A Cassette Tape
The handwritten label said only “Chant,” and while it was my handwriting I could remember nothing about it. I put it in the tape deck as I drove south from Dallas.
First were some Gregorian chants. Competing against the background noise of the highway, the words were impossible to understand. But I liked the voices: I guessed they were competent, practiced monks. Later the chanted words became English, from various parts of Evening Prayer from the Episcopal Church’s prayer book, contemporary version. They became, of course, quite easy for me to hear, and the music continued as simple, professional, and homemade as it had been from the start. The supposition formed that I was listening to a a tape from the brothers of the Society of St. John the Evangelist, our monastic community in Massachusetts.
But why had I made this copy? (I used to have tapes of the brothers’ meditations and singing.) Side A ended abruptly—in the middle of a canticle—and Side B turned out to be completely blank.
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Then I thought of something I hadn’t brought to mind for a decade. When Susan was in the hospital for the last weeks of her life, she was unresponsive. I visited daily, and many others visited, and we talked to her, but (with only a few exceptions, only towards the end) she made no sounds, no movement with her eyes or otherwise to indicate awareness of what was going on around her. At some point I got the idea that it might help to put music in her room.
We know that music can reach into the mind and memories of people. It has been known to “speak” to people who have lost the ability to access words. I was probably also thinking that chant carries prayer even when we can’t get the words.
Somewhere, we got a tape player that would run on batteries (the outlets in the room being occupied by the various monitors). I remember putting chant music on for her, to play quietly through the night.
All this I had quite forgotten until, last week, that strange “chant” tape playing in my car, it all came back. I think I was listening to a tape I had made about 13 years ago. Like many things, it ends in the middle.
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Out & About: The incident above happened as I was driving to speak to a men’s group about caregiving. A reminder to folks in the diocese of Dallas: I am available to speak to parish groups; just drop me a line if you’re interested and we can seek a workable time.
October 5 I am to preach at St. James’ Church in Texarkana. The eucharists are at 8 and 10 a.m. I am also talking between the services on caregiving.
October 19, Sunday at 5 p.m., the Good Books & Good Talk seminar will discuss Anthony Trollope’s Dr. Wortle’s School. This is a late treasure from 1891, a short book with a secret (revealed very early in the book) about possible bigamy, the cruelty of society, and the importance of matrimony. It also has many small delights—for random instance, the first sentence: “The Rev. Jeffrey Wortle, D.D., was a man much esteemed by others,—and by himself.” I think everyone should have the chance of relishing Trollope’s very English humor—and here is a short book that fits the bill. Enjoy.
The Confessions of Saint Augustine. This book, after the Bible, is likely the most-read book in all of Christian history. Written about A.D. 390, it is, in its first half, Augustine’s recounting his life story to God, as he allows us to overhear it. Until about a century ago, every educated person would have read it. If you live in Dallas or Oklahoma City, here is your chance. I will be giving talks on the Confessions this fall in Dallas, at St. Matthew’s Cathedral, starting Sunday, October 19, at 10:25 (between Sunday services). The first class will cover Books I & II, which you might want to read in advance, but it is okay to attend without reading. (If you are wondering about a translation, I recommend Henry Chadwick’s in the Oxford World Classics series. But there are many and most are more than adequate.)
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On the Web: Yours truly is in a podcast. It’s the latest in the series, “That They May All Be One,” from the Pro Ecclesia folks. This conversation is based on our recent thin book, Mixed Blessings. We asked an ecumenical group of scholars to write about a theologian important to them but whose inheritance (like, really, most inheritances) is a mixed blessing. On the podcast, Fritz Bauerschmidt (brother, as it happens, of our bishop of Tennessee) speaks about Thomas Aquinas, and Amy Schifrin about Martin Luther. I am there as the editor, and our host is our executive director, Doug Sweeney. Here’s the link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CHzF4O-TbrQ