My hymn to St. Cecelia

 St. Cecilia’s story combines chastity and martyrdom in the 4th century A.D. Rome. A young woman of a prosperous Roman family was promised to a young man. During the wedding she had refused to accept, she sang to God. But her groom honored her virginal vows and asked to see the angels to whom she was singing. They were both martyred for refusing to consummate the marriage. Great compositions have been written in her honor, such as Benjamin Britten’s Hymn to St. Cecilia. This is my hymn to St. Cecilia.
 
My hymn to St. Cecelia.
 
I.
 
Of all the arts, music is said to be closest to the gods. Odysseus had to be tied to the mast, as his ship passed the island of the Sirens. Orpheus was able to rescue his wife Euridice from the underworld with his music. And Cecilia staved off her young suitor with heavenly song. Could she be the earliest illustration of “he (she) who sings, prays twice”--?
 
Music has transformative powers. Music surely is the auditory equivalent of the Transfiguration that is recorded in the Hebrew and Christian Bible. Moses came down from the mountain visually transformed and radiating from his interaction with God. Jesus on his own mountain became so luminous to be mistaken for the prophets. In the presence of Moses and Jesus, the presence of God was felt. They shone. In each case a community of faith formed itself around the experience.
 
If there is anything like that outside of the Bible, it lies in certain instances of performed music.
 
For instance, as a college graduation present, my brother took me to a performance of Puccini’s Madama Butterfly at the old Met in New York City (that’s how old I am!), featuring Leontyne Price in the role of Cio-Cio-San. What a knock-out musical treat for me, the greater for sitting in box seats at stage left where we practically could have reached out and touched the actors. But you didn’t need to have front row seats to be made captive of that soprano who was possessed by the transcendent music. She shines. And the audience reflected that in the final ovations.
 
In graduate school, a roommate and I went to a song recital in the great Auditorium Theater in Chicago’s loop and heard Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau perform accompanied by Daniel Barenboim. There were ten standing ovations with ten encores, until Barenboim just had to close the keyboard cover and beat a needed retreat. They shined.
 
On a Reformation Sunday afternoon, years later when I was teaching at Chicago, I attended a choral concert at Orchestra Hall on Michigan Ave. performing Lutheran hymns, sung with such vocal resonance as to make us well up to the brim with tears. They shone.
 
When I was the minister of Central Congregational Church in Jamaica Plain, we were host to the Rolling Requiem on the first anniversary of 9/11. Across the country and the whole world, cities were enlisted to perform Mozart’s Requiem starting at 8:15 in the morning. We were one of them. The singers were the Avenue of the Arts Chorale and their instrumentalists. It ended without applause, only a benediction, and the silence was inspiring–we all shone.
 
The effects of music are irresistible–but, just what is happening to us when people sing?
 
Music helps us find our joy–Woodstock, the Beatles, Earth Wind and Fire. It helps us express our grief–like the Rolling Requiem and Obama’s Amazing Grace at the Mother Church in Charleston. It helps us find hope and faith–as in the hymns we sing here. It brings true solace, a profound sense of well-being. And most importantly, it creates community–every religion has its music, and every musical event creates a community, however momentary. In that respect, “all musics are created equal: as Gunther Schuler, late President of the NEC often said, whether in subway stations, public parks or baseball stadiums.
 
How does this happen? The song occupies the singer. The voice in particular channels the divine. Instrumentalists also have this experience–the performer becomes the instrument. The artists are transformed in performance into an out-of-body state. That’s what was meant when your parents told you after your recital, “You really shined tonight,”
 
St. Cecilia, we know you were one with God in the singing. You were transfigured in singing no less than Moses and Jesus who themselves were, and as are we!
 
Blessed Cecilia, appear in visions
To all musicians, appear and inspire:
Translated Daughter, come down and startle
Composing mortals with immortal fire.
 
II.
 
Just look at us here this morning, in this Sanctuary, here to sing (albeit with masks) and to be transformed in the singing, here to receive the ministry of these singers and instrumentalists. Here to rejoice, to exult, to grieve and weep and be transported.
 
What riches we at Eliot Church enjoy, and not only us. Last week, Seraphim performed here, the first in the post-surge reopening. Capella Clausura performs in a couple weeks. The Newton Community Chorale started rehearsing here weekly last Monday.
 
Why stop there, I want to ask this church? With this sanctuary, now that it is acoustically restored, Eliot Church could become home to more musical organizations, ensembles and individuals which are desperate for rehearsal and performance space. With a little more focused intentionality, you could perform a ministry fostering community among the artists, and between us and the wider cultural population. Maybe you could form a common cause with a local artistic non-profit. Or, imagine, you could even collaborate in the creation of a non-profit, an umbrella organization which would share the burden and cost of managing this building.
 
How exciting it would be to see the increased traffic in the building, fulfilling Eliot’s mission to serve the community. Eliot could become the patron of music way beyond our Sunday morning festival of Song, Word, and Prayer. This building would be a destination. And through the presence of God’s spirit in all its activities, would come to be Transfigured itself, a building not mutely stationed at this corner watching the traffic go by.
 
Well, it’s just a pipe dream of mine, as I sit here in this space during the week to meditate. I’ve shared these ideas with the church leadership. It might open an interesting line of questioning when candidates are interviewed by the Search Committee. In fact, I have circulated this booklet from Partners for Sacred Places in the hopes some of the examples would excite them about a way to be church in our time.
 
I say to you, Eliot Church, let music grow from more to more, that life be enriched, transformed and transfigured.
 
Blessed Cecilia, appear in visions
To all musicians, appear and inspire:
Translated Daughter, come down and startle
Composing mortals with immortal fire.
 
Rev. Richard Chrisman, February 27, 2022
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