It has been a long, long time since I named a choir. Thirty-seven years, to be precise.
Back in 1980, when a certain choral ensemble I know was in an embryonic state, we were searching for a name. There were eight of us and no choral library (except a very large pile of illegally photocopied music of the St. Louis Jesuits). The keyboard used was an eighty-eight key Fender-Rhodes, a beast that had to be lugged up the icy stairs from the basement of then-Sacred-Heart-Church in the winter.
It was dangerous stuff, hauling all that gear in the frozen February waste of Northern Indiana.
It was also dangerous to name an ensemble. Seriously, the Notre Dame Folk Choir?
Critics are found everywhere, and many years down the road I still hear from people who objected to that four letter word, "folk." They thought I was creating an homage to a genre, or to one of my favourite trinities. Was it Peter, Paul and Mary? Crosby, Stills and Nash? Larry, Curly and Moe?
I'll never tell!
But in truth, back then that four letter word was actually a reflection on the powerful import of the Second Vatican Council: music needed to belong to the people. "Full, conscious, active," was something I embraced from the documents of the Council from the start, and I still do. So this choir was to be a reflection of those encouragements. The repertoire had to belong to the people, to the folk. Liturgy was not to be a concert – at every possible turn, we would do our best to involve the assembly in everything we did.
And it paid off – in vocations, in volunteer service, in a repertoire that spread in many directions.
Now, in the year two thousand and seventeen, I have the opportunity to name a choir once again. It is a process I take seriously, something that I've given careful thought to over the past months of making Dublin and St. Stephen's Green my home. And like the choir that was named before this one, you only get to do it once, just as you can't change the name of a child a few years down the road. ("Well, I thought we were going to name him Henry, but now, two years later, I've changed my mind....").
Nope. You get one chance.
So where has my thought led me? I've walked this land for nearly a year, and visited it for almost two generations. I find our American past and Irish histories to be both unique and similar: we both fought the British Empire and eventually won. We both were taxed and silenced to the point of humiliation. And we both cherished the notion that we needed our voices – that government meant nothing if we had no voice. The Americans coined a phrase: no taxation without representation. The Irish couldn't even coin a phrase: they had been stripped of their language.
I believe the same principles are at work in religious expression. Our lives aren't worth much if we have no voice. And we've proven, generation after generation, that we'd rather go to our graves than remain silent. As with government, so with spirituality: it all hinges on whether we have a voice or not. Does our ecclesial institution simply ask us to "pray, pay and obey?" Or are we called to something more sublime?
All of this leads to the naming of a choir.
At University Church, on St. Stephen's Green, we've created a new musical community of young professionals. Some are career organists and singers. Some are already in other choirs. Some are mathematicians, some are architects. But all of them have been breathtakingly committed to creating an intentional gathering, choristers one and all. We started with three singers, and now are past one dozen, four months in. It will continue to grow.
They have been named the Newman Vocare Ensemble. "Vocare" is the operative word, for it is caught up in a calling, a receptive response to another's voice. It is the root word for vocation. And as such, it clearly marks a compass point as to what we are attempting to do with this tiny, city-centre assembly, week after week:
Cultivate the call. Nurture the voice. Acclaim and praise. Foster that attitude in those who gather with us. And always, always, help unleash the power that arises when human beings own the joy of life in the Spirit.
No pictures for this chapter. If you want to hear what we are doing, click here.
Back in 1980, when a certain choral ensemble I know was in an embryonic state, we were searching for a name. There were eight of us and no choral library (except a very large pile of illegally photocopied music of the St. Louis Jesuits). The keyboard used was an eighty-eight key Fender-Rhodes, a beast that had to be lugged up the icy stairs from the basement of then-Sacred-Heart-Church in the winter.
It was dangerous stuff, hauling all that gear in the frozen February waste of Northern Indiana.
It was also dangerous to name an ensemble. Seriously, the Notre Dame Folk Choir?
Critics are found everywhere, and many years down the road I still hear from people who objected to that four letter word, "folk." They thought I was creating an homage to a genre, or to one of my favourite trinities. Was it Peter, Paul and Mary? Crosby, Stills and Nash? Larry, Curly and Moe?
I'll never tell!
But in truth, back then that four letter word was actually a reflection on the powerful import of the Second Vatican Council: music needed to belong to the people. "Full, conscious, active," was something I embraced from the documents of the Council from the start, and I still do. So this choir was to be a reflection of those encouragements. The repertoire had to belong to the people, to the folk. Liturgy was not to be a concert – at every possible turn, we would do our best to involve the assembly in everything we did.
And it paid off – in vocations, in volunteer service, in a repertoire that spread in many directions.
Now, in the year two thousand and seventeen, I have the opportunity to name a choir once again. It is a process I take seriously, something that I've given careful thought to over the past months of making Dublin and St. Stephen's Green my home. And like the choir that was named before this one, you only get to do it once, just as you can't change the name of a child a few years down the road. ("Well, I thought we were going to name him Henry, but now, two years later, I've changed my mind....").
Nope. You get one chance.
So where has my thought led me? I've walked this land for nearly a year, and visited it for almost two generations. I find our American past and Irish histories to be both unique and similar: we both fought the British Empire and eventually won. We both were taxed and silenced to the point of humiliation. And we both cherished the notion that we needed our voices – that government meant nothing if we had no voice. The Americans coined a phrase: no taxation without representation. The Irish couldn't even coin a phrase: they had been stripped of their language.
I believe the same principles are at work in religious expression. Our lives aren't worth much if we have no voice. And we've proven, generation after generation, that we'd rather go to our graves than remain silent. As with government, so with spirituality: it all hinges on whether we have a voice or not. Does our ecclesial institution simply ask us to "pray, pay and obey?" Or are we called to something more sublime?
All of this leads to the naming of a choir.
At University Church, on St. Stephen's Green, we've created a new musical community of young professionals. Some are career organists and singers. Some are already in other choirs. Some are mathematicians, some are architects. But all of them have been breathtakingly committed to creating an intentional gathering, choristers one and all. We started with three singers, and now are past one dozen, four months in. It will continue to grow.
They have been named the Newman Vocare Ensemble. "Vocare" is the operative word, for it is caught up in a calling, a receptive response to another's voice. It is the root word for vocation. And as such, it clearly marks a compass point as to what we are attempting to do with this tiny, city-centre assembly, week after week:
Cultivate the call. Nurture the voice. Acclaim and praise. Foster that attitude in those who gather with us. And always, always, help unleash the power that arises when human beings own the joy of life in the Spirit.
No pictures for this chapter. If you want to hear what we are doing, click here.
We've come a long way from the 12:15 Mass Group!
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