enough lighting, and this would be a handy addition…

Anyone else? What’s in your musician go-bag?

Of Womb and Tomb: a conversation with Kate Williams (Sing Amen! the Podcast: episode 16)

Of Womb and Tomb: a conversation with Kate Williams (Sing Amen! the Podcast: episode 16)

Today we have a conversation with Kate Williams, who compiled and edited the beautiful new resource Of Womb and Tomb: Prayer in time of Infertility, Miscarriage, and Stillbirth (G-9816).  The resource is made up of a book, a CD, and a music collection, and I’m pretty sure it’s the first collection of its kind—since it came off press not very long ago it has already been adopted by hospital chaplains, parishes, and individuals; it’s been featured on the Music Ministry Mondays podcast for NPM, and Kate will be speaking about it at the Los Angeles Religious Education Conference this week. In today’s podcast we will hear an interview with Kate that we did right after the book came out, interspersed with some readings from the book and some of the music from the collection.  (And the prayer we hear Kate read at the opening of the podcast was written by Melissa Carnall, and can be found in the book as well.)

Kate’s work to lift the veil of silence around a pain and grief that we have been culturally conditioned to not speak of, and to shift it out of being a “women’s issue” into a wider concern that affects many many people, both men and women, and to help us find a way as Church to walk through this pain together, and to minister to one another, is tremendously important, and I am so grateful to have had the chance to speak with her about it.


Music heard in today’s podcast:

The Silence and the Sorrow, Liam Lawton (G-5291)

As recorded on Ancient Ways, Future Days (CD-475)


In the Morning, In the Evening, Bex Gaunt (G-9873)

As recorded on Of Womb and Tomb (CD-1061)


And Jesus Said, Tony Alonso (G-7075)

As recorded on Songs from Another Room (CD-648)


SingAmen! the Podcast, with Jennifer Kerr Budziak
Sound by Jim Bogdanich

SingAmen! opening music: Promenade, by Bob Moore (from Let Every Instrument Be Tuned for Praise, CD-491, from Liturgical Suite #4, G-4789.. ©GIA Publications, Inc).
SingAmen! closing music: Amen, (from More Sublime Chant, CD-459, The Cathedral Singers, Richard Proulx, conductor. ©GIA Publications, Inc.)


Joseph Flummerfelt: Gifts from a Master Teacher

Joseph Flummerfelt: Gifts from a Master Teacher

I only got to work with Joe Flummerfelt once, for one incredible 45-minute segment of one rehearsal on one ordinary day. He was visiting my teacher, who had been a student of his, at  Northwestern University, and Dr. Nally had asked him to conduct a rehearsal of Brahms’ Schicksalslied (“Song of Destiny”) with us.

It was…incredible. I have sung for wonderful conductors before, but this was like nothing else I’d ever experienced. It was like a door somewhere inside him opened, and Brahms just sort of spilled out into the room and flowed all around us, or like he was the painter and we were the canvas and he was just splashing Brahms all over us—like we were not just the artists, but we were also the art itself.

(I also remember, with the part of my mind that stayed calm and rational and in the room, that he sang with us; not the actual vocal parts, but just sort of an under-the-breath vocalization of the sweeping lines he was conducting. It was a little distracting, to be honest—but it also was sort of lovely, and endearing, and it reminded me of Glenn Gould.)

Mostly what I remember was that it felt like magic, like all the mental and rational score study and stick and hand technique we spend our time as conductors focusing on was merely incidental, the box we build to hold the real art, the music and the line and the spirit and the love. And that the important part of what we did as conductors and educators and makers-of-music-with-others didn’t live in that rational world at all. I knew this already, but it was something I’d always felt a little sheepish about, or kept kind of quiet, because it felt like something we weren’t supposed to admit out loud. But here he was—out loud, witnessing it for all of us. I’ve never forgotten it.

Joseph Flummerfelt passed away last Friday night. Somehow this giant in the choral world isn’t as much of a household name among the rest of the musical community in general as I would have thought—like Robert Shaw, for example (who was Maestro Flummerfelt’s teacher), whose name is widely known. But “Flum,” as his students called him, had an amazing history and life. I don’t need to recap his accomplishments—those were not what made him extraordinary. (You can read about them here, though, in this tribute posted by Rider University and Westminster Choir College, or here, in his obituary in the New York Times.) Accomplishments are seldom what make any musician extraordinary. But those rare few whose magic is so great, whose ability to touch something indefinable and essential calls out to the rest of us, are like magnets, pulling us closer. And Joe was one of those magnets. The outpouring of memories from his students and colleagues in these days since we lost him makes that absolutely clear. He touched many lives, and he will continue to do so—that’s what master teachers do; they continue to touch us long after they are gone.

So why am I posting this here, on a blog that is supposed to be aimed at practical formation for pastoral musicians?

Most of those who know me know that while I have one foot planted firmly in the world of liturgical music and pastoral ministry, the other lives solidly in the arena of choral conducting and art music. This is probably connected to the fact that I tend to view music ministry less as being about directing a small choir singing for an audience of assembly members than about being the person directing the big choir made up of everyone in the room.  (Who needs an audience, right?) Maybe I just need the reminder, or want to say out loud, that while the nuts and bolts skills involved in music ministry are of course the key foundation of everything we do, whether as choral musicians or pianists or organists or cantors or whatever our medium of music-making might be, the real movement of the Spirit lies outside of what the skill set can accomplish, and that we as ministers are more than just craftspeople—we are still artists, we are still required to keep our hearts and spirits open and vulnerable and turned outward to the people we serve. Joe Flummerfelt knew this, and he saw his work as the work of holiness; he knew that his work in a concert hall or rehearsal room was no less sacred or worshipful than what happens in any church on Sundays, that the movement of the Spirit is everywhere, whether he phrased it in those terms or not.

Every year at Westminster Choir College, where Professor Flummerfelt conducted and taught for 33 years, one faculty member would give a “charge” to the new graduates at their commencement. A colleague and friend was gracious enough to share his charge to the graduates one year (I believe it is from 1983?) with me. I would like to quote a portion of it here:

“I think one of the great sicknesses of the human condition today is the extent to which we are estranged from ourselves, the extent to which we clamor after gurus of whatever ilk, be they TV preachers, political demagogues, paperback therapists, or the requisite name on the back side of our blue jeans, to tell us who we are, what to believe, what to think, indeed, even to tell us that we exist. Far too many of us look outside ourselves for our center, for our sense of being. And far too many of us are often fooled by the façade or by the label, and believe a thing is what it looks like or what it is called rather than being able to perceive what it is. Lacking connection with our own centers, we lack the capacity to penetrate to the center of that which is about us. Even in our own profession, we are often lured by virtuosity for its own sake, which, though dazzling in appearance, is in fact full of sound and fury and signifies nothing because it springs from no central human or spiritual impulse…Touching center is not an easy thing. But if we believe that it exists, if we believe that the Holy Spirit does dwell within as well as without, if we learn to nurture calm, to be still, so that we can hear the voices within, if we are willing to risk stripping away all of the protective layers with which we have separated ourselves from our core, then the inside and the outside can become one. Then creativity can flow, then the gift of intuition is freed and we are able to see the unity of things, feel the impulse of things…As we grow in love for and acceptance of the life within us, we will become ever more in tune with and resonators for the life about us. We become instruments of the Holy Spirit, and the music we make touches the hearers at their own center and the people with whom we work are helped to connect with the source within themselves.  For me that is our calling, as human beings and as musicians. And if we accept that charge, then the glory of God will be ever more manifest in the lives we lead and the music we make.”

–Joseph Flummerfelt

Next blog post I will go back to the more “normal” stuff of liturgical and musical formation. But for this moment, at the beginning of this Lenten season of renewal, this challenge to artists from an artist is one I challenge all of us to carry with us.

Peace be with you, Maestro. Eternal rest grant to him, Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him.


Header Photo by Carol L. Jenkins
Photo by Steven Ryan

The Mass is Ended, Let’s Sing a Hymn

The Mass is Ended, Let’s Sing a Hymn

An interesting question came up last week on the Facebook “NPM Family” group (a lot of interesting questions come up on there—it’s a good place to be!). There was a lot of really thoughtful discussion on the topic, and it’s clear that it’s a topic many of us have grappled with.

The topic: So what’s with the recessional hymn?

Okay, the real original topic was “how do we get people to join in singing the recessional hymn and not leave before it’s over?” but it got far more complicated as we went. Questions like, why try to get people to join in singing it, what is it really, should we even be having one, what is it doing or trying to accomplish when we do, and so forth all broadened the conversation and made things really interesting.

So…what’s with the recessional hymn?

My general M.O. with questions like these is to go first to the documents. I don’t necessarily stay there, and there is a lot of nuance between most lines of most of the wisdom we find in them, but it’s always a really good place to start.

So: the General Instruction on the Roman Missal is very explicit about the role of the entrance song in the Introductory Rites: “When the people are gathered, and as the Priest enters with the Deacon and ministers, the Entrance Chant begins. Its purpose is to open the celebration, foster the unity of those who have been gathered, introduce their thoughts to the mystery of the liturgical time or festivity, and accompany the procession of the Priest and ministers” (GIRM, #47). In the Concluding Rites (#90), however, there is no mention of a song; these rites comprise only the announcements (if necessary) (and may I point out that announcements are intended to go after the Prayer After Communion, not before; I have no idea why so many churches I visit feel the need to put the announcements before the prayer, and then combine the Prayer After Communion with the final blessing…what is that about?), greeting, blessing, dismissal, and the kissing of the altar. No mention of singing or music at all.

However, two articles earlier in #80, we read “When the distribution of Communion is over, if appropriate, the Priest and faithful pray quietly for some time. If desired, a Psalm or other canticle of praise or a hymn may also be sung by the whole congregation.” First, note that there is no provision here for a “meditation” or a choir-only musical selection in this moment. Next, notice that if music is chosen, it is intended to be sung by the “whole congregation,” a song of thanksgiving or praise sung by all. It is clearly optional, but if chosen, it does seem to suggest that the overall function of what we have by tradition over many years adopted as a “recessional hymn” or “closing song” (whatever we call it) is more or less found here—a song of affirmation and praise in response to the celebration we are about to complete. So the concept is there—but the “recessional song,” per se, is not.

Sing to the Lord, the US Bishops’ 2007 document on music in the liturgy, does give acknowledgment to the practice of a song sung by the community at the close of the liturgy.  (An earlier document, 1972’s Music in Catholic Worship, alluded to the possibility but was fairly vague about its execution: “A recessional song is optional. The greeting…blessing, dismissal and recessional song or instrumental music ideally form one continuous action which may culminate in the priest’s personal greetings and conversations at the church door,” #49.) This newer document says, “Although it is not necessary to sing a recessional hymn, when it is a custom, all may join in a hymn or song after the dismissal. When a closing song is used, the procession of ministers should be arranged in such a way that it finishes during the final stanza. At times, e.g., if there has been a song after Communion, it may be appropriate to choose an option other than congregational song for the recessional. Other options include a choral or instrumental piece or, particularly during Lent, silence” (#199).

So that’s what the Church and the bishops say. And it’s not a whole lot.

However, in addition to acknowledging the practice of a recessional song, Sing to the Lord offers insight into the question that prompted the Facebook discussion: how to maintain the integrity of a closing hymn as a closing hymn, a communally sung piece of music that completes and ends the liturgical gathering, preferably with the bulk of those liturgically gathered still in the room and taking part: essentially, it says, if you choose this option, it is not intended to be “music for people to leave church by”—it should ideally be structured to end at about the same time the procession of liturgical ministers reaches the back of church. Which is to say, if you have liturgical ministers who bow, turn, and hoof it up the aisle before you’ve completed the introduction of the hymn, it’s probably not going to work so well. (Again, also note that while STTL addresses the possibility of having a choral piece sung at this moment, it also is clear on the distinction between a choral piece and a congregational one.)

Several people on the Facebook post suggested that the musicians speak with the presider, and see if he is willing to stay and sing for a verse or two or at least process really slowly with the ministers, so that the hymn has time to happen, and then finish it fairly expeditiously once he has left. (This is pretty much what I have tried to do, and it is more difficult than it sounds, especially when you have a priest who is not comfortable singing, or standing, any longer than necessary. They don’t always like to do this. Or they think they are standing there much longer than they actually do.) The effect here is twofold: first, getting to sing a couple of verses means the song gets to be experienced as a congregational hymn much the way any other hymn in the liturgy is heard; second, ending it before or just as people are accustomed to being finished and leaving the church avoids letting this congregational piece of music be experienced as “music the choir sings while we do something else,” which is a death knell for the building of an engaged and fully participative assembly. As I said in my own comment on the post, liturgical understanding usually has a lot more to do with nonverbal communication and body language than with anything said in words. So if we say “please join in this recessional hymn” and every week those words serve as a signal for the choir to sing and the people to put down their hymnals and pick up their coats and leave, it not only weakens the singing of this hymn but also the expectation for every time we say “please join in singing” throughout the liturgy– because in this moment at least what we say is not what we all clearly expect to happen. I know many will disagree with me, but in my opinion it’s far preferable to have no “communal” hymn than one that no one but the choir habitually sings, if that makes sense. And it is also important to note that in this model, with the length of the procession dictating the length of the hymn, has direct and often negative impact on the hymn as a complete unit of poetry and art of its own, especially when the poetry progresses through the verses; if we eliminate verses, we risk losing the sense of the hymn and what it is trying to say. So it’s a challenge.

I have also had some success, as a sort of happy (mostly) medium between “just singing enough” of the hymn and singing a complete hymn-poem, with deciding before we begin exactly which verses we will sing and announcing it as such. For example, on the Fourth Sunday in Lent, if we are using the Year A readings as part of our RCIA process with those journeying to the font at Easter, we hear throughout the readings about call, and discipleship, and service, and light, and sight to the blind. For the closing hymn that day, we might say: “As we are sent forth, please join in singing from our blue Gather hymnal, number 764, ‘Lord, whose love in humble service.’ We will sing verses 1 and 3 of #764.” This is a powerful hymn, and the second verse is an important one that I would normally really want to make sure got sung. But if it is for the closing song in liturgy, and if I know that if we tried that, for all practical purposes, most of the congregation would be up and leaving by the time we even started the third verse, which is about light and sight and gaining a vision that stirs us to service for all those we just sang about in the second verse, then I might make the decision to omit verse 2 and be deliberate about the ones I do choose.

This pattern of choosing non-consecutive verses has a happy side effect as well, I notice, especially over time when the verses are well-chosen and relevant to the Sunday. After doing this for a couple of years in a couple of different parishes, I noticed a distinct uptick in people sticking around to the end, even if the procession moved a little more quickly than I hoped–maybe because of relevance, or maybe because when you announce in effect “we are only going to sing 2 verses of this 4 verse hymn, so why not stick around and just finish,” I don’t know. But it seemed to work. And I got good at the happy smile and polite conversation when people would ask questions like, “Wow, that last hymn was right in line with the readings and homily–did you do that on purpose?” I was just happy they noticed!

I was delighted to see a number of people replying to the original Facebook post whose parishes have shifted to the model of a communal song of thanksgiving after Communion, with an instrumental or silent recessional. In this model, the song is itself the expression of praise, a moment for everyone to join in, and the question of whether to remain and be part of it is harder to ignore; the song and the praise become the liturgical moment themselves—a rare thing in a liturgical structure where much of the music is intended to accompany ritual action. Here, the song is the ritual action. I love that parishes are finding success with this, and wish I could transfer it to the churches where I’ve worked. (I’m afraid in most places, whenever I have brought up this possibility at staff or liturgy meetings, I have been met with an aghast, “But…then people wouldn’t be able to leave! They’d have to stay! For the whole song! They would be furious!” And I could never manage to be taken seriously.)

Perhaps my favorite piece of wisdom in the entire thread comes from the ever-wise Diana Macalintal, who I think sums it up beautifully. She asks, “Are people going out to be a sign of Christ to those outside? Are they preaching Christ to all the nations? Are they simply not trying to run each other over as they head for the parking lot exits? Are they seeing the beggar at the church door or street corner as the presence of Christ they are called to adore and serve? If singing a song will help them do that, then sing it. If having the entire assembly sing a hymn of thanksgiving and praise after Communion will make it clear to them the mission they have just said “Amen” to in sharing the Body and Blood of Christ, then do that. If getting them out of there faster communicates the urgency for each of us to go and announce the Gospel of the Lord, then do it! The number of verses sung of the concluding song, even whether or not the people sing it, is less important than whether or not the entire liturgy itself compels them to live the meaning of the liturgy in their daily lives.”

And let the people sing Amen!

So…any thoughts from readers? What happens at your parish?

Hot off the presses: Why Do We Sing?

Hot off the presses: Why Do We Sing?

It’s always a good day when the new publication comes off press and someone hands you a copy of that project you’ve been working on, and it’s done and complete and existing in real life.

That’s today. Victoria just came over and handed me my first copy of Why Do We Sing? A Musical Guide for Catholics, Diana Kodner Gökçe’s new small book–it’s almost more like an extended essay than anything else–addressing the topic of singing by the whole assembly in liturgical worship. (Diana also wrote Handbook for Cantors, Third Revised Edition, a much bigger and more complete resource for all those who pray in song or lead others in singing the liturgy, including the priest and deacon. If you are familiar with earlier editions of this book, definitely check out this newer expanded edition.)

To be clear–if you are a reader of this blog, it is likely that you are a fairly committed pastoral musician, whether by profession or by experience or however you come to it; you will not probably find much that’s new  to you in this book. You already know this material. You’ve read the documents, you’ve been to workshops, you understand the role of assembly song in the liturgy. But then, this book isn’t really for you.

But you want to know who it is for?

It is for everyone you wish already knew this stuff.  It is for the people at Mass who look at you skeptically when you ask them to pick up a hymnal. It is for the people think music in church is what the choir does, and their job is just to sit and listen. It is for the really lovely person in the seventh pew who no longer sings because a music teacher told her in first grade to just mouth the words, and she assumes she must be so awful that no one would ever want her to sing. It is for your confirmandi who are just figuring out this whole church thing, and your First Communicants and their parents, and possibly your own family who still thinks you just spend Sunday mornings “playing piano in your church.”  In fewer than 50 pages, in a user-friendly and simple reading style, it lays out the whole question of why we sing, what we sing, why it’s important that we sing, and what to do when it’s difficult to sing. And much of the latter part of the book is a wonderful resource of psalm and scripture verses about song and singing and making music to God.

We also made sure to include quantity pricing–this is a book you could give to your whole RCIA group, or to give to all of your liturgical ministers whether they are musicians or not, or to your youth Confirmation groups, or whatever roomful of people you get to minister with or to who may be wrestling with the many reasons people have to not want to sing, or think they shouldn’t sing or can’t sing. One thing Diana and I agree on completely, and we speak about it often, is that nearly everyone can sing–if you can speak, you can sing. Singing is not an activity only for those who are particularly gifted or talented or artistic; singing is an activity for human beings, period.

So if you ever struggle with helping others to get out there and sing the Good News–check this out.



Glory, Hallelujah! A Black History Month Choral Sampler (Sing Amen! The Podcast: episode 15)

Glory, Hallelujah! A Black History Month Choral Sampler (Sing Amen! The Podcast: episode 15)

February is Black History Month, so it seemed appropriate to devote a podcast to some of the wonderful and Spirit-filled offerings from our African-American brothers and sisters in faith, and the amazing heritage of spirituals and Gospel music they continue to keep alive and growing.

So here is I hope a pretty diverse lineup of music, encompassing contemporary Gospel style music and choral spirituals and the hybrid styles that move between the two, representing a broad swath of the composers and arrangers, both men and women, whose work gives such life to the church. I’ll give you their names as we go, but there’s one more name I didn’t want to lose track of here, and that’s Dr. James Abbington of Emory University. (That’s him in the photo up above.) He conducted many of the performances you are about to hear, and continues to play a pivotal role in editing and curating GIA’s African-American church music series, the African-American Heritage Hymnal—basically, if I were to read out his whole bio and all the things he’s done and continues to do, we wouldn’t have time for any music, but my respect for him is immense and I can’t say enough about him as a musician and a scholar, so please go to his bio on the GIA website and check him out for yourself.

Obviously on a half-hour or so podcast I could only scratch the surface of the amazing music out there, but for each of the pieces you’ll hear here, you can click on the CD from which each song comes, and explore more. I know the whole process of preparing this one has made my long car rides much brighter and Holy Spirit-attended than they usually are—and I hope it does the same for you!


Music heard in today’s podcast:

Soon and Very Soon (arr. Derek W. Campbell and VaLimar Jansen)

As recorded on Catholic Classics Vol. 7: African-American Sacred Songs CD-557


Come By Here G-7957 (arr. Uzee Brown, Jr.)

As recorded on My Lord’s Gettin’ Ready for that Great Day CD-9026


Bound for Canaan’s Land G-6499 (arr. Undine Smith Moore)

As recorded on How Excellent is Thy Name: 15 Selections from the African-American Church Music Series, CD-630


Deep River G-7228 (arr. Uzee Brown, Jr.)

As recorded on Use Me: 17 Selections from the African-American Church Music Series, CD-741


Glory Glory Hallelujah G-5953 (arr. C. Eugene Cooper)

As recorded on Spirits that Dwell in Deep Woods, CD-605


Mary’s Canticle G-2836 (Leon Roberts)

As recorded on I Call Upon You, God CD-342


Building up the Kingdom G-8641 (M. Roger Holland II)

As recorded on Building Up the Kingdom, CD-938


Hallelujah, Amen (Nolan Williams, Jr.)

As recorded on 49 Hidden Treasures from the African-American Heritage Hymnal, CD-636


Guide My Feet  G-5952 (arr. Avis D. Graves)

As recorded on Guide My Feet: 14 Selections from the African-American Church Music Series, CD-600


My Peace I Leave With You G-6320 (Wendell C. Woods)

As recorded on How Excellent is Thy Name: 15 Selections from the African-American Church Music Series, CD-630


SingAmen! the Podcast, with Jennifer Kerr Budziak
Sound by Jim Bogdanich

SingAmen! opening music: Promenade, by Bob Moore (from Let Every Instrument Be Tuned for Praise, CD-491, from Liturgical Suite #4, G-4789.. ©GIA Publications, Inc).
SingAmen! closing music: Amen, (from More Sublime Chant, CD-459, The Cathedral Singers, Richard Proulx, conductor. ©GIA Publications, Inc.)


Muchos Miembros Hay–Ministry in a Multicultural Parish (Sing Amen! The Podcast: Episode 14)

Muchos Miembros Hay–Ministry in a Multicultural Parish (Sing Amen! The Podcast: Episode 14)

Welcome back, and happy new year! We took a little break in January to get caught up and moving again, but we are back and have a great lineup of podcasts set for 2019, so if you are not subscribed yet, please do subscribe to us at Apple Podcasts, Google Play, or Stitcher, to make sure you don’t miss anything! Also, if you have a minute, we’d be grateful if you’d leave us a review on one or more of those platforms so we can move up in the rankings and be easier to find. And of course, if you’re a liturgical music person at all, please also give a listen to the Open Your Hymnal podcast, as well as the NPM Ministry Mondays podcasts—there’s a lot of good stuff out there for the church musician, so check it out!

So today we have a conversation with Phil Koncyk and Bob Batastini about their parish in Holland Michigan. St. Francis de Sales is that rare and wonderful holy grail of Catholic parishes, an engaged and functioning multilingual and multicultural community. Here we talk not just about what they are doing now, but also explore the parish’s 40-year journey from two communities worshiping in two separate buildings to a single parish where bilingual and even trilingual worship are simply part of the life of the community. And I warn you, by the time you finish hearing this, you might be making your own plans to move north to Michigan, because this sounds like an amazing place to pray and live.

We recorded this conversation at NPM last summer, since it was the only time we could get all three of us in a room at the same time—so please excuse the street noises and occasional sound of someone walking down the hall outside the room singing. Please also excuse the tendency of three friends chatting together who sometimes forgot the microphone was on—there are times when we caught ourselves talking with our hands and needed to aurally translate what was going on in the room (and I couldn’t seem to persuade Bob to stop hitting the table for emphasis when he talked, so if you hear some odd thunking noises here and there, that’s Bob).

So we hope you enjoy this! Phil, the 14-year music director at St. Francis, has some wonderful insights and strategies for how this parish has collectively worked to unite its people while still honoring and respecting the comfort zones and cultural heritage of each, and gently stretching and widening those comfort zones to include and embrace the traditions of their brothers and sisters from a different heritage.


Music heard on today’s podcast:

Muchos Miembros Hay (We are Many Parts), G-6876
As recorded on Oramos Cantando/We Pray in Song 3 CD set, CD-641

Si No Tengo Amor (If I Have Not Love), Tony Alonso, G-7240
As recorded on Table of the World, CD-729

SingAmen! the Podcast, with Jennifer Kerr Budziak
Sound by Jim Bogdanich

SingAmen! opening music: Promenade, by Bob Moore (from Let Every Instrument Be Tuned for Praise, CD-491, from Liturgical Suite #4, G-4789.. ©GIA Publications, Inc).
SingAmen! closing music: Amen, (from More Sublime Chant, CD-459, The Cathedral Singers, Richard Proulx, conductor. ©GIA Publications, Inc.)


Why is singing so scary?

Why is singing so scary?

Within the next few days, a new book will be going to press: Diana Kodner Gökçe, author of Handbook for Cantors, Third Edition and a good friend and colleague of many years, has written a short book called Why We Sing: A Musical Guide for Catholics, aimed at helping address some of the questions and hesitations your average “pew person” often has about singing during liturgy. It’s a great little book, sized (and priced!) for buying in quantity, so you can give copies to a lot of people–and a lot of people need this book. The crux of its point is one anyone who’s made it here to the blog doubtless already knows: the assembly’s singing voice is a crucial part of the liturgy, and every voice is important, and singing is just part of what we do, all of us, not just “musicians.” (By the way, singers are musicians too. Please, if you’re reading this and you didn’t know, spread the word: Musicians are makers of music. Some of them are singing musicians, others are musicians who play instruments. Spread the word. Please lovingly correct the next person you meet who uses the expression “the singers and the musicians,” as though they are two different things, because it’s insulting. Singers are musicians. Thank you.) But many, many people, for many reasons, are uncomfortable doing it. And it’s part of our job to help them.

Interestingly enough, even as this book is in its final stages of production, I came across this column by Bob Batastini, retired senior editor at GIA for many years, written way back in 2001. He used to write a short column at the front of every GIA Quarterly magazine for years, wonderful conversational (and often curmudgeonly) pieces of writing that were almost always full of wisdom. And lo and behold, here is one addressing very much the same issues Diana’s book is getting at. I’m reprinting it here in its entirety.

The article ends with a challenge and a question. I’d love to hear your thoughts on how you might answer it, and what you do to help the “non-singers” in your parish learn to be comfortable with their own God-given voices…Drop a comment and let us know!



“We are the Church,” by Robert J. Batastini

In all my years as a pastoral musician, I have never been able to overcome the discouragement that seizes me when I gaze across the singing assembly and see so many persons who neither pick up the book nor make any attempt to enter the song. Whenever I address the assembly before Mass, asking everyone to open the hymnal to a certain number, only to have an entire family in the front pew look as though they didn’t hear me, it is for me one of the most disturbing experiences associated with being a pastoral musician.

I used to think that some sort of arrogance was the basis for such behavior, I but have long ago discarded that harsh judgment. I’m sure that some don’t sing because they dislike the music, or because they are at “that age” when they’d rather be dead that be caught by one of their friends singing in church, and there are those who just don’t get it—they believe that community singing is not important, so let the choir do it. I’m reasonably certain, however, that these reasons account for a mere fraction of the non-singers in the assembly.

Our society seems to be obsessed with winning. It’s not how you play the game that matters. We’ve all seen the little league mom or dad who totally loses control over an incident in a game played by ten-year-olds. Professional sports certainly has its share of individuals who regularly display questionable behavior in their (well publicized) personal lives, but all we seem to care about is how many points they can score…Winning is so important, and winners are so exalted, that being less than a winner makes one a loser, and losing is embarrassing. How do we avoid this embarrassment? Simply, don’t play the game. Kids who are not good at sports often avoid playing sports—even though they could conceivably have fun—because they are intimidated by thoughts of the ridicule that comes with dropping the ball that is thrown or hit to you, or consistently missing the basket. We’re afraid to do things that we are not very good at doing, because we may look silly, or weak, or deficient in the eyes of those who observe us. Yes, and this includes singing in public.

I am convinced that the majority of the non-singers in our assembly would declare unequivocally, “I can’t sing.” What makes some people so certain of this inability to sing? Firstly, I suggest that it’s because the expectations are disproportionately high. To “sing,” in so many minds, is to engage in a solo activity and is not something done primarily as a group experience. It seems as though people feel that because they don’t have a “solo” voice, they should never sing at all.

Secondly, I believe a lot of adults suffer from some childhood experience that forever deprived them of the experience (and right) of singing. Perhaps it was a music teacher who pronounced a verdict on the individual that he or she should just mouth the words. Perhaps it was teacher, family member, or peer reactions to the male changing voice that intimidated the adolescent and initiated a lifetime moratorium on all attempts to sing. It is almost a form of child abuse to forever silence a child’s singing voice because of an inability to match pitch. It is malpractice for a music teacher to fail to work with such a child. (Pitch problems with young children can be corrected in almost all cases.  It just takes a little effort. Yet one wonders what effect the current shortage and/or poor quality of music education programs in many areas will have on assemblies of the future.)

Thirdly, I believe family pressure (intimidation once again) has silenced many an adult voice. I can just hear the barely post-pubescent child announcing how embarrassed he or she is when “dad tries to sing in church.” Dad, in a never ending desire to keep peace, and keep his children going to church, simply gives up.

Singing is as natural a human experience as speaking. Very few of us have the speaking voice of a public orator—some are high pitched, some are raspy, nasal, have peculiar cadences, or speech disabilities—and yet none of us chooses not to speak. Similarly, very few of us have singing voices worthy of solo performance. Would that this didn’t stop us from singing any more than a nasal quality stopped us from speaking. Not everyone is a candidate for the formal choir, but absolutely everyone in the building has a seat in the big choir we call the assembly.

We are the Church. We do not eliminate the weakest link, we strengthen it. We do not banish the defeated, we welcome them. We do not dismiss the underachievers, we support them. This is the Church, and both the Bible and liturgical tradition call for us to be a singing church. Everyone has a right to sing and is encouraged to sing, no matter what they sound like. Everyone has an obligation to sing. And anyone who teases, or attempts to intimidate another for their singing attempts is out of line—way out of line.

Real winners are those who will overcome the fear of potential embarrassment and do what the Scriptures and the liturgy repeatedly call upon us to do.  The question of the day is, How can we now give permission to those who have—in one way or another—had the permission to sing denied them in the past?


(“We Are the Church,” from GIA Quarterly issue 13.1, Fall 2001)

Christmas with the Cathedral Singers (Sing Amen! The Podcast: Special Christmas episode)

Christmas with the Cathedral Singers (Sing Amen! The Podcast: Special Christmas episode)

Merry Christmas!

If you have found your way here in some part of the calm after the Christmas storm, welcome. I hope your celebrations of the Nativity were full of beauty and prayer and lovely music–and that you got a nice long nap after. 🙂

This playlist is a companion to the first Christmas playlist we released on December 20 (if you haven’t heard that one, especially if you prefer more contemporary-style music to the old-school carols, please go check it out!), and if I did it right, this one released right about midnight on Christmas Eve/Morning. This is a collection of some of my favorite cuts from the various recordings the Cathedral Singers made over their many years of singing under the direction of Dr. Richard Proulx. (I was fortunate enough to sing with this group for several years, including on the Catholic Christmas Classics recording featured in this collection, so I have a special fondness for all of this music.)  And I miss him still–he was an incredible musician with boundless creativity and intelligence (Richard was generally the smartest person in whatever room he was in) and a delightfully sly sense of humor…those of us who knew him as more than a name attached to a great volume amazing music for assemblies and choirs will, I think, always remember him fondly.

So please enjoy this! It’s another one where I get all the talking out of the way at the beginning and just let you listen to gorgeous music for a while, and as usual you can always find the list, with links to where to find recordings or sheet music, here at the website.

Wishing you all a blessed and holy Christmastide! Thank you again for your support of this podcast over its first six months, and we’ll see you next year!



Music heard on today’s podcast:

O Come, All Ye Faithful G-7462 (arr. Richard Proulx)

As recorded on Catholic Christmas Classics, vol. 8 (CD-590), Richard Proulx, conductor


Gabriel’s Message, G-6463 (Basque carol, arr. Richard Proulx)

As recorded on Catholic Christmas Classics, vol. 8 (CD-590), Richard Proulx, conductor


Gaudete, G-3056 (arr. Robert J. Batastini)

As recorded on In Sweet Rejoicing CD-323), Richard Proulx, conductor


For Unto Us a Child is Born, G-2979 (Jacob Clemens non Papa)

As recorded on In Sweet Rejoicing CD-323), Richard Proulx, conductor


For Unto Us a Child is Born, G-6464 (George Frederic Handel)

As recorded on Catholic Christmas Classics, vol. 8 (CD-590), Richard Proulx, conductor


Is it Far to Bethlem City, G-2908 (Giovanni Gastoldi)

As recorded on Rejoice in the Lord (CD-290), Richard Proulx, conductor


Away in a Manger, G-6238 (Traditional carol, arr. Larry Harris)

As recorded on Catholic Christmas Classics, vol. 8 (CD-590), Richard Proulx, conductor


What Child is This?, G-6463 (GREENSLEEVES, arr. Richard Proulx)

As recorded on Catholic Christmas Classics, vol. 8 (CD-590), Richard Proulx, conductor


Infant Holy, Infant Lowly, G-2376 (Polish carol, arr. Richard Proulx)

As recorded on Rare Beasts and Unique Adventures, vol. 2 (CD-468), Richard Proulx, conductor


Psallite, Unigenito, G-2136 (Michael Praetorius)

As recorded on In Sweet Rejoicing CD-323), Richard Proulx, conductor


Puer Natus in Bethlehem, G-3034 (Gregor Joseph Werner)

As recorded on In Sweet Rejoicing CD-323), Richard Proulx, conductor


Fum Fum Fum, G-5062 (Catalan carol, arr. Anne Heider)

As recorded on Catholic Christmas Classics, vol. 8 (CD-590), Richard Proulx, conductor


En Natus Est Emmanuel, G-2137 (Michael Praetorius)

As recorded on In Sweet Rejoicing CD-323), Richard Proulx, conductor


Angels, We Have Heard on High, G-6462 (French carol, arr. Richard Proulx)

As recorded on Catholic Christmas Classics, vol. 8 (CD-590), Richard Proulx, conductor


‘Twas in the Moon of Wintertime, G-4611 (French folk song, arr. Sally Ann Morris)

As recorded on Catholic Christmas Classics, vol. 8 (CD-590), Richard Proulx, conductor


Joy to the World! G-9190 (G. F. Handel, arr. Richard Proulx)


Silent Night/Night of Silence, G-5622 (Daniel Kantor, arr. Marilyn Biery)

(Silent Night, Stille Nacht, was first performed on December 24, 1818 in Oberndorf bei Salzburg, Austria.)

As recorded on Catholic Christmas Classics, vol. 8 (CD-590), Richard Proulx, conductor

Why Do We Sing?

By: Diana Kodner Gokce

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