Musings, amusing or otherwise

Yes It Is

2011-11-29T21:44:00.000-08:00

So I’m listening to my iPod tonight as I cook dinner. The “Beatles Softies” playlist is on and, without warning, “Yes It Is” starts playing.

My spicy tofu tomato sauce abruptly takes a back seat as I turn down the burners and simply listen to the 1965 lyrics:

I could be happy with you by my side,
If I could forget her.
But it’s my pride,
Yes it is,
Yes it is,
Oh, yes it is.
Yeah.

Suddenly, I am transported back to junior high. 8th grade is an explosive time in life. We’re just discovering feelings and stirrings inside of ourselves that we are ill equipped to deal with. It’s the 1960s and the decade’s “anything goes” spirit has touched even the yearlings who already see “do your own thing” as an emerging mantra.

I was a child of immigrant parents from the Philippines who were vainly trying to raise their children in traditional Filipino values that seemed to be at odds with psychedelic America.

There were several girls I had a crush on: Carol. Barbara. Leslie. And Patricia. I was the oldest in my family and had no big brother or uncle to look up to for advice in matters of the heart. All I had were television sit-coms, fellow classmates (equally puzzled!), and . . . the Beatles.

In their middle period –- Help, Rubber Soul, Revolver -– the Beatles were still singing unabashed boy-meets-girl love songs. The social consciousness and maturity of Sgt. Pepper and The White Album were in the not-too-distant future. But in 1966, the Fab Four were singing “Please come on back to me. I’m lonely as can be. I need you!”

Understand, there was a lot of peer pressure in 8th grade for the guys to find a girlfriend. Couples were sitting together at lunch, girls’ books were being carried by guys, and a quarterly school dance was the hot ticket of the day. But I was naïve and sheltered. I didn’t even notice that Patricia had an interest in me until her girl friends started dropping hints. “Hey, Ken! When are you gonna get together with Pat?”

I was flattered by the attention but I tried to ignore it. My mother had tried her best to warn me against the “dangers” of “dating” so young. I was nothing, if not a good son. But it was Patricia’s birthday, and she was having a party, and even though she didn’t officially invite me, it was “understood” that my presence would be expected.

Of course, I heard about her party. Of course, I wanted to be there. Patricia and I had already started seeing each other at lunch. I was already carrying her books as we walked home from school. But go to her party? What would my parents say?

So when Pat’s friends knocked on my door on the afternoon of the party, asking “Aren’t you going?” –- what else could I do? I looked around for something nice in the house, wrapped it as a gift, put on my best shirt, and walked to Patricia’s house –- without telling my mom!

I was greeted at the door as a hero! All the girls in my class were there, with their boyfriends. They all beamed at me approvingly. Pat had already told her parents about me and they welcomed me warmly. It was a cool party! Everyone talked and joked and we were all so glad to be there.

And then the record player started playing the hits of the day: the Supremes, the Dave Clark Five, the Beach Boys, Petula Clark and . . . the Beatles. “Ticket to Ride” was the mega hit of the past summer and, on the flip side of that 45 single, there was the melancholy ballad, “Yes It Is.”

It was a slow song, perfect for a slow dance. Patricia and I held each other and slow danced to “Yes It Is.” In my middle school mind, time froze. I felt as if a spotlight was shining on us and everyone stopped dead in their tracks to watch Pat and me. At that point in time, everything felt right in my world. Beautiful, red-haired Pat and me. It was a moment that I still treasure to this day.

Pat and I became very close after that. We sat next to each other in class and walked home together often. We talked about the future, where we were going for high school. But there was another draw in my life at that time. I had decided to go to a high school seminary and consider the priesthood as my calling.

Middle school emotions are raw and underdeveloped. I don’t think Pat took my going to the seminary very well. Of course! We slowly went our own ways. I was going to the seminary. She was left out in the cold -- or so I thought. We never really talked about it or even said goodbye. Hey, we were only kids! But I have always felt pangs of regret every time “Yes It Is” starts playing on the radio or in my iPod.

Please don’t wear red tonight.
This is what I said tonight.
For red is the color that my baby wore,
And what’s more,
It’s true.
Yes, it is, it’s true.

Yes, it is, it’s true.

Whither, My Blog?

2011-11-29T21:23:00.000-08:00

I don't really know if people are actually reading this blog. After all, I only write sporadically. When I started this blog, I had not yet been on Facebook or Twitter. Those social networks are much easier to maintain. 140 characters on Twitter? No prob! Witty one-liners on Facebook. I can do that!

Blogs are a lot more work: not only complete sentences but also complete paragraphs. Heck, complete cohesive thoughts! And then there's the pressure I put upon myself in my role as a Catholic composer and author. My fellow Catholic composers all seem to write profound insights that are inspiring and uplifting. Good Lord, are they like that every single moment of the day? I know I am not.

Hey, I'm just a poor wayfaring stranger, traveling through this world of woe. (That's a line from an old American folk song that we used to sing at Mass in the 1960s, by the way.) Certainly, my faith is important to me. Jesus Christ is the driving force in my life. But I am a complex human being trying to balance my faith with the pull of the world and the way my life is unfolding as I enter the cusp of senior citizenship.

I have always believed that we can find the sacred in the secular. That is what the Incarnation is about. That is what the Folk Mass was about, and what contemporary Christian and Catholic music try to sing about. Ultimately, that is what religion has tried to be about.

I guess what I'm trying to say is: Instead of trying to find something profound to say on the Internet that will lead readers to the transcendence of God, I feel a lot more comfortable writing about my earthly experience and somehow finding God's presence in that.

And so my blogging begins anew. . .

My Friend, Matthew

2011-08-26T09:08:00.001-07:00

It is with a heavy heart that I write this reflection on my little friend, Matthew the cat, my faithful companion who was taken from me so suddenly on August 25. He had just returned home after being locked up in the local animal shelter for five days. How he got there is a mystery. The staff told me some kindly person found Matthew wandering in the street and turned him in, thinking he was a stray. Luckily, he had the implanted ID chip, and the staff was able to contact me.

Oh, how Matthew loved being home again! He followed me around the house and wouldn’t let me out of his sight. After I treated him to his favorite canned salmon dinner, he meowed to go outside so he could once again roam free, see his feline friends, and climb fences and trees. As much as he enjoyed being with me, he also loved his freedom.

A few years ago, in my old Spirit Spot column on spiritandsong.com, I told the story of how Matthew adopted me. Re-reading it now makes me realize what a gift he was to me.

Of St. Francis, Sister Moon and Brother Cat

Last Thursday morning, we rose at 6:30 as usual, with Matthew hopping on my bed and gently nudging me awake to feed him. I then let him out and watched as he jumped onto the back fence and surveyed his world, his tail wagging happily. At 8:45 I went upstairs to get a book. Matthew was lying down at one of his favorite spots at the top of the stairs and his presence made me smile. Then I looked at him more closely. Something was wrong. Although his head was down, his eyes were wide open and he was not breathing. I called my vet and she said to bring him in right away.

I drove to the pet hospital as fast as I could. Matthew was a favorite of the staff, and they ushered us quickly into the examining room. The doctor checked for signs of life but she only confirmed my fear. She looked up at me gently. “I’m sorry . . .”

I am a pastoral ministry professional and very familiar with the five stages of grief. The shock that washed over me was mixed in with a little anger. How? How could this happen? Matthew was not even 5 years old. In his last check-up, the doctor gave him a clean bill of health. She said she has seen sudden death in young cats before. We discussed the possibility that Matthew might have ingested something toxic in the neighborhood. It is the risk that owners of outdoor cats take in allowing them free range.

The staff allowed me a few minutes alone. As I scratched Matthew gently behind his ears one final time, I thanked him for the privilege of being his friend. I blessed his body, pulled the white blanket over his head, and walked away slowly.

My house now seems a little emptier. Matthew’s food dish and water bowl are still in their usual place, and his favorite toys are scattered in every room. I catch myself in tears every now and then. Crying for a cat! And why not? After all, Matthew was my friend, my loyal companion. I was looking forward to his growing old along with me, with his purring presence a soothing balm for the passing years. Now, no more.

Memories flood my mind. On Sunday afternoons, when I returned home from church after a long morning of liturgies, Matthew was always waiting for me at the porch. He would hop on the hood of my car as I parked. I held out my fist to him, in the “fist bump” greeting that is exchanged between buddies. Matthew always walked up to me and bumped his little head on my fist.

Regular listeners of my weekly Liturgy Podcast have learned to expect surprise cameos from Matthew as he would sometimes sneak up behind me during a recording and meow into the microphone. Matthew often took walks with me in the neighborhood, and he delighted in showing off his athletic prowess by suddenly scampering up a tree that we passed by.

Occasionally, I would get a knock on my door. “Is that your white cat?” a new neighbor might ask. “Well, he just invited himself into my house!” Yes, Matthew was the unofficial Welcome Committee of the neighborhood.

What I found most endearing about Matthew is how he was always interested in what I was doing. If I was working at my computer, he would hop onto my desk and sit next to the laptop as I typed away. And boy, did he love music! He enjoyed my piano playing and always came into my studio whenever I played Bach. I actually tested this out a few times. When Matthew was in the hall outside my music room I would play rock or jazz and get no response. But whenever I played Bach, we walked right in and sat at my feet, his tail wagging gently to the music.

I will never again play “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” without thinking of my cat.

Matthew taught me a lot about enjoying life and enjoying the moment. His enthusiasm was always contagious. More than anything else, he taught me about loyalty. What a friend I had in Matthew!

Although he is no longer with me physically, Matthew will always live on in my heart. I have been writing down the stories of his many adventures over the past three years, and my plan was to someday write a children’s book. “Someday” needs to happen sooner than later. My book on Matt the Cat is all I have left of my little pal. Stay tuned.

St. Francis’ heavenly animal preserve just got brighter. Matthew, thank you for being my friend.

First Folk Mass: 1968

2011-08-10T00:23:00.000-07:00

This is the original draft of the Introduction to my book, Keep the Fire Burning: The Folk Mass Revolution. I eventually decided on a different Intro but this draft serves as a remembrance of my very first Folk Mass when I was a sophomore at Queen of Angels High School Seminary, Mission Hills, California.

===

In 1968 the world was a mess. The spring assassinations of Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy were followed by urban unrest and a violent Democratic convention in Chicago. The Soviet Union had crushed out dissent in Poland and Czechoslovakia. Millions were starving in Biafra as bloodshed escalated in the endless war in Vietnam. Humanae Vitae, Pope Paul VI’s encyclical on birth control, drew the ire of progressive Catholics and was widely ignored.

Within the cloistered confines of Queen of Angels High School Seminary, this global turmoil was far removed. It was time for morning meditation, and the seminarians were supposed to focus on the spiritual platitudes from their olive green prayer book. But all that went out the window on this glorious autumn morning. There was a definite buzz in the air, a tangible excitement that sliced through the mandatory silence like the proverbial hot knife through butter. Here at the minor seminary of the conservative Archdiocese of Los Angeles, we were going to celebrate our very first Folk Mass!

I was a rowdy sophomore, ill at ease in my black-and-white boarding school uniform. Most of us seminarians, despite our fresh-faced youth, were already professional liturgists. We prayed a modified version of the Divine Office together morning, noon, evening and night. We celebrated Mass daily at 6:30 am, sometimes in silence, but usually in song with the seminary’s grand pipe organ swelling out in the “four hymn” mode so prevalent in the mid-1960s. On feast days we sang High Mass with Jan Vermulst’s Mass for Christian Unity. Occasionally, we sang in chant, and our alma mater was the beautiful Gregorian “Ave Maria.” But on this memorable morning, as Father Ready and the altar servers processed out of the sacristy, our voices rang out with a fire that we never before experienced at liturgy.

Come, let us worship the Lord, our God.
Come, sing praise to his name . . .

The accompaniment was simply three acoustic guitars and an upright bass, without a microphone, and the student musicians stood in the back of chapel, behind the assembly. Their stirring blend reminded me of my favorite Peter, Paul & Mary records. There was no cantor. In fact, that word had not yet been applied to Catholic liturgy. The momentum of the singing was carried by our unabashed youthful enthusiasm. We were worshipping God with the sound of our generation!

Something was happening in our Church, something that was quite beyond our secluded existence in California’s San Fernando Valley. As I sang along with my brother seminarians, I glanced down at the copyright credits on our printed worship aid. Our music director, Monsignor Gerken, had taken care to do everything properly.

“Come, Let Us Worship” by Bro. Gregory Ballerino. Copyright © 1967 by the Gregorian Institute of America, Chicago, Illinois.

“They’ll Know We Are Christians by Our Love” by Fr. Peter Scholtes. Copyright © 1966 by F.E.L. Church Publications, Ltd., Chicago, Illinois.

These exciting songs came from the Midwest a year or two prior to our singing them. Clearly, an extraordinary Spirit was sweeping the land. After that first Folk Mass, my life would never be the same.

The story of the Folk Mass is a largely forgotten chapter in the history of liturgical renewal in the United States. The mere mention of those words brings a variety of reactions ranging from wistful nostalgia to the rolled eyes of outright derision. The Folk Mass movement has been blamed for everything from the allegedly poor state of liturgical music today to the beginning of the end for the sensus mysterii. It conjures up images of guitar-wielding nuns in modified habits, too-groovy-for-their-own-good priests, and liturgical experimentation gone haywire. And yet, for many American Catholics, the Folk Mass was the only tangible way that the Second Vatican Council came to life.

The Council was certainly groundbreaking. News accounts of the bishops’ deliberations filtered back to Americans by way of official condensed reports in their diocesan newspapers or in Xavier Rynne’s “eyewitness” accounts in The New Yorker. Terms like Sacrosanctum Concilium, “ecumenical dialogue,” and “The Church in the Modern World” were weighty and even intimidating to the average person in the pew. But celebrating Mass in English? That got people’s attention. Congregational singing? It was awkward at first, but people reluctantly caught on. Guitars and folk music? Good Lord! What next? The Folk Mass was either embraced whole-heartedly or rejected vehemently. For the former, it was the means by which a whole generation became personally involved with their Church. . .

===

Keep the Fire Burning: The Folk Mass Revolution
by Ken Canedo

Available on Amazon.com

Mary Magdalene: Early on Sunday

2011-04-24T01:11:00.000-07:00

I was at the garden that morning,
weeping.
Just weeping.

We women discovered the tomb empty.
After everything he’d been through,
his body was stolen away.
Even in death the humiliation persisted.

Someone approached me,
the gardener, I presumed.
Why are you weeping? he asked.

Sir, tell me where you have laid him
and I will take him away.

And then he called my name
with his unmistakable voice
that could penetrate right through
to a person’s soul.

He is alive!
Alive and smiling radiantly!
I was beside myself with joy!

He is alive!
He, who lifted me out of the depths
and called me to a fuller life!
He, who believed in me so profoundly
that I started believing in myself!
I rushed to embrace him.

Do not cling to me, he said gently,
for I have not yet ascended.
Go now to my brothers and tell them
I am ascending
to my Father and your Father . . .

Such news I could never keep secret!
I ran faster than I thought possible
to share my joy with Peter and the others.

They didn’t believe me.

Oh, they were polite and caring,
but I could see it in their eyes,
their faces.

They didn’t believe me!
Were they so defeated by the shock of his death
that they could not receive this good news?
I could almost be angry,
if I didn’t love them so.

Peter, dear Peter, did stir to life at my story.
He and John ran out to the tomb
to see for themselves.

He is alive!
I know this with every fiber of my being!
I saw him!

He is alive!

Holy Saturday: Break Through!

2011-04-23T00:15:00.000-07:00

There is a sense of
incompleteness
on Holy Saturday,
a strangeness.

Pensively, I walk
through this day,
uncertain.

Two emotional nights
exhaust me:

Thursday’s mandate to wash feet.
Bread and wine, to remember him.
Intensive prayer, alone in his Eucharistic presence.

Friday’s stark cross
on which hung the Savior
of the world.

What do these things mean to me?

I think about his disciples
on that tumultuous first Holy Week,
going from Palm Sunday hosannas
to the shocking finality of his death.

How could it end this way?
What would become of them?
Were they now guilty by association?
Would they meet the same crucified fate?

I picture that primal Saturday
as a day of despair.

Something needs to break through
this void,
this emptiness,
this darkness.

LUMEN CHRISTI!

Good Friday: A Fisherman's Perspective

2011-04-22T08:24:00.000-07:00

Something went wrong.
They flocked to him for healing and wisdom.
He fed them with bread and fish,
four thousand at a time!
He kept them spellbound
with stories and parables.

Where are they now?

Something went wrong.
He was supposed to usher in a new kingdom
and re-establish Israel to its rightful place
in the community of nations.
He was the Messiah!
I was positive of it!
I was prepared to face imprisonment and death
for him!

Something went terribly wrong.
The crowd sang “Hosanna” just five days ago.
But they turned against him.
Today they were shouting,
“Crucify him!”
After all the miracles,
after all the hope he inspired,
they just stood there and watched him die!

Who am I kidding?
I’m one of “them,” too!
I, the chosen, the leader,
the one he called “Rock.”
I didn’t even have the courage
to stand up for him
when he needed me most.

I denied him!
I abandoned him!
I, who bragged so much about my loyalty!

How can I ever face anybody again?
How can he ever forgive me?

Something went so terribly wrong!
And yet –
What’s that he’s saying from the cross?

“Father, forgive them,
for they know not what they do.”

After everything he’s been through –
the false accusations,
the abandonment of his friends
the scourging and humiliation,
the excruciating pain
of being nailed to a cross –
after all this
he still has the heart to forgive!

I don’t know what lies ahead in the next few days.
I need time to make sense of all this.
It can’t end this way!

Yet, once again,
the Great Teacher is giving us a valuable lesson
in the midst of this terrible chaos:

Forgiveness.

Could that be what his bloody death is all about?

Holy Thursday: Bread and Wine

2011-04-21T21:37:00.000-07:00

Of all the signs and symbols
Jesus might have used
as a remembrance of his death,
he chose bread and wine.

No impressionistic brush strokes,
no detailed sculpture,
no soaring symphony,
no poem or novel,
no Hollywood blockbuster --
although all of these have,
at one time or another,
portrayed the Passion of Christ.

But Jesus chose
bread and wine,
the work of human hands.

We break bread to remember
his broken body.
We share the cup of wine to remember
his blood poured out for us.
Simple. Powerful.
And totally unforgettable.

As profound in that Upper Room
as it is at St. Peter’s in Rome.
As impressive at a sports arena youth liturgy
as it is in a tent chapel on the battlefields of Iraq.
As meaningful at a hospital bedside
as it is at the parish down the street.

Wherever we celebrate the Eucharist,
whatever the circumstances,
it is Jesus that we recognize
in the breaking of the bread.

This is my body
which will be given up for you.
This is the cup of my blood,
the blood of the new and everlasting covenant.

So that sins may be forgiven!
Do this in memory of me.

The mystery of our faith!

Bread and wine.
Jesus Christ our Lord.

First Contact

2011-04-05T23:35:00.000-07:00

Birth of a Star (NASA photo)

Today on Twitter, the Star Trek community was celebrating First Contact Day. On April 5, 2063, Vulcans will land on Earth and establish their first contact with humans, as portrayed in the 1996 movie, Star Trek: First Contact. Live long and prosper!

The question posed to Trekkers today: What would you say to an extraterrestrial if you encountered one?

Before I go on, I need to state the obvious. Yes, I am a Trekker. I have followed the franchise enthusiastically since the days of the original TV series of the 1960s. Captain Kirk, Mister Spock, and their shipmates are archetypes for the geeks of my generation. After a brief flare-up of excitement in the 1970s with George Lucas’ first Star Wars trilogy, I returned to the Star Trek fold with the Next Generation series of the 1980s-90s, where the storytelling surpassed the original series in many aspects, including the stellar portrayals of Captain Picard and Commander Data.

Yes, I’m a geek and proud of it! My favorite TV show these days is The Big Bang Theory, where Sheldon Cooper and his gang revel in their Star Trek geekhood. Blessed are the geek, for they shall inherit the mirth!

But, to get back to the original question: What would I say to an extraterrestrial upon first contact?

(Note: I am not a trained scientist. Any science expressed in the following paragraphs may be fraught with error. End of disclaimer.)

First, I don’t believe an alien encounter will happen in my lifetime – if at all. The distances in the universe are too astronomically vast to allow for convenient interstellar travel. The laws of probability preclude any possibility that life as we know it even exists elsewhere in the universe. We humans exist because of a happy accident of our planet being in the right place at the right time – third rock from the sun, far enough away to cool down for life, but close enough to keep us warm. Of course, theologians say that is not an “accident,” but I’ll get to that in a minute.

The operative term is “life as we know it.” Okay, we carbon-based lifeforms have it made here on Earth, but what rule says that all lifeforms in this infinite universe have to be carbon-based? If we grant that a non-carbon-based lifeform came to Earth, chances are it would not be humanoid, despite what Star Trek and Star Wars say. It would most likely not have four limbs, or a head with a face that has two eyes, two ears, a nose, and a mouth. Therefore, communication with this hypothetical lifeform would be an impossibility. So, forget about having any kind of conversation.

Telepathy? Perhaps. But, again, that implies a commonality of brain synapses and basic concepts. That’s hardly likely. The bottom line is that our extraterrestrial would probably be too repugnant for us humans to even gaze upon it.

We also need to consider the whole idea of how our conjectural ET would even get to our planet. It is pretty well-established that there are no other intelligent beings in our own solar system. So any alien would have to travel from at least the next nearest star, Alpha Centauri, which is “only” 4.37 light years away from us, or 41.5 trillion kilometers. That means it would take our alien “only” 4.37 years to travel to Earth, if it were traveling at the speed of light. And that, my friends, is a physical impossibility, at least for our species. Granted, perhaps an intelligent race far more advanced than ours may have solved the faster-than-light problem. Even so, can you imagine how the stress of such speeds would affect a physical body?

Conversely, if light speed travel was not an option, travel time would go up exponentially. Our interstellar wayfarer would need to spend years, if not decades, getting from its star system to ours. It would need to be blessed with either extraordinary longevity, or travel with a family so that its offspring would carry on the mission after its demise. Or, it would need an excellent suspended animation technology.

Whatever the propulsion method, our wanderer would need to have a pretty darn good reason to endure the stress of space travel and come out all our way.

That brings up another question. Why would an alien race want to encounter the people of Earth? If we think of them as curious and benevolent explorers with a thirst for knowledge, we are assigning too much anthropology to them. We know from our earthly experience that the various lifeforms on this planet are always in search of energy sources – food! If the search for energy is a constant for existence, it would not be too far-fetched to think an extraterrestrial explorer is looking for “food.” Something unspeakably horrible must have happened on its homeworld to drive it all the way to our planet, and I can’t believe it would be just to satisfy intellectual curiosity.

Put it this way: Does the lion have an “intelligent” conversation with a zebra before chomping down on it?

Okay, I am painting the worst-case scenario. Let’s put aside, for a moment, the impossible distances, the species incompatibility, the communication barriers, and the threat of malevolence. Assuming an alien came to Earth and was humanoid enough to allow for some basic communication and understanding, what would I say to it?

I’m not a scientist, but I have studied theology, and it’s the theological possibilities that capture my imagination. I would ask our alien traveler such questions as:

Do you believe in a Supreme Being?
Do you believe you were created?
What is the meaning of your existence?
How does my existence alter your own existential viewpoint?
Will your existence be eventually terminated? If so, what happens to you after death?
Do you believe in another plane of existence that lies beyond your physical reality?

In other words, I would be dying to know if this alien believes in God. If so, how does its idea of God differ or align with mine?

And, has this alien’s God personally intervened in the history of its race. If so, how? Obviously, I am leading up to the whole question of Christ.

Such questions with an alien would surely open up a theological can of worms, but what a conversation that would be! Faith as we know it would either be majestically confirmed, or completely devastated. Am I treading on forbidden ground here?

But this is only conjecture. Given the near-impossibility of a meaningful extraterrestrial encounter, we will never know how such questions would be answered. Meanwhile, I do believe in a God who has personally intervened not only in human history, but also in my own life. That is totally unscientific and unmeasurable. But the existence of God can be reasoned by human intellect. Scripture and revelation confirm and expand upon that reasoning.

I believe my personal experience of grace is proof of God’s existence. My faith community bonds me with others who have had similar encounters with God’s goodness. And, perhaps, it is that spark of divine grace that could inspire an alien traveler to come all the way out here in search of something similar.

As Spock will someday say: “There are always possibilities.”

Note: When I recorded my DOXOLOGY CD a few years ago, I struggled with the album cover. I had composed songs in honor of the Most Holy Trinity, and what image could possibly do justice to the Triune God? By accident (or grace?), I stumbled upon a NASA image on the birth of a star, and I knew I had found my cover.

As Teilhard de Chardin wrote, the universe is singing!

Lent

2011-03-09T11:15:00.000-08:00

Time goes so quickly as one gets older, and it is easy to just get bogged down in the overlapping tasks of our daily work. Sometimes, I feel like a submarine maneuvering through the dark murky abyss. I need to come up for air and light.

Welcome, Lent!

Everybody has a different response to Lent’s invitation, ranging anywhere between enthusiastic embrace, lukewarm acknowledgment, or outright dismissal. Known traditionally as a season of repentance and a time for fasting and self-denial, Cradle Catholics were raised with the concept of “giving something up” for Lent, a custom that started to lean more toward “doing something positive” in the post-Vatican II era.

I’m not here to pass judgment on anyone’s observance of Lent. But please allow me to share why the season is important to me.

First, I’m a Catholic. I like doing Catholic things. I love our liturgy and how the liturgical seasons call us to enter more deeply in the mysteries of Christ. The Catholic church is my family, and so I participate in family traditions. Gladly!

I would be the first to admit that I am not the ideal person I could be. God isn’t finished with me yet! Living alone as a writer and a composer, the temptation is strong to simply be isolated and bury myself in my work. I’m not an alcoholic, but I found out early as a young adult that I do have the drinker’s gene. Living alone and having that gene can be a volatile combination.

So it is good for me to give up alcohol for Lent as an affirmation that alcohol does not control me. When the urge to have a drink beckons, I drink water. And I pray.

Prayer is my “doing something positive” for Lent. It’s so easy to get out of practice when it comes to prayer. Lent calls me back. I look for more opportunities for prayer throughout each busy day. Prayer helps me get more centered, and in that center I deepen my relationship with God.

If I can give up alcohol and deepen my prayer life, that’s a lot! These are reachable and realistic Lenten goals. For inspiration, I look to Jesus’ forty days in the desert.

At that time, Jesus was led by the Spirit into the desert to be tempted by the devil. He fasted for forty days and forty nights. . .
(Matthew 4:1)

So Lent is my time to be led by the Holy Spirit and walk with Jesus in the desert. In that journey of self-denial, I hope to draw closer to God. For me, it’s as simple as that. And God is the simplest of all.

Blessed Lent to you!

===

Ash Wednesday: My Heart Belongs to God

Fasting has spiritual, physical benefits but also points to good works

Hello! Long time no blog!

2011-03-05T23:35:00.000-08:00

Hey, there! I must apologize for not blogging in several months. My life has just been too busy and complicated lately, but I want to use Lent as an excuse to start up again. Expect a new blog next week. Meanwhile, enjoy this video game:

Arcade Games

Here is an old blog I wrote about video games on spiritandsong.com,

Congratulations, San Francisco Giants!

2010-11-01T23:32:00.000-07:00

How sweet it is!

Don't Stop Believing

2010-10-26T22:06:00.000-07:00

In a perfect world, I would still be a Dodger fan. I was born in Los Angeles and grew up bleeding Dodger Blue. I remember the 1965 World Series when the LA team defeated the Minnesota Twins via Sandy Koufax’s legendary pitching. In grade school, the principal actually cancelled classes and let us watch the televised games (yes, World Series DAY GAMES!) in the school auditorium. That was special.

I died with the Dodgers when they lost the World Series to the Oakland A’s in 1974, and to the Yankees in ’77 and ’78. I reveled in Fernandomania in 1981 and entered Nirvana with the team when they finally beat the hated Yankees in a World Series rematch that year.

And then, something totally unexpected: I moved to San Francisco in 1986. I immediately fell in love with my new City, with its compact coolness, breathtaking vistas and edgy vibe. But I still rooted for the Dodgers, albeit quietly. After all, the Dodgers and the Giants are legendary archrivals. No need to alienate my new San Francisco friends.

In 1987, the Giants won the National League Western Division. This was the scrappy team of Will Clark, Robby Thomson, Mike Krukow, Kevin Mitchell, Jose Uribe and Jeffrey Leonard, with Roger “Humm-Baby” Craig as their manager. All my friends were into this team and I was treated to many games and good times. It was then that I fell in love with the Giants, who would continue their success into the landmark 1989 season, when they won the National League Pennant and went on the World Series. The team’s theme song that year was James Brown’s “I Feel Good.” And so we did!

I was actually in attendance at Candlestick Park when the Giants clinched the National League Championship Series against the Chicago Cubs. It was the most exciting baseball game of my life because of the spirit and energy of the fans and the excellence of the team. After reliever Steve Bedrosian got the final out we all went crazy and didn’t want to leave the stadium.

The euphoria in San Francisco was magnified when we realized that the Oakland A’s would be our opponents in the World Series. A Bay Area Fall Classic! But a terrifying 6.9 earthquake took the air out of the Series balloon. The Giants lost to their East Bay rivals in four games. I’ve hated the A’s ever since and have never been to a game there even though, for a few years, I lived just one BART station away from their Coliseum.

The Giants are my team. I’ve lived and died with them for too many years to think otherwise. They represent my coming of age in San Francisco. Even after I moved to Portland, Oregon in the year 2000, I continued to follow the Giants and identify myself as a San Franciscan. When my team finally made it back to the World Series in 2002, I was totally San Franciscan again, much to the annoyance of my Portland friends. Alas, they lost to the Angels. It was enough to give a diehard fan a Cubs complex. But I still believe.

All this is just a way to explain to my Los Angeles friends why I “switched religions” and became a Giants fan. My LA friends have been mystified by my turncoat ways, but they need to understand how much I love the city of San Francisco and how the Giants represent that important time in my life when I lived there. Nothing against the Dodgers, mind you. I still appreciate them and watch their games on TV when they are on. But I am a San Franciscan. ‘Nuff said.

This blog will also hopefully explain why I am beside myself in joy this week at how my Giants are once again in the World Series, this time against the Texas Rangers. Both are underdog teams who played inspiringly against all odds to make it to the top of their respective leagues.

My San Francisco Giants are in the World Series! With Tim Lincecum, Matt Cain, Cody Ross, Aubrey Huff, Juan Uribe, Buster Posey and Brian Wilson, they are the most colorful and offbeat team in major league baseball. And this year, they will prevail!

The team song this year is “Don’t Stop Believing.” Amen!

I was there at AT&T Park for Game 3 of the Division Series! A good friend was getting married in San Francisco the next day, so I waited in line on game night for the Giants' generous Free Section in right field. I got in for three innings!

Turning Pages

2010-08-15T15:26:00.000-07:00

To celebrate the Assumption of Mary at Holy Trinity Parish in Beaverton, Oregon, our pastor, Father Dave Gutmann, requested Schubert's "Ave Maria" at the Preparation of the Gifts, sung by Mark Nieves, our cantor and Director of Music Ministry. I enjoy playing the classics but the only arrangement I could find was an old choral octavo with eight pages. Yes, this meant I had to turn the pages several times while playing a piece that requires much concentration. Mark sang beautifully, as always. Hopefully, my page turning wasn't a distraction.

After each liturgy, several people came up to me and asked how I turn my own pages so effortlessly. I wrote a blog about this very topic on spiritandsong.com in 2008, but it somehow got lost. So here is an encore posting.

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It’s a skill that every liturgical pianist must eventually master: turning sheet music pages while playing. And I don’t mean by using a friend or assistant to turn the pages for you. I also don’t mean xeroxing all the pages of a song and spreading them across the piano music stand. That’s cheating and, besides, we’re not supposed to be xeroxing copyrighted music without proper permission from the songwriter or publisher.

Just the other week, we sang the song "Jesus Christ, You Are My Life" at my parish liturgy. Everyone who has played this song knows that there are two nasty page turns to this Communion Song classic. Check it out at Spirit & Song-2, #349. You have to turn the page in the middle of the verse, then turn it straight back to play the refrain, over and over again. Flip! Flip! Flip! Arrgh!

I’m not usually one to brag, but turning pages is a musical skill of which I am most proud. Believe me, it took years, and I mean years, to master the technique. My choirs often remark how effortlessly I seem to do this, and I am the envy of the younger musicians that I mentor. “What’s your secret?” they often ask me.

Here, at long last, is the Ken Canedo Page Turning Method (patent pending) . . .

1. If using loose-leaf sheet music or octavos, utilize a hole-puncher and insert them into a standard three-ring binder. This will ensure that the flipped pages won’t go flying off into the baptismal font. If using the Spirit & Song Guitar/Assembly edition, be sure to use the spirial-bound version, not the perfect-bound.

2. Don’t be afraid to dog-ear the corners of the pages. This is essential to effective page turning. “But the sheet music will get worn out,” some musicians might protest. So? It’s your music, and sheet music is supposed to serve you in your performance, not the other way around.

3. At the last measure before the page-turn, I sometimes pencil in the next chord that I will play on the following page. This is a technique that I borrowed from Gregorian chant notation, which utilizes this handy preview feature before every page-turn.

4. Practice the song! Yes, even after decades of playing music in church, I still practice, even the old favorites. The more you know the song, the less distracting it will be to turn the page. Practice also the act of playing and turning, without skipping a beat. How is this done? You have two hands, right? Continue playing the song with your right hand and turn the page with your left — or vice versa. Simple as that.

“But won’t the music suffer from the lack of one hand?” you might ask. Not really. Think about it. You’re usually playing with an ensemble, or with a choir or cantor, or with the assembly singing, right? They will carry the song while you let go of one hand to turn the page. Then you just continue as if nothing happened.

That’s it! After a while you will get good at this and start turning pages with your own little flourish. I have actually refined the technique so the page is turned in time to the music. No lie! This sometimes makes my musician friends laugh. Hey, we’re one of the few groups of people who get to “play” for a living!

Successful page turning will help you win friends, influence people and get you a stint on “Stupid Human Tricks” on The Late Show with David Letterman. Only kidding! But it will help you become a better pastoral musician as you give the glory and the honor to the Lord.

===

And now, here is a funny video on piano page turning, featuring the late, great comedian-pianist, Victor Borge.

"Hey Jude" and Me

2010-08-11T14:05:00.000-07:00

Today, August 11, is a red-letter date in my musicianship and, indeed, in my life. On this day in 1968, the Beatles released what would soon be their most iconic hit single ever, “Hey Jude.”

I remember hearing the song on the tinny table radio my brother Keith and I kept in our bedroom. Living in Los Angeles, we were always tuned to either KHJ or KRLA so we could stay in touch with the Top 40, the soundtrack of our youth. The summer of 1968 gave us a few good songs to groove to: “Mrs. Robinson” by Simon and Garfunkel; “MacArthur Park” by Richard Harris; “Jumping Jack Flash” by the Rolling Stones; “Hello, I Love You” by the Doors. Great songs all, but these hits didn’t soothe the troubled spirit of America, which was still reeling from the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr., and Bobby Kennedy, the civil unrest that followed, and the tumultuous Democratic National Convention in Chicago.

I think I first heard “Hey Jude” on KHJ on The Real Don Steele Show, and the DJ introduced “the latest hit by the greatest band in the world” with his usual enthusiastic coolness. I was immediately mesmerized. A new Beatles song was always cause for celebration but this was something altogether different, coming on the heels of the band’s experimental psychedelic era. “Hey Jude” was essentially a simple ballad, stripped of the sitars, mellotrons, and Stravinski-esque orchestras of their trippy Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

I loved the song’s optimism and warmth that reconfirmed for us fans that the Beatles were still making the coolest music ever. It was just the song that America needed to hear in that troubled summer. But more than anything, what really caught my ear was Paul McCartney’s piano playing. The Beatles used piano on their songs before, on “Slow Down,” “Not a Second Time,” and “Good Day Sunshine.” But “Hey Jude” was their first song where the piano, not the guitar, was the featured main instrument. The song was played endlessly by AM radio, and each hearing only goaded me on to one inevitable conclusion:

I must learn how to play the piano!

My family had a nice upright piano in the living room and I dallied on it, like most kids did, by playing “Chopsticks” or “Heart and Soul.” But now I wanted to really learn how to play. So I went to a music store and found the sheet music for “Hey Jude.” I already knew how to read notes because I had been playing the flute since third grade. How hard could it be?

Plenty hard! Now I had to figure out the bass clef and fit both right-hand and left-hand parts together. I struggled mightily, and my halting rendition eventually annoyed my siblings who had to endure my playing over and over again. In frustration from my lack of progress, I slammed the piano cover shut, stormed to my room, and turned on the radio. Once again, “Hey Jude” was playing, well on its way to Number One, a position it would hold for nine weeks. So I listened again, this time with great concentration, and noticed that Paul was not playing what was arranged on the printed sheet music. He was playing simple chords that I identified as F, C, Bb . . .

Ah ha! This was one of the greatest “ah ha!” moments of my young life. I ran back to the piano and simply played the chords that Paul was playing, with the same rhythm and beat he applied. I eventually figured out a way to fit the melody with the chords in the right hand, and play a simple bass in the left hand. Who needed to read the sheet music exactly? All I needed was a knowledge of the chords, a grasp of the melody, and a sense of the beat. More than anything else, I needed to “own” the song in my heart. The ubiquitous presence of “Hey Jude” on the airwaves that late summer ensured that the song would be burned into my subconscious.

And then I did a totally reckless thing: I decided to perform “Hey Jude” at my school’s talent show that fall.

I must have been crazy. I went to Queen of Angels High School Seminary in San Fernando, California. That June, I went home for the summer not knowing how to play the piano. Now, I returned in the fall to my sophomore year, claiming to not only be a pianist but a performer of the year’s biggest song? It was suicide. If I failed, I would be ostracized by a seminary community that pulled no punches in caustic humor and sarcasm.

So I practiced. And I practiced. And I practiced. Some of my classmates who doubted my ability poked their heads into the music room and began to believe I might be able to do it.

The talent show (we called it that oh-so-seminary name, “gaudeamus”) was in October. As I recall, there were the usual duos who sang and played guitar, and maybe one or two pianists who performed some classical pieces. I was the lone sophomore on the bill and when I was introduced a cheer went up from my classmates. I took my seat at the piano, the crowd grew quiet, and I started playing “Hey Jude.”

It was a simply chorded rendition that probably came across as grade schoolish, but I moved the song forward with a good beat. No one sang the vocals; it was a pure piano realization. I really don’t remember if I was nervous. I do recall feeding off the good vibes of performing, of having the appreciation of a listening audience. And then I did something that I probably shouldn’t have done: I played the “Na-na-na-na” ending chorus for the full seven minutes that the Beatles played on the record.

Na, na, na, na-na-na-na.
Na-na-na-na.
Hey, Jude!

Some of the guys were starting to grumble but I was determined to finish the song. Finally, at the last chord, I slowed to a ritardando and stopped. The audience erupted into cheers, perhaps more from relief that the song was over than from anything else. As one last flourish, I pulled a page out of Arte Johnson’s “old man” character on the then-hot Laugh-In TV show and fell off the bench in a dead feint. Now the audience was on its feet.

Not only had I learned to play the piano in a couple of months, not only had I performed a popular hit Beatle song before a discriminating audience, but I also flashed a hint of the showmanship that would serve me well in my later years. It was the greatest feeling in the world!

To this day I still get teased about my piano debut by some of my high school classmates. But my friends know that I went on from that landmark moment to build a career for myself as a musician and composer. And it all began with “Hey Jude.”

Tops

2010-08-06T10:18:00.000-07:00

Eulogy for Terence Patrick “Tops” Canedo
Given by his brother Orlando
Church of the Visitation, Los Angeles
August 4, 2010

Tops was born on a Tuesday, September 20, 1960. He was the sixth of the nine children of Betty and Del Canedo. 5 boys and 4 girls: Kenny, Keith, Desi, Delfin, Teresa, Tops, Celeste, Orlando and Vicky.
Being the only left-handed boy, he was already something special to our mom, not that she didn’t love us all equally. (wink)

Tops was an incredible musician, he could play any instrument he picked up. I’m not talking plucking out “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” but really play the instrument like he’d been playing it for years. I’d been taking drum lessons and I was getting pretty good. I could keep a pretty steady beat. One day I heard someone playing my drum set in my room and I was thinking, “Geez, whoever’s playing my drums is really good.” I opened the door and there was Tops playing like a pro. I had never heard him play my drums before and that was the first time I realized my brother was a musical genius. The same thing happened a few years ago on Thanksgiving. We were celebrating at my sister Celeste’s house and I heard someone playing the piano, incredibly, in the other room. I looked in and there was Tops playing effortlessly, as if he were Elton John himself.

Tops was also a very skilled visual artist. He would always amaze us with his pencil sketches, capturing perfectly the likeness of his many subjects. In high school, he received high praise for a comic strip he created: “Bennie, the Filipino Houseboy Who Didn’t Know He Was a Monkey.”

Tops had a wicked sense of humor. Everything and everybody was fair game. You didn’t want to be the butt of his jokes because his attacks could be relentless. But this is where his songwriting talents began. He started making up hilarious ditties about our neighborhood or something he saw that made him laugh that day. These songs are witty, priceless time capsules of our childhood. Growing up, me and Tops shared a room for many years and we’d stay up late making each other laugh till we fell asleep.

As he grew older Tops refined his artistic skills, adding web design and other computer graphics to his already vast repertoire of skills and talents. He continued to write marvelous songs and record them in his home studio.

His home was the garage at mom’s house that he converted into a nice apartment. Yes, the man had even more talents. He was a great carpenter and handyman, as well. He did all of the upkeep on the house for mom after dad passed away, including taking care of the lawn and garden. He’d do anything for mom. Actually, he’d do anything for anyone in the family. Behind that sharp sense of humor was a very caring and giving person. If one of us needed help, he would be happy to do anything he could.

But the biggest joy in his life is Katya, his daughter who is now 16 years old. Tops has done an incredible job as a parent. There is a lot of Tops in Katya. She has grown to be a strong, caring and giving person just like her dad. And also, just like her dad, Katya has taken to the guitar like she’s been playing for years -- and she has the voice of an angel. I know her dad was very proud of her and she will continue to be a source of pride for her family because of the values and talents that Tops has instilled in her.

When Tops was in the hospital, Katya would visit him every day after school. When he changed hospitals, Katya would take the bus clear across town to visit him after school. I could see the joy in his eyes when Katya entered the room. And although her father was very sick, Katya would sit by his side for hours if she could because she knew it made him happy.

Happiness is something that Tops could give his family, even in his last weeks. Every day I went to see him in the hospital he would find some way to make me laugh, even if he was in extreme pain. Also, during this time, Tops was writing notes to mom in a journal, about his day and how he was feeling. Even when he was in constant pain, he was thinking about the happiness of others. He was thinking about mom and the comfort that these notes would give her. These notes would be his final communication with mom and his last cherished gift to her.

And now, here are some memories of Tops by some of his siblings:

KENNY
When Tops was in 6th grade he became an altar boy at St. Gerard Parish. We used to have Sunday afternoon rosary and benediction and five altar boys were required, but only Tops and I showed up. So I gave Tops a crash course on how to be thurifer, or the server in charge of incense.

So there’s Father Doherty on the altar with the Eucharist. I’m ringing the bell, and poor Tops is behind me, struggling with the chain-link incense burner.

Later, in the sacristy, Tops said, “That holy smoke was going up my nose!” Even Father Doherty laughed.

KEITH (KC)
I bought Tops his first electric guitar when he was 14. It was right-handed and a dark hunter green. Tops took that guitar apart, hand-sanded off the green to its natural wood, stained and varnished it, switched over the pick guard, and re-strung it to “left-handed.” The next time I saw it, I couldn’t believe how beautiful it was.

Tops touched our lives in the same way. He improved all of us. He could alays be counted on to “take a sad song and make it better.”

CELESTE
Jessica and I were driving home last Sunday night from mom’s house. Keith followed in his car because he was staying with us. On the I-405, a van swerved into our lane, hitting us on the passenger side by Jessica. All three cars pulled over to the shoulder.

Keith checked to make sure we were okay, then approached the driver of the van and said, “What the hell are you doing?” He was protecting Jessica and me.

It reminded me of the time my car was hit in front of mom’s house. The two young men immediately started blaming me for hitting their truck and were very angry. Tops ran out of mom’s house yelling, “What the hell are you doing?” The two guys quickly backed down and admitted they were at fault.

That horrible Sunday when Tops passed away, and with help from Keith, I felt Tops was still protecting me.

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Katya thought that it would be nice to read some of her father’s lyrics today. She found a wonderful song, the very last entry in his song notebook:

We draw the lines through space and time
Ultimately in our minds they can disappear
There is a richness in diversity
No prejudice
Showing the world
Creating with each other
A sister or a brother
We become strong in ourselves
What to do with the freedom
Embrace the higher good feeling
Envision thought more
Take action less
You were always valued
Always known
Nothing to fix
Well being is abundant
Don’t follow the old ways if they don’t serve you
Find new ways to live
Find new ways to survive
When the old ways don’t apply

©2010 Terence P. Canedo

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At the Door
A poem by Delfin M. Canedo

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A Mother’s Love
A reflection from Terence’s mother Betty
Read by his brother Keith

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(Closing remarks by Ken)

Thank you, dear brothers. Thank you, Monsignor Gonzales. It is so awesome to have an old family friend celebrate this Memorial Mass. Thank you also to Visitation Choir. My sister Desi sings with them on Sundays and I am so thrilled she is part of the music ministry here. Thank you to Vallimar and Frank Jansen for sharing their talents and representing my OCP family. Lastly, my family thanks all of you for sharing this liturgy of remembrance with us. As I look out on across this church I see many friends of Tops from his workplace and other connection, plus friends of my siblings. I invite you all to the parish center after Mass so we can get to know each other better and continue to share the love we have for Tops.

I wrote a tribute to my brother on the day that he died. It’s rather lengthy and I invite you to read the whole thing on my website. But I would like to close with the final paragraph:

My brother died today, and I will miss him forever. I can never begin to understand why something as terrible as cancer had to take Tops away from us so soon. I can only cling to my faith in God, and to the hope that we will all be reunited with our brother in the life to come. In my spiritual imagination, our brother was warmly greeted at the gates of heaven by our dad. I also like think that God let Tops go straight to work, adding some rock pizzaz to the angelic choirs, tending the divine gardens, and fixing the leaky roof over the Father’s house that has many dwelling-places (John 14:1-6).

My brother died today, but he will live forever in our hearts.

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Amazing Grace sung by ValLimar Jansen, accompanied on the piano by her husband Frank.

Obituary in the Los Angeles Times.

A Mother's Love

2010-08-05T08:37:00.000-07:00

Reflection on Terence Canedo by his mother Betty
Read at the Memorial Mass by his brother Keith
August 4, 2010

My son, Terence Patrick “Tops,” was not just a son to me. He was also my right-hand man and my caretaker. He was a jack-of-all-trades. He did all the repairs around the house and even put up a new roof. He took care of all the chores and tended the yard and planted beautiful flowers for me – sweet-smelling roses and gardenias, the two flowers that he loved, and several other lovely plants.

Terence was a loving, thoughtful and generous son. He took me to several entertainment places such as Disneyland, the zoo and the Pomona County Fair, pushing me in my wheel chair. He treated me to Medieval Times on many occasions. We celebrated Mother’s Day there last May and arranged for their special package that allowed us to sit two rows from the arena where we could almost touch the knights. He took me to see Cirque du Soleil, to Santa Monica Pier, and even to several movies, knowing that I would not even hear what the actors were saying on the screen.

Terence never forgot to bring me long-stemmed roses for Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day and my birthday. He even brought me roses when all my teeth had to come out, just to cheer me up from my pain. Out of the blue, he would often come home with a bunch of flowers for no special reason but to cheer me up.

My son and I had a very special bond and he could often read what was on my mind. This was proven several times, and here are two examples. Sometimes I crave certain foods and wish that Terence would get me some on his way home from work. Sure enough, he would come home with just the food I was thinking of. One day, I ran out of lemons, but it was late in the evening so I wished that Terence would pick me some lemons from our tree before he went to work. When I woke up in the morning to fix breakfast there in the sink were the fresh-picked lemons. I was amazed. When he would do these things I would thank him and tell him he read my mind again. And Terence would just give me a big smile.

While sitting at his bedside at his hospice room on that final night together, it occurred to me that this would be my last opportunity to thank my son for everything he did for me. Running my hands gently over his arm, I said softly, “Terence, I want to thank you for being my son. Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for taking me to Disneyland, the zoo, and the fair while pushing me all the way on my wheelchair. Thank you for taking me to Medieval Times and to Cirque du Soleil. Thank you for the beautiful garden and the new roof. Thank you for taking me to the movies. Thank you for all that and so much more!

“But there is one other blessing for which I am grateful. Thank you for a lovely and loving granddaughter. Katya is my lasting connection with you now. You will always live in my heart through her. I pray that Katya will continue to grow in the love and wisdom that you imparted to her.”

As I sat there beside Terence on that final night, it pained me to watch his agony as he gasped for every breath. I gave up my selfish desire to want him to live. So around 10:00 that night I softly spoke to him. “Terence, I release you, my son. We all release you. Do not fight it anymore. Let it go, my son. Go with God. Jesus is waiting for you. Let it go.”

Still, he clung to life with every labored breath. As I watched him I kept telling him in my mind to let go and finally, around 7:10 on Sunday morning, he stopped breathing. I was filled with two emotions: joy for his being finally released from his pain; and sorrow for losing my beloved son. But the joy exceeded my sorrow. I went to him and kissed his forehead and cheek as I stroked his forehead and said, “You are free, my son. You are finally free! Go with God! Jesus is waiting for you.” My tears rolled freely to his pillow.

So from now on, whenever I smell roses or gardenias around the house, I will think of you and ask, “Is that you, Terence, my son?”

Rest in peace, my son, my dearest son. I love you.

===

My mother is very hearing-impaired and has lived with the challenging effects of Diabetes Type 2 for many years. Please pray for her. Thank you.
-Ken

My Brother

2010-08-01T22:41:00.000-07:00

My brother died today, after a valiant two-month battle with cancer. Always in good health, Tops’ sudden illness blindsided us, his family. We tried to be brave for him and for each other and found in his uncomplaining spirit a strength that inspired us and gave us hope.

My brother died today and I found out in an airplane, that loneliest of venues if one is traveling alone. I was heading home to Portland after a fulfilling week of serving on the leadership team for the We Remember, We Believe youth liturgy conference in Sacramento. The plane was picking up speed and ready to take off when, suddenly, the pilot stepped on the brakes and aborted the flight because of mechanical failure. It was terrifying. As we sat idly on the runway, a text message came in on my cell phone from my youngest brother Orlando.

My loving family. Tops left us at 7:10 this morning. He is no longer suffering. He is free of pain and on his next adventure. Love to you all. –Orlando

I looked at my watch. The pilot hit the brakes at 7:10. Because cell phones are turned off in-flight, I would not have received news of my brother’s death for another hour and a half if we had taken off as planned. The realization of that coincidence (grace?) had me shaking like a leaf. And then, it hit me. Tops was gone.

I cried. Alone. On a plane. I wanted so desperately for someone, anyone to hug me. The only thing I could turn to was prayer. I prayed three Hail Marys for the repose of my brother’s soul.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. . .

My brother died today. We buried our father in 1986 after a long struggle of convalescence from a massive heart attack. We held out hope back then for dad’s recovery, but he was in his 80s and his tired body could take no more. An adult child expects to someday bury a parent. To bury a sibling, a brother with whom one has played with, fought with, cried with, and had adventures with -- it just seems so wrong.

My brother died today. Little things cause me to tear up without warning. I see a little kid on a bicycle on the street and that reminds me of the way Tops used to tag along with me on our many bicycle romps to the beach during those carefree summer days of long ago. The tears come. I turn on the radio while driving and hear the Beatles on the oldies station. Then I remember that I treated Tops to his very first rock concert when he was 15. We saw Paul McCartney & Wings during their 1976 tour. I remember looking back at my little brother as we sat together in the sports arena, his face beaming with joy as we heard our favorite Wings and Beatles songs performed live. I have to pull over and stop the car because I am sobbing uncontrollably.

My brother died today. His Christian name was Terence but we called him Tops, a quirky, unique and oh-so-wonderful nickname. In childhood, we called him Topsy, and I like to think it was because he was the “Top C,” meaning the Top Canedo. He shortened it to the cooler “Tops” when he became a teenager. But mom has another explanation: We called our brother Tops because he excelled in everything.

Tops was a cartoonist, an artist, a gifted musician, a recording engineer, a website designer, a creative gardener, and general fix-it man. His portfolio of hand-drawn and graphic art is beautiful to peruse. If I ever needed a lead guitarist for one of my many pick-up bands, Tops was there, wailing away on riffs that would make Carlos Santana sit up and take notice. If I needed to make a demo recording, Tops was there for me in his garage studio that was set up like a mad scientist’s lab, with makeshift recording equipment that proved just as effective as the professional stuff. Was the roof leaking from the rain? No problem! Tops was up there on the roof, fixing it himself.

But of all his skills and talents, Tops’ greatest gift was to be a caring son, a supportive brother, and a loving parent. His daughter Katya is a sweet high school girl who has inherited her father’s good looks and musical talent. When I was in Los Angeles in June to visit Tops in the hospital, Katya played her guitar for me and sang her favorite pop song. I was overcome by the realization that my little niece had blossomed into a beautiful, talented young woman who is as loving and gifted as her father.

My brother died today, and I will miss him forever. I can never begin to understand why something as terrible as cancer had to take Tops away from us so soon. I can only cling to my faith in God, and to the hope that we will all be reunited with our brother in the life to come. In my spiritual imagination, our brother was warmly greeted at the gates of heaven by our dad. I also like think that God let Tops go straight to work, adding some rock pizzaz to the angelic choirs, tending the divine gardens, and fixing the leaky roof over the Father’s house that has many dwelling-places (John 14:1-6).

My brother died today, but he will live forever in our hearts.

Tops as a young father, holding his new-born baby Katya.

"Fly Like a Bird" Videos

2010-07-17T00:03:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I have blogged. I had a chance to visit my brother Tops in a Los Angeles hospital at the end of June as he awaits treatment for his lung cancer. It was a good visit, and very emotional for me. I will write more about that in a future blog.

What I want to share today are some videos that friends have brought to my attention. Each video is a performance of my song, "Fly Like a Bird." I have come to realize that this is probably my most popular song, but I had no idea how much it has taken flight, so to speak, around the world. God is good!

Each video has a different backstory. Some are by young people who are discovering and developing their musical talent. Others are by choirs who want to share their gifts. One notable video was filmed at a funeral. There is even a performance by a 3 year old boy! As you view each video, be sure to read the comments and background for a deeper understanding of where these artists are coming from.

Watching each video for the first time, I was humbled and amazed that a song I composed could touch so many people. I'm still not quite sure how this song fell into my lap except by the grace of God. I am grateful to all these talented musicians for their heartfelt interpretations. (Note: Some computers might need a minute for the YouTube windows to build.)

Many blessings!
Ken

===

Lutheran Church of the Good Shepherd (somewhere in California)
Funeral Mass of Oscar Torres

Solo interpretation: Robi

Lines and Spaces Music Ministry
Prince of Peace Catholic Church (Hawaii?)

Solo interpretation: Jonathan McNelis

Ukelele! Notre Dame High School, Guam

Queen of Angels Parish Choir

Gandusan (Philippines): home organ

Korean Choir
(Click "Play" on the video player when you go to this page.)

Nolan Siguenza: 3 years old
(You have to be on Facebook to see this video)

One-Word Wednesday

2010-06-23T15:22:00.000-07:00

This blog is specifically for my Twitter followers to explain a trending topic I created called #1wordwednesday. The concept is simple: On Wednesday, just use ONE WORD to express yourself.

Why clutter up the Twitterverse with so much white noise? Why say it in 140 characters when you can just as easily express yourself with one word?

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS about #1wordwednesday

Do the single words mean anything when they are strung together?
Maybe. Usually not. It’s random, dude.

So you’re saying #1wordwednesday doesn’t make any sense?
Duh. What rule says everything has to make sense?

Then why do this? I don’t get it!
Hey, what generation are you? Did your father serve in the Civil War?

Will one person’s word trigger off a round of “word association?”
Sometimes that happens. If it happens, it happens.

But I love talking! I can’t just express myself in one single word!
Discipline, grasshopper! #1wordwednesday is the ultimate stripped-down haiku. Think of it as poetry and you will fly.

Do I have to do #1wordwednesday ALL DAY? (gasp, pant)
Of course not. Feel free to tweet one word all day, just a few times, only once, or not at all. Your choice.

Will #1wordwednesday ever become a Top Ten Trending Topic?
Probably not, unless Justin Bieber @justinbieber or Ashton Kutcher @aplusk join us.

Are there any prizes for best single word?
Why not? All prize donations graciously accepted.

#1wordwednesday sounds silly and stupid.
Thank you very much.

So come along and join a new emerging trend!

The.

Power.

Of.

One.

Word!

#1wordwednesday

To keep track of this trend, be sure to use the hashtag #1wordwednesday when you post your one-word tweet.

New to Twitter? click here to see my profile page.

Already on Twitter? Follow me @kencanedo

#1wordwednesday

My Brother Tops

2010-06-09T15:23:00.000-07:00

Those who follow me on Facebook or Twitter know of my request for prayers for my brother Terence, whom my family has called “Tops” since childhood. A few weeks ago, Tops was rushed to ER for difficulty in breathing. He had a collapsed lung, and blood clots were found near his heart and in his leg. Immediate surgery followed, to drain the excess fluid. It was determined that the cause is cancer, and now Tops must heal from his surgery before he can begin chemo and radiation therapy.

Tops and most of my family, including my mother, live in Los Angeles. I live in Portland, Oregon, and the distance from my family during this time has been difficult for me. Hearing-impairment prevents most of us from using the phone, but we have stayed in touch via text messages and emails.

Without anyone near me whom I can really talk to about this, I turn to writing, the solace and comfort of the solitary writer. Tops is in his late 40s and I’m in my 50s, but in my heart’s memory I always think of the days of our youth. I did not learn to drive until after I was 21, so I got around West Los Angeles on my Schwinn bicycle, and Tops was never far behind, tagging along on his Sting-Ray. And we biked everywhere: to the mall, to the beach and, our favorite spot, the just-developed Marina del Rey.

At the Marina we discovered the Undersea Gardens at Fisherman’s Village and, with our younger siblings Celeste, Orlando and Vicky, explored the wonder of marine life in that mini-Sea World attraction, marveling at the different colorful species of saltwater fish that the aquarium kept on display. Afterward, we always went to Orange Julius to enjoy their delightful frosty treat.

I taught Tops how to be an altar boy, and I still laugh about the first time we served Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament together. The other altar boys didn’t show up, so it was just me as Master of Ceremonies and Tops as thurifer, serving in that role for the very first time. Talk about learning by doing! As the congregation sang “O Salutaris” and “Tantum Ergo,” poor Tops was kneeling behind the priest and me, struggling with the chained incense burner. “That holy smoke just kept coming up my nose,” he told me later.

My brother is one of the most creative persons I know. He is a gifted artist whose penciled drawings always amazed me. He even created his own comic strip about “The Filipino Monkey Who Thought He Was a Boy,” a kind of Curious George set in the Philippines. But it was in music where Tops truly shined. I remember us sitting across from each other with our guitars as I taught him the Beatles’ “Here Comes the Sun.” At the time, Tops was just a beginner. Two weeks later he showed me how he figured out “Mother Nature’s Son” all by himself, just by listening to the White Album. I was stunned.

The Canedo family in 1973. Tops is in front of the lamp and behind our mom.

Tops is a loving father to his teenage daughter, Katya, and has been a caretaker for our mother and her house. If mom ever needs a repair done, she just asks Tops, who also has skills in plumbing, gardening, and roofing. He was doing the Home Improvement thing long before and after that television show was popular. All these wonderful memories fill my mind now as I reflect on Tops’ current medical challenges. I need to get down to L.A. soon, and I will find a way. But at this time, perhaps the best and only thing I can do is pray, and be with Tops in spirit.

I am blessed to have a large group of friends on Facebook and Twitter, and from the various parishes and communities where I have served over the years. When friends ask for prayers for their loved ones or their special intentions, I try to pray for them immediately. Now I am the one asking for prayers and the response has been overwhelming from around the world.

Sometimes people ask, “What good does prayer do? Isn’t it just wishful thinking?” Prayer is a difficult concept to explain to those who do not pray. Soren Kierkegaard, the theologian-philosopher, once said, “Prayer does not change God, but changes us who pray.” In prayer we are not trying to influence God. Rather, we become one with God and one with each other, and in this oneness we find the peace and the strength to move forward and accept God’s will.

For me, prayer is like a safety net that lifts me up at those times when I need it most. Through these prayers, I know I am not alone. I pray for my brother Tops, for healing and for inner peace, that God’s will be done. My family and I are most appreciative of your prayers and the prayers of all our friends far and near. Please be assured of our prayers for you.

Tops drew this picture of the Beatles for me when he was in high school.
What a talent!

Doxology: All Hail, Adored Trinity

2010-05-28T13:49:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of paradoxes involved with the “Doxology” track on my recent album of the same name. The word itself derives from the Greek “doxa” (glory) and “logos” (word) and has come to mean a “short hymn of praise.” In Christian worship, doxology can refer to at least three things:

Gloria Patri: “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit . . .”
In addition to being one of the three most common Catholic prayers (along with the Our Father and the Hail Mary), the Gloria Patri is prayed as the conclusion of each psalm and canticle during the Liturgy of the Hours.

Eucharistic Doxology: “Through him, with him, and in him . . .”
This is the conclusion of the Eucharistic Prayer at Mass, right before the Lord’s Prayer.

“Praise God from Whom all Blessings Flow”
This short hymn of praise is sung as the concluding prayer in many Protestant services and may very well be the most popular English Christian hymn of all time:

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.
Praise him, all creatures here below.
Praise him above, ye heavenly host.
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

When I was gathering ideas for my latest album I was inspired to focus on the Most Holy Trinity. Strangely, even though the Trinity is the central tenet of Christian belief, we just aren’t singing in praise of Father, Son and Holy Spirit at Mass as often as we should. The Trinity is invoked in spoken prayer at least nine times during the liturgy. So why aren’t we reinforcing that in our sung prayer?

Part of the problem is the current trend in liturgy planning for theme compartmentalization: We sing Trinity hymns only on Trinity Sunday, Marian hymns only on feast days of Mary, etc. On the Doxology collection, I wanted to offer more Trinity hymns that could be sung throughout the year.

As the years have gone by, I have grown to realize how important it is to balance contemporary songs with traditional hymnody at liturgy. Doxology offers both, sometimes with a creative breaking down of the barriers. In this spirit, I needed to offer a new arrangement for the traditional “Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow,” from which I derived my album’s title. While doing research on this grand traditional hymn, I uncovered some interesting facts.

The hymn now known as “Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow” was composed in 1674 by Thomas Ken, an Anglican priest. His words were eventually joined to the hymn tune known as “Old Hundredth,” which was originally a song of praise based on Psalm 100. This powerful and irresistible combination of words and melody quickly became the cornerstone of Protestant worship.

But there is a Catholic hymn known as “All Hail, Adored Trinity” that was first sung in the 11th century in Latin under the title “Ave! Colenda Trinitas.” It had an entirely different melody than “Old Hundredth,” and yet the English translation by John Chandler fits perfectly with the Protestant melody. It is unclear whether Chandler intended this in his 1857 translation. In the 1960s, Catholic hymn publishers, buoyed by the ecumenical spirit of the Second Vatican Council, started publishing “All Hail, Adored Trinity” with the Protestant melody and even included “Praise God” as the final verse.

I love the inspired paradox in this song. Protestants call the hymn “Doxology,” a word that has different meanings for different Christian denominations. Catholics now sing their own version of the song with the Protestant melody. And on my album I arranged the song in a way that merges contemporary with traditional: It starts out in a light gospel feel with piano, guitar, bass and drums, and climaxes with brass, full SATB choir, and cathedral pipe organ!

In a way, this hymn is an embodiment of what the Catholic Church teaches about the sacrament of Baptism:

The Church knows that she is joined in many ways to the baptized who are honored by the name of Christian, but do not profess the Catholic faith in its entirety or have not preserved unity or communion under the successor of St. Peter. Those who believe in Christ and have been properly baptized are put in a certain, although imperfect, communion with the Catholic Church.
- Catechism of the Catholic Church #838

In other words, the Catholic Church recognizes as valid the baptism of those baptized in non-Catholic Christian communities who use the Trinitarian formula: “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” This becomes powerfully evident at the Easter Vigil, when many RCIA candidates profess their faith and are not “re-baptized” since their baptism in a Protestant community is indeed a valid sacrament. Such is the unifying power of the Most Holy Trinity!

May the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit inspire us to reflect their divine love in our families, our relationships, and in our continuing efforts for Christian unity.

O Trinity! O Unity!
Be present as we worship thee;
And with the songs that angels sing,
Unite the hymns of praise we sing.
Amen.

Listen to Doxology on spiritandsong.com.

O Spirit of the Living Lord

2010-05-19T00:25:00.000-07:00

As a composer, I love to create lyrics that will hopefully lead the listener or singer to a deeper connection with God. I prefer to work with the inspired word of scripture, the official text of the liturgy or, sometimes, from the experience of my own spiritual journey. Occasionally, I will look to other poets or lyricists for inspiration.

Benedictine Sister Genevieve Glen is a fine example of inspiration, a liturgical poet of the highest quality. Her dedication to God, to her community and to the liturgy is exemplary, and this love shines through in her graceful and grace-filled hymn texts that are published in several award-winning books.

As I was preparing for my Doxology album, I was trying to come up with song texts that would honor the Most Holy Trinity, as a whole and as the individual Persons of Father, Son and Holy Spirit. It was a somewhat daunting task. What could I contribute that hasn’t already been said before? There are already several hymns about the gifts of the Spirit, or about the power of the Spirit, or about the Pentecost event. What I was looking for was a way to sing about the Spirit’s gift of peace.

My piano has a long angled “desk” that allows me to write on manuscript paper as I compose or arrange. In the pre-Doxology days, this desk was piled on high with scribbled and crumpled notepaper, old hymnals, and several different translations of the Bible. One book caught my attention: Sister Genevieve’s hymn-text book, Take With You Words. I flipped through it and was immediately taken by one of Sister’s sacred poems.

O Spirit of the living Lord,
You blow across the waiting world;
You cleanse and heal earth’s wounded face
with balm poured from the cross of grace. . .

Such simple yet powerful imagery! I took that text and tried several different approaches, realizing that I needed to compose a melody that would convey the gentle spirit of both the text and the lyricist. I opted to forego a contemporary style and composed something more traditional and choral. Above all, the melody had to be as simple and as moving as the text.

My reputation as a contemporary composer sometimes masks my love for the traditional sacred music of the Church. After all, I grew up with Gregorian chant and sang choral hymnody in the choirs of my youth. This hymn has a traditional feel, but the piano chording lends a contemporary air. On the recording you will hear the flute playing a bit of “Veni, Creator Spiritus,” during the instrumental break, another nod to my love for ancient chant.

In the studio we were blessed to have as our lead singer Jenny Pixler, who is herself a gentle soul gifted with the voice of an angel. Everything just came together beautifully for this hymn. We sang “O Spirit of the Living Lord” at my parish for Ascension Sunday and for Pentecost and the biggest thrill of all, for me, was to hear my parish friends sing these inspired words at liturgy. Thank you, Sister Genevieve. And thank you, Holy Spirit.

Listen to O Spirit of the Living Lord on spiritandsong.com.

Of Jazz and the Sacred, Part 2

2010-04-27T23:05:00.000-07:00

Dave Brubeck and Paul Desmond

As mentioned in my previous blog, the performance of jazz requires much discipline and perseverance from the aspiring jazz musician. Although it sounds like they’re making it up as they go along, improvisation is built on exhaustive confidence in the ability to play jazz scales, patterns and chords in all twelve keys.

This is the reason I love jazz and admire jazz musicians. Their mastery of jazz theory is such a joy to experience, both in live performance and on a recording. I think this also helps to explain why jazz didn’t catch on as a musical style in mainstream Catholic liturgy.

Folk music was assimilated into sacred music because it is so accessible. True to its name, folk music is the music of the people, played on a popular and ubiquitous instrument (guitar) whose music theory is basic and easily learned.

Jazz is similar to classical music in the way its effective performance requires the musician to have advanced knowledge of the respective discipline’s theory. This limits the pool of musicians who are skilled enough to perform jazz at liturgy. (Sidebar: Sadly enough, this also means that there are fewer qualified organists today.)

Another consideration is that the structure of jazz doesn’t fit tidily into the structure of Roman Catholic liturgy, where the primary musical instrument is the voice of the gathered assembly, praising God in song. For example, the music for the liturgical processions has a specific ministerial function to fulfill at the Entrance, the Gospel, the Preparation of the Gifts, and Communion. At a typical parish liturgy, priest, ministers and assembly cannot stand around idly at these processions, waiting for musicians to finish a variation on a hymn tune. Having said that, the Prelude before liturgy and the post-Communion Song of Praise certainly lend themselves well to prayerful improvisation.

But jazz is not limited to improv. Jazz theory can be expressed beautifully in chords and harmonization, in the bending blues notes of a hymn melody, in the rhythm and dynamics. In the wake of the Second Vatican Council’s reformed liturgy, there are a handful of songs that have effectively utilized elements of jazz theory:

The music of the late Father Clarence Rivers and the late Leon C. Roberts, inspired by the motifs of the African-American spiritual and gospel music;
Ernest Sands’ “Sing of the Lord’s Goodness,” with its 5/4 rhythm that invokes Dave Brubeck;
James E. Moore, Jr.'s “Taste and See”;
Mass of Glory, with its blues-influenced melodies;
and several other compositions.

There have been examples of jazz liturgies that hearken more to the “high art” approach of the Mass settings composed by Bach, Mozart and Palestrina. These fall under the umbrella of performance art rather than liturgy, but they certainly lift the listeners’ minds and hearts to God:

Vince Guaraldi at Grace Cathedral
Dave Brubeck’s Mass to Hope
Mary Lou Williams: Mary Lou's Mass

As a working Catholic composer and musician, I welcome and incorporate elements of jazz theory at liturgy whenever appropriate. For example, in the aforementioned “Taste and See,” composer James Moore left a lot of space between the lines in the verses and the refrain for tasteful improvisation on the piano. Whenever we sing this contemporary classic at my parish I enter into it in a prayerful manner that allows me to improvise without being distracting. That is the key element to successfully utilizing jazz in mainstream liturgy. The music must serve the Eucharist and not the other way around. Let jazz be a humble servant at worship and it will shine all the more brightly.

There is a “mystery” to jazz that can help us to enter into the mystery of the divine. To the non-musician, jazz is an adventurous music that leads the listener to anticipate where it is going. Jazz can lead us to God. That makes jazz both cool and holy.

(With thanks to Peter Ostlund for his thoughts and insights.)

“O Triune God” - Of Jazz and the Sacred

2010-04-20T21:55:00.000-07:00

I love jazz because it is so cool, in the purest sense of that word. Uniquely American, jazz is our indigenous music, the progeny of an African-American musical experience that eschewed traditional, classical and popular forms. With jazz, notes are syncopated and bent in a bluesy way, harmonization is freed from the confines of Top 40 pop, the rhythm swings, and melodies take off via creative improvisation that renders the original idea almost unrecognizable. What emerges is an art form that literally liberates the musician and the listener to embrace a much larger musical universe.

To the untrained ear, jazz might seem like a cacophony. What have they done to that melody? This surely can’t be the song they started playing. I think about what Miles Davis did with “Some Day My Prince Will Come,” that innocuous and iconic song from Snow White, the Walt Disney cartoon. The original melody is there in the beginning, played in the oh-so-mellow way that only Miles can do. But then he and his band launch into variations that seem to take the fairy tale song into directions that neither Disney nor the Brothers Grimm ever dreamed possible.

Jazz. You either love it or you don’t get it. That has always been the appeal of jazz for me. I grew up a rock musician with some classical training, which is not as contradictory as it sounds. As a child of the 1960s, I was formed by the music of the Beatles, the Doors, Cream, Led Zeppelin, and other rock groups that seemed to revel in the rebellious abandon of the Boomer generation. This in-your-face brashness was tempered for me by my involvement in sacred music, particularly the traditional music of the Catholic Church: Gregorian chant, polyphony and hymnody.

As a teenager I was especially taken with the groundbreaking 1968 album Switched-On Bach, in which Wendy Carlos performed the great classics of Johann Sebastian Bach on the then-new Moog Synthesizer, giving “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” and the Brandenburg Concertos a radical realization that seemed so right for the late 20th century. Because of this album I started listening to traditional performances of Bach, Beethoven, Mozart and so many other classical masters, learning something from each composer along the way.

Rock, classical and folk music fed me in my teen years, but another style of music definitely caught my ear because of the Charlie Brown television specials. There was something so mesmerizing about watching Snoopy dance with abandon to the jazz riffs of Vince Guaraldi. I bought the Charlie Brown Christmas album and listened to it repeatedly, even in July. Jazz was definitely in a world unto itself, so different and so cool. I was just starting to get good on the piano, playing in the styles of Paul McCartney and Elton John. But I wanted to also play like Vince Guaraldi and couldn’t figure out how.

Classical musicians have difficulty understanding how a jazz musician can improvise so freely and easily. The performance of a jazz song is different every time. Although jazz musicians do read music — “lead sheets” that feature only melody and chords — this is a far cry from the precisely notated octavos and scores used by classical musicians. Jazz musicians don’t read classical scores but they do know music theory, in their head and in their heart. A jazz musician-in-training has to spend endless hours playing scales and chords IN ALL TWELVE KEYS, memorizing patterns and harmonic approaches that will eventually equip them to improvise and comp (play the basic support for improvisers) with other jazz musicians. It’s a code, a secret code that most people have no patience to learn. Did I mention that all this theory has to be memorized?

I have been trying to crack the jazz code for most of my adult life, with little success until quite recently. It has taken years of listening to records and CDs, attending jazz concerts, studying jazz theory, and even taking a jazz piano course at a community college, and I still don’t have it all down. I admit, I don’t have the time or patience to memorize scales, patterns and chords IN ALL TWLEVE KEYS, but I know enough now to incorporate jazz theory in my sacred music. And that has been my goal all along.

In the 1970s I discovered a marvelous album called Vince Guaraldi: The Grace Cathedral Concert. In 1965, as part of the experimentation in liturgy that was sweeping the country, Bishop James A. Pike and the Rev. C. Julian Bartlett, rector of the cathedral of the Episcopal Church in San Francisco, invited the Vince Guaraldi Trio to perform a jazz Mass at the landmark church. I couldn’t believe my ears. Here was the sacred text of the Anglican liturgy, almost a word-for-word match of the Roman Catholic liturgy, sung by a cathedral choir that was accompanied by the hottest jazz pianist of the decade. This jazzy merging of traditional and contemporary assaulted my soul like nothing before or since. I must have played Guaraldi’s rendition of “Adoro Te Devote” (“Humbly We Adore Thee”) over and over until the record grooves wore down. I was smitten and promised myself that someday, I would make sacred music like this.

Alas, I never became the accomplished jazz musician of my dreams (I’m still working on it) but I did become a liturgical composer. And although I have had success over the years with both liturgical and youth ministry music, I still had a yearning to bring jazz to the liturgy. That opportunity came in 2008 as I was planning tracks for my upcoming Doxology CD.

Doxology was something of a risk for me. People generally know me from the gospel-inspired Mass of Glory and from such upbeat youth ministry songs like “Bless the Lord” and “Holy Spirit.” Doxology would be a way to showcase my love for both contemporary and traditional sacred music, with modern renditions of “O Sanctissima” and “All Hail Adored Trinity.” It was now or never. I realized here was my opportunity to do something with jazz.

For many years, I had been playing a jazz arrangement for the Easter hymn, “Ye Sons and Daughters,” which is based on a haunting medieval chant melody. Notated in modern hymnals in 3/4 time, the tune can be expressed as a jazz waltz and, with the right jazz chords, can really soar. I just needed new words to reflect the Trinity theme of Doxology. Like manna from heaven, I received in the mail new Trinity lyrics by the dear Sister Genevieve Glen, OSB, a noted hymn writer. She used “Ye Sons and Daughters” as a template for her new hymn, “O Triune God.” I thanked Father, Son and Holy Spirit for this gift and submitted my jazz arrangement to the OCP editors, who gave me an enthusiastic green light.

What a jazz combo we assembled at Dead Aunt Thelma’s Studio! I was blessed to work with stellar Portland session musicians: Tim Ellis on guitar, Phil Baker on bass, Mike Snyder on drums, Clark Bondy on saxophone, and the incomparable jazz pianist, Rick Modlin. That summer afternoon session is forever burned in my memory. I gave them the charts and told the guys I wanted something that was both cool and sacred. They delivered in just a couple of takes, staying true to the original hymn tune while improvising creatively. All that was left was the vocals.

I almost fell on the floor when our producer Kevin Walsh informed me that he had successfully recruited Rebecca Kilgore to sing the lead. Are you kidding me? Rebecca Kilgore, the famed jazz singer? I had not realized that she lived in Portland and was rubbing my eyes as she walked into the studio. She nailed it in just a few takes, of course. “Ye Sons and Daughters” is basically a repetitive chant, and Rebecca respected its simplicity while infusing it with her own jazz sensibility.

Does jazz have a place in the sacred liturgy? Do we dare blend the sacred with the secular? I wrote a whole book on this topic: Keep the Fire Burning. Although the book is about the revolution of folk music in liturgy, I believe the same principles apply to jazz. In my next blog I will write more about that. In the meantime, please click here and give “O Triune God” a listen. I hope it helps people expand their horizons on sacred music. Yes, God is very cool indeed.

Rebecca Kilgore and me

Teachers

2010-03-30T20:30:00.000-07:00

The death of Mr. Jaime Escalante, teacher extraordinaire, got me thinking about the teachers in my life, and the way they inspired me to come out of my shell and explore new worlds and and experiences.

Teachers are the real heroes of our culture. They are grossly underpaid and seem to derive their fulfillment from their dedication to their students. How many of us owe our lives and our livelihoods to their selflessness?

In the immaturity of my youth, I probably didn’t say "thank you" to my teachers as I should have. There are a handful of educators who really inspired me and shaped me, and this is probably just as good a time as any to express my gratitude. I have no idea where most of these fine women and men are, or even of they are alive. But somehow, through our cosmic interconnectedness, I hope they can know of my gratitude and appreciation.

Miss Anderson was my second grade teacher at Stoner Avenue School in Los Angeles. She was young, pretty and so affirming. She encouraged me to be my best in everything.

Mrs. Holzer was my fourth grade teacher, also at Stoner Avenue. I had her for two semesters at a time when I was bullied by mean classmates, and she encouraged me to always strive for excellence, no matter what anybody else thought.

Sister Maria Goretti, SNJM: I was a latecomer to catechism classes and I made my First Communion in third grade CCD at St. Gerard Majella Parish in Los Angeles. As a public school boy, the Church was a whole new world that intimidated me. Sister Maria Goretti regaled us “unchurched” kids with marvelous stories about Jesus and Mary and the saints and helped me look forward to my First Communion with a fervor that totally transformed my childhood.

Mrs. Pat Presti was my fourth grade catechism teacher at St. Gerard’s. Her faith, her devotion, and her personal interest in me moved me closer to God.

Mr. Thomason was my music teacher at Marina del Rey Junior High School in Los Angeles. I played flute in his orchestra, back when public schools still had the funds for such programs. His dedication to music and to young people, and his good humor, inspired me to pursue music as a career.

Father Peter Diliberto, CM: I felt called to enter Queen of Angels High School Seminary in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles, a whole new world from my public school experience. Father Diliberto was an excellent teacher of math, a subject I hated in junior high. Somehow, Fr. Diliberto pulled me through the haze of algebra and had me mastering the quadratic equation through two fun semesters. I can still do fractions and proportions to this day.

Monsignor Carl Gerken was music director at Queen of Angels when I was just learning how to play the organ and piano. His enthusiasm for life inspired me to take up liturgical music as my vocation.

Father Peter Nugent also taught music at Queen of Angels and at St. John’s College where I attended after high school graduation. Fr. Nugent was dedicated and no-nonsense, but also friendly. I learned to love Bach and Beethoven and Mozart from his music history classes.

Father Ron Wilkinson, CM: Going off to college in the 1970s was like setting foot on another planet. Fr. Wilkinson taught Freshman writing at St. John’s and he helped me to find my voice as a writer. I never would have even thought of myself as a writer if not for Father’s constant encouragement for all the little short stories and humorous essays I was submitting every week. He also helped me discover the wonderful works of John Steinbeck. My life was never the same after a whole year of Father Wilkinson.

Father George Niederauer (now the archbishop of San Francisco): Before he cultivated his reputation as a statesman for the Catholic Church, Father Niederaurer was a professor of English literature at St. John’s who taught his classes with dry humor and disarming wit. From him I learned of Tolstoy and Faulkner and Hemingway. We read Waiting for Godot and The Great Gatsby and saw the movie The Pumpkin Eater, and my life was all the richer. Later, in post-graduate school, he taught Pastoral Theology and I learned to love the Church even more.

There were several more teachers who inspired me, and the years have played havoc on my memory. I was diagnosed with hearing impairment in first grade and Stoner Avenue School had a special program for “special needs” kids. I honestly cannot remember her name, but I had a once a week hearing-specialist teacher through my six years of grade school who taught me lip reading and conversational skills in such a fun way that I never thought of myself as “handicapped.” I am deeply indebted to this wonderful woman who prepared me to cope with a world that wasn’t always receptive to a near-deaf person.

To all these teachers and to all who guided me though my childhood, my teen years, and my college years: Thank you! I wish I could tell each of you how grateful I am for putting up with me and inspiring me. I owe my success to my dedicated teachers! God bless you all!

Palm Sunday: So Too Must I Die With Him

2010-03-27T11:48:00.000-07:00

How quickly the crowd turned against him! On Sunday they were shouting at the top of their lungs, "Blessed are you! Hosanna in the highest!" Now, just five days later, there were cries of "Crucify him!" Yet, this man had done nothing wrong.

The first day of Holy Week perfectly captures this dichotomy. Originally called "Palm Sunday," various liturgical publications now refer to it as "Palm-Passion Sunday," "Passion Sunday (Palm Sunday)," or "Palm Sunday of the Lord's Passion." So, what exactly do we celebrate on this day?

By whatever designation, Palm Sunday is the final Sunday of Lent and the beginning of Holy Week. Although not a part of the Triduum of Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday's Easter Vigil, Palm Sunday certainly points to those three days of commemoration of the Lord's passion, death and resurrection. Indeed, for the many people who will not participate in the Triduum, Palm Sunday is their only liturgical celebration of Christ's suffering and death. It affords them an opportunity to complete their Lenten preparation by placing the following Sunday's Easter event within the proper context of Jesus' ultimate sacrifice.

I strongly encourage you to participate in one or all of the Triduum liturgies. These are the most important liturgical celebrations of the year, and I will write more about them in a few days. But if you do attend the Good Friday liturgy, please do not think of it as a rehash of Palm Sunday. The suffering and death of Jesus is too rich and too profound to limit to one day of remembrance. Each has its own emphasis, its own spiritual message for our prayerful consideration. . .

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For the Sake of Christ

2010-03-24T11:34:00.000-07:00

“For the Sake of Christ” has become my most requested song this year. Many people have asked me how I composed it. Here is the story that first appeared on spiritandsong.com.

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Arleen Dunne was an energetic person, full of life and ideas and enthusiasm. She was the Director of Religious Education at St. Monica Church in Moraga, California when I became middle school minister there in 1995, and I had the pleasure of working with her on the parish staff. Her daughter Shannon was one of our cantors, and I always looked forward to doing music ministry with her at our Sunday liturgies.

The mid-1990s was something of a golden age at this parish. Our youth ministry was beginning to take off, reflecting the changing demographics of this region in the Diocese of Oakland. Once thought of as a quiet "retirement" community, Moraga was suddenly bursting at the seams with children, necessitating a building boom in local schools. In the midst of this growth, Arleen coordinated a thriving religious ed program for the elementary children, recruiting and training teachers, scheduling overlapping class sessions in our small parish plant, and supporting the parents in their role as the primary religious educators of their children. All this was done cheerfully, and Arleen's smile and laughter were contagious.

Arleen also made time to be a good wife and mother, and the parish watched Shannon blossom as an outstanding singer, growing up from high school musicals and liturgy to a burgeoning career in show business. Arleen and her husband Frank were proud of Shannon and all their children.

One day, the unthinkable happened. Arleen was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's disease. Also known as amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, ALS is a progressive neurodegenerative disease that affects nerve cells in the brain and the spinal cord. The affects in Arleen were gradual but noticeable. As her body moved toward muscular paralysis, Arleen lost her ability to speak. But she did not let this disease prevent her from carrying out her responsibilities as our DRE. Arleen communicated through a wonderful portable voice synthesizer that "spoke" the words as she typed into it. Her teachers continued to be supported, First Communion was celebrated with great joy, and the children grew in their faith. Over the next year and a half, Arleen charged into her ministry with a zest and cheerfulness that struck many of her friends as saintly. ALS was not going to stop her from bringing children to Christ.

I was personally inspired by Arleen's spirit, and moved by how her loving family dealt with these new challenges. I wanted to give Arleen something to show her my appreciation and love. While praying the Liturgy of the Hours, I came across this reading for Friday Morning Prayer, Week III:

I willingly boast of my weakness, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore, I am content with weakness, with mistreatment, with distress, with persecutions and difficulties for the sake of Christ; for when I am powerless, it is then that I am strong.

— 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

I looked up the passage in the Bible to see it in context. Preceding this passage, St. Paul gives this memorable piece of wisdom:

He [the Lord] said to me, "My grace is enough for you, for in weakness power reaches perfection."

Tears streamed down my face as I realized that this passage was personified in dear Arleen. I went straight to my piano and this song came out almost immediately. I started with a chant mode on the words "For the sake of Christ," and the song basically wrote itself after that.

By the time I finished the song, Arleen was in the final stages of ALS. She had to step down from her daily DRE duties, and the parish staff covered for her. I went over to her house and played my new song for her. Afterward, we embraced through our tears. God's word spoke powerfully to us at that moment. It would be the last time I would ever see Arleen in this life.

"For the Sake of Christ" became a Lenten favorite at St. Monica, and a fitting remembrance to a dedicated parishioner and dear friend. I am now long gone from that marvelous parish, but whenever I play or hear this song I think of Arleen and how God worked so powerfully through her to bring children to Christ.

For when I am powerless, then I am strong.

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Here is a link to the song on spiritandsong.com. That's Bob Halligan, Jr., of Ceili Rain, singing lead vocal. This version appeared on the Spirit & Song, 2nd Edition CD-library. I later recorded the song myself for my 2009 Doxology album.

The video above features the Doxology version. I have no idea who created this beautiful video but I am grateful.

Growing Up with the Dameans

2010-03-08T19:46:00.000-08:00

Note: This reflection first appeared a few years ago in my old artist blog page on spiritandsong.com.

The exhibit area in the convention center was the usual mix of color, sights and sounds, with music and videos blaring out of hundreds of booths, costumed street teams passing out flyers, and countless people bumping into each other. This was the scene at Atlanta in October 2005 at the National Catholic Youth Conference. I had just finished playing bass for the concert of my friend, Angus McDonell, and was looking around for members of my youth group. Suddenly, directly in front of me, there stood a vaguely familiar person.

“Ken!” said the smiling man as he extended his hand to me. “Gary Ault.”

Did I hear that name right? I had to look at his nametag to be sure. Gary Ault! A little older and greyer, perhaps, but still tall, with the same trim collegiate-styled hair and winning smile I remembered from his record album covers. It’s been, what? Over twenty-five years since I last saw him at the Los Angeles Religious Education Congress? Of course, we embraced.

Gary Ault! A founding member of the Dameans, one of the pioneer singing groups of the Catholic Church’s first generation of contemporary composers. In the late 1960s, the Dameans stood out among the increasingly crowded field of Folk Mass artists. Whereas most of those artists were individuals, the Dameans were a group: five seminarians from Notre Dame Seminary in New Orleans. How well I remember their names, prominent on the credits of the songs that were beloved by so many of us young Catholics of the time: Gary Ault, Darryl Ducote, Buddy Ceasar, Mike Balhoff, and Dave Baker.

I can still remember when I got my first Dameans record, Tell the World. There they were on the back cover, five handsome young men dressed in the same uniform that I was wearing at Queen of Angels High School Seminary in Los Angeles: white shirt, thin black tie, and black pants. Their photo could have been taken from our yearbook in the way they held their Folk Mass instruments of three guitars, upright bass, and tambourine. I showed the album to my classmates and we had a good laugh. It seemed that all seminarians looked alike back then, right down to the regulation close-cropped hair. But what we heard on the record and saw on the sheet music wasn’t something to laugh at. In fact, it was the answer to our prayers.

By 1969, the Folk Mass was no longer a novelty in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles. Although we were one of the last dioceses to finally use guitars and folk music at liturgy, once we got official approval the Folk Mass spread like wildfire, especially in the seminaries. Our early repertoire consisted of the fun catchy songs of Ray Repp, Joe Wise, Paul Quinlan, Sebastian Temple, Peter Scholtes, and a few others. We loved these songs, with their immediately singable melodies, but we wore them out very quickly, too. The Folk Mass repertoire was limited. After all, it had only been three years since Ray Repp was first published. Thus, we experienced an unprecedented phenomenon in Catholic liturgy: the constant need for new music. In our youthful minds, the Dameans’ music was heaven-sent.

“Tell the World” was an upbeat song that seemed to capture the enthusiasm for the Spirit that framed those times. We had fun singing in rounds with “Shout Out Your Joy.” “All That We Have” was the perfect Offertory Song. “Look Beyond,” the song that introduced me to the concept of the major seventh chord, was a seeming rarity: a folk Communion Song that actually spoke of bread and wine as it reflected on the Eucharist passage of John 6:

Look beyond the bread you eat. See your Savior and your Lord.
Look beyond the cup you drink. See his love poured out as blood.

In addition to their prolific songwriting, the Dameans had a great vocal blend. Their intricate five-part harmonies were reminiscent of the Lettermen or the Beach Boys. What a cool sound for liturgy! It was folk music with choral harmonies. We seminarians ate this stuff up.

As a budding liturgist it was great to grow up with the Dameans. When I moved on to St. John’s College in Camarillo, Bob Hurd taught me Gary Ault’s song, “The New Creation.” It was an outright rock song, with that stunning C-G-D power chord riff. But more exciting were the lyrics, which spoke of social justice:

Hear the cry of the needy, your brothers each one.
Too many people talking and nothing gets done.
And you better hurry!
Come along to the new creation . . .

Social justice in a liturgical song! That was groundbreaking in 1971. I wished more liturgical songs would address that theme. As my seminary classmates got closer to our priestly goals, the Dameans had one more song for us that we sang at ordinations and first Masses everywhere: the memorable “In My Name”

I call you from your brothers;
I send you in my name.
I’ll light you with my Spirit’s fire,
to burn as my love’s flame.
I call you for your brothers
and send you in my name.

Seems like there was always a Dameans song that spoke to me at various stages of my teen and young adult life. From them I learned more about music, chords, and songwriting in general. You can imagine my thrill when I finally saw them at the Religious Education Congress in Anaheim, California in 1972. They were giving a music workshop on Youth Day, and the large auditorium was packed with over 1000 hyper teenagers. Gary and company managed to keep the young crowd entertained, singing their terrific songs while telling stories that helped us to enter into deep and meaningful prayer. I met Gary a few times after that. One fond memory I have is from the 1978 Congress, when Gary introduced me to the “new” Gary of the group, a young and eager Gary Daigle, who was apparently fresh out of high school. I thought to myself, “Dang! How’d this kid get so lucky to join the Dameans?” Gary Daigle replaced Dave Baker, who had to move on to other commitments in his ministry.

As time went on liturgical songwriting matured to embrace more scriptural lyrics and ritual awareness, and the Dameans’ music also matured. Remember Your Love was their most successful collection for liturgy and ritual. But their early folk music certainly paved the way. Before Tom Booth and Matt Maher, before Bob Hurd and even before the St. Louis Jesuits, there were the Dameans. We must never forget the enthusiasm and dedication they brought to what would later become known as contemporary Catholic music.

All these memories flooded my mind as I shook hands once again with Gary Ault at the Atlanta NCYC. He was there to chaperone a group of teens from his parish in New Orleans, and I invited them to check out a concert that Jesse Manibusan and I were giving later that day. I saw them in the crowd and was excited to perform in front of someone whom I considered as my composer role model. After our set, Gary was gracious in his compliments. He also had an idea.

Gary was teaching religion at a special Catholic high school in hurricane-damaged New Orleans. This school was special because it was more than just a school; it was SEVERAL high schools combined together out of necessity because of Hurricane Katrina. Gary invited Jesse and me to come to New Orleans to perform for his students, who needed encouragement and support as they dealt with the many issues of hurricane recovery. How could we refuse such an invitation? That gig in New Orleans turned out to be the most memorable performance of my life.

TO BE CONTINUED . . . not here, but in SPIRIT SPOT on spiritandsong.com in the blog, Rummel T: Hurricane Survival Story.

Hear the Dameans’ music on my latest Keep the Fire Burning podcast, either on iTunes or via RSS subscription.

Keep the Fire Burning: The Folk Mass Revolution available at Amazon.com.

Writing: The Creative Process

2010-02-22T10:04:00.000-08:00

John Steinbeck used to write his books in longhand with a pencil. Can you imagine? Sometimes my typing on the computer can’t keep up with how fast I think. How did Steinbeck deal with that delay between thought and medium? On the other hand, there’s something to be said about creating with hands-on earthy tools.

For East of Eden, Steinbeck utilized a huge blank book, writing thoughts and letters (mostly to his editor) on the left side while writing the actual book on the right side. The journaling helped shape his ideas for characters, plot and settings. And when he got stuck on the book, he would return to the journaling to hash things out. It was like a creative dialogue with himself. The problem, of course, was the necessity of having to type up his manuscript for publication during the pre-digital age. But by the time of East of Eden, Steinbeck was already a famous and established author, with Grapes of Wrath and other books under his belt. He occasionally mailed this workbook to his New York editor, who had a secretary type it up, then sent the workbook back to the author. Perks of success, but the mind boggles at how much the future Nobel laureate trusted the US Mail with the only copy of his masterpiece!

Writing on paper. I’m not sure if I can do that anymore, specifically because of the need to type everything again in a word processor. But I do write songs the old-fashioned way, sitting at my piano with manuscript paper and pencil in hand. I can’t seem to get myself to write or arrange music directly from keyboard through MIDI and into notation software. I don’t want to record myself playing a new song idea either until the song is fully developed. No, I treasure the feel of pencil, eraser and manuscript paper all in front of me at my piano. I even constructed a “desk” that floats above my keyboard specifically for the purpose of writing. (See photo above.)

Yes, I save everything, every scrap of paper for every single musical idea, all filed away in a “half-baked” folder. Sometimes I write a song where the words are terrific but the melody not so. A few months later, I might pull it out and realize, hey, these lyrics are in rhyme and meter! Let’s put a better melody to it. Voila! New song!

The songwriting process is more concise than the book writing process. I go back again to Steinbeck’s inner dialogue with himself, how journaling influenced the book and vice versa. With two major books on my writing agenda, maybe it’s good idea to talk with myself in this way.

Journal of a Novel: The East of Eden Letters

Mountain of God

2010-02-15T14:54:00.000-08:00

With all the skiiing and snowboarding at the Winter Olympics, I am reminded of my youth group at St. Monica Parish in Moraga, California. Here is a reflection that first appeared a few years ago on the old artist blog page on spiritandsong.com.

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There’s something about a mountain that conjures up a lot of mental images: rustic beauty; a vacation getaway; a challenge to be climbed and conquered. For teenagers in a youth group, “mountain” means an important high school ritual: the annual ski and snowboard trip! As youth minister at St. Monica Parish in Moraga, California, I learned early that this was probably the most important activity of the year for my teens. Kids who were only minimally involved at church suddenly came out of the woodwork when the ski trip was announced.

So there I was at Boreal Ski Resort at Lake Tahoe, talking amicably with the other adult chaperones in the lodge as our 40-plus teenagers happily charged down the slopes. Suddenly, a couple of girls burst in looking for me. “Ken! Ken!” The adult group looked up with concern. “It’s Nick!” Of course, it had to be Nick.

Nick was one of those “minimally involved” teens. Not really a regular at our weekly youth ministry meetings, he always showed up for lock-ins, summer workcamp, and ski trips. Dark-haired and slender, Nick was a gregarious and outgoing risk taker who always kept a wise-guy shell around himself. Every group has a disruptor, and I could always count on Nick to tell the most outrageous non-sequitur jokes during group discussions, or give a silly intention as we went around the circle during prayer. What had he done now?

Nick came limping in, his arms around two other boys as they walked him slowly into the lodge. “He tried to do a Jonny Moseley,” they told me, referring to the young man who had just won a gold medal for his outrageous hot-dogging ski maneuvers at the recent Winter Olympics. Nick apparently attempted a 360 aerial and found out quickly that he was no Jonny Moseley.

We sat him down and it became obvious that Nick needed medical attention immediately. His limbs weren’t broken, but he complained of a pounding headache. By now, a large group of our teens had heard about Nick’s escapade, and they swarmed into the lodge, worried about their friend. The injured youth put up a macho front in front of his peers, but he was clearly in pain. I went with Nick to the hospital in the lodge ambulance. The staff had put him in a neck brace and each bump on the mountain road made him wince.

Gone was the wisecracking Eddie Murphy persona. Nick was now just a scared kid. Realizing that I had to call his parents, Nick looked at me with pleading eyes and said, “Go easy when you talk to my mom. Don’t scare her, Ken. Please!” I promised him I wouldn’t as they took him in for x-rays.

I called Nick’s mom, who was trying her best to be calm, but her anxious voice betrayed her concern. As she gave me insurance information, I assured her that I would be with her son the whole time in the hospital and would keep her informed.

Returning to ER, I found Nick lying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. I had never seen him so quiet and helpless. I decided to take a page out of his book and started cracking jokes, asking him if he enjoyed the attention of all the pretty nurses. Nick gave a slight smile and we started trading quips and one-liners over the course of the afternoon. Eventually, we prayed together, a Hail Mary and a spontaneous prayer for protection and good health.

“I’m sorry, Ken,” he said after we prayed. I had never seen Nick so serious before. “I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble.”

“It’s all right, Nick. Just take it easy and relax. All your friends in our youth group are praying for you.” He smiled and grasped my hand.

Eventually, the medical staff came in, examined Nick, and showed us the x-rays. Nick’s neck wasn’t broken, thank God; only badly sprained. We had a long bus trip home and the doctor gave me some painkiller pills that the patient was supposed to take every half hour or so. Nick and I were both relieved that his injury had not been serious. We also had a new understanding of each other. After two hours together in a tense, uncertain situation, Nick gained a new respect for my commitment to youth ministry. I learned there was more depth to this young man than he was letting on.

On the bus trip home, Nick sat in back with his friends as the conquering hero. I stayed in front because I didn’t want it to look like I was “baby-sitting” him. Occasionally, I went to check on him and give him his painkillers. The laughter that came from the back was reassuring.

Finally, after a long three-hour journey, we were back at the parish, and Nick’s mom was there to greet us. She was relieved to see her son was all right. After shaking hands, Nick walked gingerly with his mom to their car. Then he turned around and walked straight back to me. Macho Nick was not known to be an affectionate guy, but he came back to give me a hug.

“Thanks for everything, Ken,” he said, smiling. “I’ll see you next week at youth group.” And he did come back every week after that. No longer a “minimally involved” teen, Nick became an active member of our group. We had been to the mountain, taking on the simple challenge of getting to know each other better.

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Note: I wrote the song Mountain of God with Marc Cavallero and Dan Brennan, who were part of our youth group and on this ski trip. Those were fun times! The awesome teens of St. Monica youth ministry of the 1990s are all grown up now, into their lives and careers and families. I still stay in touch with a few of them on Facebook. God is good!

Old Man Salinger (A Tribute)

2010-01-28T16:45:00.000-08:00

If you really want to hear about it, The Catcher in the Rye is responsible for more first-person, angst-driven, teen-oriented literature than any other piece of fiction out there. And don’t get me started on movies, television, plays and other forms of prostitution that feature a young rebel protagonist all hell-bent against the establishment, you know what I mean? Bunch of phonies. I hate phonies.

Rock songs are okay. I wish we had Green Day, Third Eye Blind and The Offspring back in the 1940s. Those guys know angst. All we had when I was a kid was that goddam Sinatra who made the bobby soxers scream and swoon like nobody’s business. “Frankie! Frankie!” I’m not kidding. I’ll take Green Day’s “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” any day over Ol’ Blue Eyes’ “I’ll Never Smile Again.”

You know what’s the best thing about Catcher in the Rye? No movie version! That means no dilution of Old Man Salinger’s pure vision, if you want to call it pure. All the hacks came knocking on JD’s door, from Sam Goldwyn and Billy Wilder, to Steven Spielberg and Tobey Maguire and even Marlon Brando, for chrissake. JD just laughed in their faces and told them where to stuff themselves. That killed me.

So all these high school English teachers have ol’ JD to thank for giving the world a literary classic their students have to actually read instead of taking the coward’s way out and watching the movie. Yeah, there’s always the Cliff Notes version, but everybody knows Cliff Notes suck, you know? Once teenagers started actually reading about my adventures they entered into the magical world of books. No lie! JD, take a bow!

Anyway, Old Man Salinger did it his way. Sure, the guy was reclusive as Big Foot, but what rule says an author has to prostitute himself with marketing and merchandising? With absolutely no media adaptations to speak of, Catcher in the Rye still sells 250,000 copies a year! I’m not kidding. And the book is on just about everybody’s list of Top 100 novels of the 20th century, including Time and Modern Library, if that means anything to you.

The fact of the matter is, Catcher in the Rye succeeded solely on the basis of its merit as good literature. That’s it! What more could a writer want?

So rest easy, JD. Me and Phoebe and DB and Allie and Mr. Antolini all exist in the collective subconscious of several generations of teenagers, because of you! That’s all I’m going to tell about it.

Respectfully,
Holden Caulfield

PS: I’m still wondering where all the ducks in Central Park go when winter hits. That kills me.

Catcher in the Rye author hailed

Unpublished masterpieces? JD Salinger's secret safe

What is it about The Catcher in the Rye? (Here's to you, JD Salinger)

Spot-on analysis of Holden Caulfield's unique "voice"

Just-released Salinger letters offer revealing glimpse of reclusive author

John Fischer: The Ecumenical Bridge Man

2010-01-11T22:10:00.000-08:00

It was 1970 and I was a junior at Queen of Angels High School Seminary in San Fernando, California. The Folk Mass had just been approved in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles and we seminarians were tearing through the exciting new repertory like hungry high school boys at a barbecue cookout – which, come to think of it, is exactly what we were.

Please understand that our archdiocese was apparently one of the last in America to jump on the Folk Mass bandwagon. So my first two years in high school and, in fact, my entire childhood’s church music experience, was with the organ and with Gregorian chant. Oh, we were singing in English, make no mistake about that. Our hymnal was the popular Peoples Mass Book published by World Library of Sacred Music. Our favorite hymns included such titles as “Where Charity and Love Prevail,” “Sing Praise to Our Creator,” “Star Upon the Ocean,” “O King of Might and Splendor,” “Keep in Mind,” and other organ standards of the 1960s. But once we were empowered with the Folk Mass everything changed.

I actually started learning to play the organ as a sophomore just so I could be musically involved in the liturgy. In junior year I decided to learn guitar as well. That early music was fun and easy to perform: Bro. Gregory Ballerino’s “Come, Let Us Worship;” Peter Scholtes’ “They’ll Know We Are Christians;” and, of course, the flood of songs that flowed from Ray Repp.

But we seminarians quickly tired of playing just four-chord songs that seemed like they were written for children. We wanted something cooler and groovier. Hey, it was the early 1970s! We wanted to sing music that spoke to us like the secular music of the time, when the Beatles were singing “Let It Be,” and Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water” was soaring over the airwaves. Yeah, we tried to sing those songs at Mass but got in trouble for it with our music director.

So one Saturday a bunch of us musically-inclined students piled into the seminary van and attended a “New Repertory” workshop sponsored by the archdiocese at Mt. St. Mary’s College. I was hoping to actually see some composers like Ray Repp or Paul Quinlan but they weren’t available. Instead, we got some local parish music directors (adults) who led us in mostly organ-driven repertory. My classmates were visibly disappointed although, as a school organist, I was secretly enjoying myself.

Then, a group of high school musicians took the stage with guitars, bass and percussion. The guys suddenly sat up and took notice, but I’m not sure if it was because of the music or because of the cute girls who were in the group. (Um, did I mention we were high school seminarians?) Anyway, after all these years, I forget where this group was from but when they launched into a song called “The Road of Life” my buddies and I beamed at each other with approval. This song had a good rockin’ groove and awesome lyrics about looking for meaning in life.

The group leader took the mic and told us about the composer. “We like to sing the songs of John Fischer. He’s a new composer for FEL Publications and he rocks.” I could see some of the older priests and nuns in the audience starting to get uncomfortable. “Here is one of our favorite songs by Mr. Fischer.” They started playing a song in 3/4 time that had a very interesting chord sequence.

Have you seen, Jesus my Lord?
He’s here in plain view.
Take a look, open your eyes.
He’ll show it to you.

It wasn’t really a fast song but it wasn’t slow either, with an undeniably catchy groove that I later in life came to identify as gospel-blues. But that song was it! The guys and I were sold. We snatched up the Fischer songbooks and records and rode the van back to the seminary, eager to try out this new music at Mass.

“Jesus, My Lord” was an immediate hit at the seminary, although one English professor challenged me to explain the antecedent to “it” in the refrain. I was at a loss to give an explanation and, frankly, I didn’t care. I was just happy to have some cool new music to play and sing at liturgy.

I composed my very first Mass setting, Liturgy of the Fire of Love, for our graduation Baccalaureate Mass. But the highlight of that liturgy was our baccalaureate song, John Fischer’s “The Road of Life.” We joyfully sang it for the Sending Forth Song and even marched out of the church while singing, guitars and all.

Walkin’ down the road of life,
got a cause to sing.
Happiness is in my blood,
my guitar will ring . . .

I later found out that John Fischer wasn’t even a Catholic, and I thought it was so cool to sing a Baptist composer’s songs at Mass. As the liturgy evolved and grew over the decades, Fischer’s songs were no longer sung at Catholic liturgy, the fate of most of the original Folk Mass repertory. But I did listen to Christian radio and was always pleased to hear John Fischer’s latest songs. He was apparently doing well in the new contemporary Christian music field and I was happy for him.

Fast forward several years. In the early 2000s I decided to write a book about the Folk Mass, mostly because nobody else had done so yet; and also because I had actually lived through a lot of those heady days, not only as a young musician but also as a staff person for FEL Publications, a job I landed in my college years almost by pure luck. I had the monumental task of gathering research material, tracking down the composers, and interviewing them. One of my biggest thrills was finding and interviewing Ray Repp, and perhaps I will write about that in a future blog.

But there was one favorite composer who I really wanted to connect with: John Fischer. He was mostly forgotten in Catholic circles. And, as I started digging through the Internet, I found that Fischer’s Protestant audience had no inkling of his roots as a Catholic Folk Mass composer. There was a good story here of a man who bridged both sides of the Christian community. I eventually found Fischer’s email address and wrote to him to see if he was interested in an interview. To my grateful surprise, John sent me his phone number.

I called a couple of times, nervous about what I would say to this composer whom I had admired for so long, but I only got his answering machine. The third time was the charm. John answered the phone himself, happy to speak with me. I flipped on my tape recorder for a revealing hour-long conversation.

You can read what I wrote about the man on pages 94-95 of Keep the Fire Burning. But one thing I didn’t include was John’s surprise that Catholics remember him at all.

“Are you kidding, John? We sang ‘Road of Life’ at my high school graduation. Many of my parishes sang ‘Trust and Obey’ and ‘Death Is Swallowed Up.’ And ‘Jesus, My Lord’ became a theme song for the ecumenical Cursillo retreat movement in San Francisco in the 1980s.”

I closed our conversation with thanks, not only for the interview but for all he has given to the Church – the larger Church that includes all Catholic and Protestant Christians. John was very moved, and that’s another reason I wrote the book: to let those original Folk Mass composers know how much we remember them and appreciate them.

Hear John Fischer’s music on my latest Keep the Fire Burning podcast, accessible in three ways:

Keep the Fire Burning is available on Amazon.com.

More information on John Fischer from his own website: The Fischtank

The Visit from the Spirit of Christmas Past

2009-12-23T10:16:00.001-08:00

Sorry I've been away for a couple of weeks. Out-of-state visitors, holiday events, and numerous choir rehearsals have kept me more than busy. Here is a new Spirit Spot blog I just wrote for spiritandsong.com.

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I try to avoid the secular trappings of Christmas. During December I prefer to focus on Advent, praying the poetry of Isaiah and Zephaniah, marveling at the message of John the Baptist, and singing the gorgeous Advent music. But “secular Xmas,” as I like to call it, is so overwhelmingly pervasive, hitting us like a sledgehammer on TV commercials, in newspaper ads, and at the shopping mall. I avoid getting a Christmas tree until December 24, and then I leave the decorations up until the Baptism of the Lord in January. Despite my best Advent intentions, I still have Christmas parties to attend, gift shopping to do, and Christmas music to rehearse with my choirs.

My friends think I’m weird and don’t understand my Christmas hesitancy. “Bah, humbug” is indeed a tempting response. It’s easy to be cynical.

So there I was, alone in my seasonal tug-of-war at the local grocery store, which just happened to be hosting a “Breakfast with Santa” event that morning for children. I balked. No way was I going to walk in on yet another “secular Xmas” happening. But I really needed eggs and bread so into the store I went. I was immediately charmed. . .

Click here to continue reading on www.spiritandsong.com.

Alternative Christmas Giving

2009-12-04T14:15:00.000-08:00

So let me get this straight. During the month of December we rush around in frenzied shopping sprees at crowded malls to buy gifts for our loved ones with money that we don’t have. Meanwhile, our loved ones are doing the same. Then, on Christmas morning, we give these carefully selected treasures to these loved ones who, in turn, gift us with their treasures. As presents are opened we get to practice our well-honed acting chops:

(Gasp) “Honey, you shouldn’t have!” (Translation: Really, you shouldn’t have.)

“How did you know?” (Translation: I didn’t know I wanted this either.)

“Just what I always wanted!” (Translation: NOT!)

Kisses and hugs are exchanged as holiday cheer ensues. Several hours later, we are home alone with our newly acquired pile of gifts, trying to figure out what the heck we will do with all this stuff. More than likely, our loved ones are thinking the exact same thing as they stare at their presents. Then, in January, the credit card bills arrive. Pass the aspirin, if you can afford it.

There's so much stuff from Christmas that gets accumulated and crammed into closets, so much money spent, so much debt incurred, and so many feelings hurt or disappointed. In response, there is great temptation to become like Scrooge and just say, “Bah! Humbug!”

Okay, maybe I’m being a tad cynical, and I apologize. Certainly, the idea behind our seasonal gift exchange is beautiful, but the commercialism that surrounds it leaves at least this blogger with a bad taste of rancid eggnog in his mouth. Is there a better way?

I think it helps to remember that Christmas is Jesus' birthday. What present am I giving to Jesus on this day? Isn't that what the whole gift exchange idea is about? Is there some way I can honor Jesus, express my love for my family and friends, cut down on consumerism, and help those less fortunate who are so close to Jesus' heart? All at the same time? The answer is a huge resounding "Yes!"

Several years ago, a friend introduced me to the concept of "alternative giving." The concept is simple. Instead of stressing out at the mall or spending oodles of money on postage trying to beat the mailing deadline for your present, you simply give a monetary donation to a worthy cause in the name of the person you are gifting. Give your loved one a card expressing that a donation was made in his/her honor. The organization to which you are donating often has gift cards ready-made that you can use for this very occasion.

The friends that I have gifted in this way are often overwhelmed by the sheer simplicity of this concept. It's so easy and beautiful, and so giving. In the process, Jesus is honored by your remembering those in need.

Here are a few website links to get you started in exploring the wonderful concept of alternative giving. Do a Google search and you will find several more. And don't forget your local food bank or soup kitchen, or the Salvation Army.

Mercy Corps: Mercy Corps exists to alleviate suffering, poverty and oppression by helping people build secure, productive and just communities.

UNICEF: UNICEF is the driving force that helps build a world where the rights of every child are realized. We believe that nurturing and caring for children are the cornerstones of human progress.

CARE: CARE is a leading humanitarian organization fighting global poverty. We place special focus on working alongside poor women because, equipped with the proper resources, women have the power to help whole families and entire communities escape poverty.

Heifer International: Exciting concept! Choose a meaningful gift to give a loved one and help children and families around the world receive training and animal gifts that help them become self-reliant.

Catholic Charities USA: Working to reduce poverty in America

Food for the Poor: Food For The Poor is the number one international relief and development charity in the United States, feeding 2 million poor everyday.

So Merry Christmas! And God bless us, everyone!

Get the Door!

2009-12-02T00:18:00.000-08:00

Note: I have used this old story for years in various ministerial settings. I last posted it in my old artist blog page on www.spiritandsong.com.

Advent! What are we waiting for? For whom do we wait?

+++

There once was a man named Charles who received a very special telephone call.

“Hello!” said Charles.

“Hello, my son,” said a warm and compelling voice on the other side.

“Who is this?” Charles asked.

“Jesus.”

“Jesus. Yeah, right,” said Charles, skeptically. “Prove it.”

And, as he had done long ago with the Samaritan woman, Jesus proceeded to tell the man everything he had ever done. Convinced, Charles was beside himself in awe.

“My Lord! To what do I owe the honor of this phone call?”

“My son, I want to visit you today.”

“You want to visit me? Really?” Charles became very excited. “How about tonight for dinner?”

“I cannot tell you the exact hour,” said Jesus, “but yes, tonight for dinner would be fine.”

“Great! Do you need directions?” Charles immediately felt foolish. “Oh, sorry, Lord. I’m sure you already know where I live. See you tonight.”

“Blessings, my son.”

And with that, Charles hung up the phone. Jesus was coming to visit him for dinner! He then looked around his modest home in horror. The place was a mess and there was nothing in the fridge. There was so much to do! It was already 1:00 in the afternoon. He barely had enough time to clean up, go shopping, and cook.

Jesus was coming! Charles gathered the newspapers and magazines that were lying all over the house and finally put them in recycling. He threw his dirty clothes in the washing machine and started vacuuming and dusting. He placed the finest linen on the table and set out his best china.

Jesus was coming! The grocery store was overcrowded and Charles was getting impatient while waiting in the checkout line. He had already decided that Jesus might enjoy a tasty lamb stew with potatoes and an assortment of vegetables. He also took care to choose the best bread and wine he could find.

Jesus was coming! Charles was ready to burst and tell everyone in the market who his guest would be for dinner, but then he thought, “No, I better not. I want Jesus all to myself.”

Jesus was coming! Nothing was too good for his Lord! The lamb stew was simmering slowly and Charles was rolling the dough for an apple pie when he heard a knock on the door. “Who could that be?” Charles thought as he looked at his watch, annoyed. When he opened the door he was aghast to find a homeless man at his doorstep, wearing tattered clothing and looking quite unkempt.

“Please sir,” said the homeless man. “I have not eaten in several days and I smelled the delicious cooking from your kitchen. May I trouble you for something to eat?”

Charles could not believe the nerve of this total stranger coming to his door and asking for food! “I’m sorry, but I’m a little busy right now. I have in important guest coming for dinner tonight. Why don’t you go over to the mission downtown? They’ll have something for you.” And before the homeless man could even respond, Charles closed the door on him. It was almost four o’clock.

Jesus was coming! Everything was cooking and baking and now Charles was ironing his best shirt when he heard another knock on the door. “Now what?” he thought as he looked at his watch, annoyed. When he opened the door he was surprised to find a little girl who must have been four or five years old. She looked like she was going to cry.

“Please, mister,” said the little girl as she clutched a tiny doll. “I’m lost. I can’t find my house or my mommy.”

Charles sighed deeply. Why was this happening to him? He wasn’t comfortable around children and he didn’t know what to do. “Look,” said Charles to the girl. “I don’t know how I can help you. Why don’t you go next door and ask them?” And the little girl walked away crying as Charles closed the door on her. I was almost five o’clock.

Jesus was coming! Everything was now in place. The table was set, the delicious food was on the table in covered warmers, the candles were lit and the wine was uncorked. It was six o’clock and Charles was ready for a wonderful dinner with his Lord. Then he heard a knock on the door. He practically ran over to greet Jesus and was shocked to find that his brother was on his doorstep! His brother with whom he had not spoken for over fifteen years!

“You!” said Charles, angrily. “I told you I never want to see you again for as long as I live!” And he slammed the door in his brother’s face!

The evening went on as Charles waited for Jesus. Six o’clock passed. Seven o’clock passed. The candles were melting down and the food was getting cold. Eight o’clock passed, as did nine o’clock. Charles couldn’t believe it. After all his trouble to get ready, Jesus had stood him up. Finally, at ten o’clock, the phone rang.

“My son,” said the warm and compelling voice on the other end.

“Oh, Jesus!” said Charles with a hurt tone. “Where have you been? I spent all day getting ready for your visit. I set out the finest meal for you. And you didn’t even have the decency to show up!”

“My son,” said Jesus. “I did visit you, three times! But you never opened the door.”

Advent: Antidote for Xmas

2009-11-30T22:06:00.000-08:00

We can’t avoid it. Christmastime is here! I struggle with the secular celebration of Xmas every year and have to work really hard not to become depressed by it. During this month of December I am going to reprint some Advent Spirit Spots that I wrote for www.spiritandsong.com. I hope to also write some new reflections for this year. This first one appeared in 2007.

= = =

First of all, my apologies for using "Xmas,” but the rudely abbreviated word perfectly describes the secularization of our sacred holy day. "Christmas" is the Christian celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. "Xmas" is the commercialized secular shopping season that roughly begins in mid-October when the department stores start putting Santa and snowmen on the shelves alongside the jack-o-lanterns and witches.

Xmas doesn't let up. It is directly aimed at our pocketbooks and not at our hearts, despite the treacly sentimentality of cloying holiday songs and animated TV specials that push all the right emotional buttons. And don't get me started on the plethora of heavy-handed toy commercials that are cleverly designed to elicit pangs of consumerist desire in toddlers too young to understand why the nation's economy depends on a successful holiday shopping season. Black Friday, my rash!

Is it any wonder that Ebeneezer Scrooge was so grouchy at this time of year? If this is all Xmas is about — Bah! Humbug, indeed!

There is an antidote to the overbloat of Xmas. It's called Advent, surely the most underappreciated of the liturgical seasons. It has to compete with Xmas, after all. But that's precisely why I love Advent, which is so deliberately counter-cultural.

Had your fill of shopping malls, traffic stalls, and consumer frenzy? Come to church during Advent and, during this Year C, be inspired by the prophets Jeremiah, Baruch, Zephaniah, and Micah. Savor their poetic imagery:

In those days, I will raise up for David a just shoot . . . (Jeremiah)

Jerusalem, take off your robe of mourning and misery; put on the splendor of glory from God forever . . . (Baruch)

Fear not, O Zion, be not discouraged! The Lord, your God, is in your midst, a mighty savior . . . (Zephaniah)

He shall stand firm and shepherd his flock, . . . for now his greatness shall reach to the ends of the earth. He shall be peace. (Micah)

Losing your sense of balance with all the holiday things-to-do? Come to Advent liturgy and heed John the Baptist's cry:

I am baptizing you with water, but one mightier than I is coming. . . He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire . . .

Are the dazzling Christmas lights of your neighborhood giving you headaches? Come to liturgy on Sunday and feast on the simplicity of the four candles of the Advent wreath.

Can't stand another chorus of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas?" Come to Mass during Advent and sing “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,” a reassuring name that means "God is with us."

Looking for real joy, unfettered by the false joys of consumerism and excess? Hear the gospel on the 4th Sunday of Advent and marvel at the power of God at work in those who have faith:

When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the infant leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth, filled with the Holy Spirit, cried out in a loud voice and said, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. . . Blessed are you who believed that what was spoken to you by the Lord would be fulfilled.”

So, let's not allow Xmas get to us this year. Come, celebrate Advent with your Christian community. Let us truly prepare the way of the Lord not by our shopping and our holiday stress, but simply by preparing our hearts.

Click here to read my original Spirit Spot that was written to reflect Liturgical Year A.

Over the River and Through the Woods

2009-11-24T10:22:00.000-08:00

Stress, reluctant encounters, unresolved issues, and guilt-induced motivations — no, this isn't the annual therapists convention. I'm talking about the holidays.

Please don't get me wrong. Thanksgiving and Christmas are surely joyful occasions. The Keeper of Holidays couldn't do better than to schedule the one-two punch of a blessed harvest festival just one month before the celebration of the birth of Christ — as well as Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, solstice, and other winter commemorations. And the proximity of two major holidays helps solve the problem of how to fairly divide holiday time between two sets of in-laws.

But whereas the winter holidays seem ideally suited for the smaller nuclear family unit, holiday stress seems to grow exponentially as children become adults and start their own families, transforming holiday celebrations into extended family reunions.

I remember a classic Thanksgiving episode of the 1990s television sitcom, Rosanne. Rosanne's parents and her husband Dan's parents are crammed into the Connor family's already tight dining area with their three children, Rosanne's sister Jackie, and some assorted cousins. Rosanne's mom still has issues with her daughters and complains loudly about them in the presence of Dan's mom, who can't stand her in-law counterpart. Meanwhile, Dan still has unresolved issues with his dad. Old arguments get revisted. Insults fly. Feelings get hurt. Then Rosanne, who has been busy with the details of cooking, tosses the turkey platter on the table with a loud bang and says acerbically, "Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!"

I think it was Charlie Brown who said to Linus: "You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your relatives."

Unfortunately, unresolved family issues have a way of bringing out the old sibling rivalries and parental resentments. Is it any wonder that the holidays are the most stressful time of year?

It doesn't have to be this way. Instead of waiting until the holidays to see your original family unit, how about maintaining contact with them throughout the year? Is there an unresolved issue with your sister? Visit her or call her in July and have a heart-to-heart conversation. Don't get along with your dad? Spend time with him during spring break. The point is to try and diffuse things before they come to a head during the winter holidays. Will forgiveness help? Ask for it or grant it.

Do not forget the power of prayer. Ask the Holy Family for a special blessing at this time. Pray to God for patience and strength. And, for heaven's sake, stay away from alcohol during family gatherings. Alcohol has a way of loosening tongues and inhibitions that can only make a bad situation worse.

Yes, these might be naive suggestions. That's the optimist in me. I realize that some family situations might be beyond repair. If so, God be with you. Let us pray for each other.

===

This blog is a partial reprint of Ken's Thanksgiving Spirit Spot of 2007. Click here to read the whole blog on www.spiritandsong.com.

Podcasts: Listening to Music on a Printed Book

2009-11-21T10:54:00.000-08:00

Keep the Fire Burning: The Folk Mass Revolution is a book about music, so it already has the inherent problem of all books in the genre of music history: One cannot “hear” the music just by reading about it on the printed page. This problem is enhanced for my book because I wrote about a body of music that is, for the most part, not performed or sung anymore. Additionally, although much of the music of the Folk Mass was recorded in the 1960s, most of those recordings are no longer around, and even if they can be found they are not in a convenient listening format.

Yes, those of the Boomer generation will certainly “hear” the referenced music in their heads. The very reason I chose the title Keep the Fire Burning was because it is a line from Ray Repp’s ubiquitous song, “Here We Are.” Boomer Catholics who were involved in their parish Folk Mass automatically “hear” the song’s next line when they see the book’s title:

Keep the fire burning,
kindle it with care,
and we’ll all join in and sing . . .

But what about younger readers, or people who wouldn’t touch a Folk Mass with a ten-foot collection basket?

When I started writing Keep the Fire Burning six years ago I wrestled early with this problem. I considered the idea of making a CD but, with multiple publishers and composers involved, the permissions process alone would have been prohibitive. I also thought about inserting the printed music in the book itself but only notation-reading musicians would be able to read that.

Meanwhile, as I continued my research and writing, I set about on the challenging search for the original Folk Mass records on eBay and other Internet LP sites. Yes, this meant I had to buy a turntable if I wanted to actually hear these historical tracks.

21st century technology eventually offered a solution in the form of the podcast, which really took off around 2005. With the right software and hardware, anybody can host their own radio show on the Internet. After digitizing the tracks of my Folk Mass records, it became a simple matter of presenting this music in an appealing and accessible podcast. Luckily, copyright laws allow me to freely podcast this music since most of it was released before February 1972, which is apparently a legal line of demarcation in the recording industry. I was also able to find public domain speeches of President Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Jr., Pope John XXIII, and other historical figures, allowing me to place the music within the context of its times.

As websites became do-it-yourself affairs, that allowed me even greater freedom to post my Folk Mass podcasts on the Internet, first at www.kencanedo.com. The only thing left to do was to offer listeners the most convenient way to subscribe to my podcasts so they don’t have to wait for a file to download or be unaware of a new podcast’s release. I am happy to announce that the Keep the Fire Burning podcasts are now available for free in the following convenient formats:

iTunes (simply click on “Subscribe” and each new podcast will automatically upload into your iTunes library)

RSS subscription feed

I just posted the latest podcast about 1968, a pivotal year for a decade that brought about much upheaval in the world and in the Church. Future podcasts will focus on the later chapters of the book, including the music of John Fischer, Jack Miffleton, Carey Landry, and the Dameans. There will also be a sampling of Ray Repp’s final FEL album, The Time Has Not Come True, and Sebastian Temple’s rarely heard The Universe Is Singing, the composer’s fascinating treatment of the theology of Teilhard de Chardin. You won’t want to miss these.

After I complete the podcast for the final chapter, I plan to continue doing podcasts for special events, such as CJ McNaspy’s 1967 Carnegie Hall concerts of Folk Mass artists. I will also produce some podcasts that focus on particular composer albums that I didn’t have to time to do in the first round of podcasts. As they say in the business, thanks for listening, and stay tuned!

Twitter Updates from US Bishops Meeting: Deliberation on the Liturgy

2009-11-17T15:08:00.000-08:00

The annual gathering of the United States Bishops is always newsworthy, attracting a sizeable segment of the Catholic and secular media. But this is the age of Twitter. Never before have the bishops’ deliberations been followed in such detail.

At this week’s Baltimore gathering, the bishops have been discussing the sanctity of marriage, medical ethics, pro-life concerns, the Campaign for Human Development, and other issues. As a Catholic composer, I have been most interested in their discussion on the liturgy. This week the bishops voted on the final piece of legislation on a decade-long dialogue between the American church and Rome on the English translation of the Roman Missal. If the bishops approve the proposed adaptation, it goes back to Rome for final promulgation.

In a nutshell, the current American translation of the Mass does not conform completely to the original Latin. This is epitomized by our use of “And also with you” as a response to the priest’s greeting of “The Lord be with you.” The proposed new translation – “And with your spirit” – conforms better to the original Latin, “Et cum spiritu tuo.”

Bishop Donald Trautman of Erie, Pennsylvania, has been leading an eleventh-hour campaign to table the bishop’s approval because of concern for the “ungrammatical” elements of the new English translation.

Here are the “tweet” reports of today’s liturgy deliberations from Twitter, as posted on @usccbmedia. Despite the 140-character limitation of each tweet, one can easily envision how the drama unfolded. I will let these tweets speak for themselves and will comment on them in a future blog.*

usccbmedia: Deliberation on liturgy begins by addressing Trautman concern about antiphons.

usccbmedia: Trautman asserts that Rome is overstepping rights of the Conference to consider this part of the translation.

usccbmedia: Trautman moves to have graybook from ICEL on antiphons before recognitio be issued.

usccbmedia: Serratelli answers Trautman's charge. Paprocki is addressing the Code of Canon Law.

usccbmedia: Paprocki has taken the meeting into Latin.

usccbmedia: Paprocki says Trautman has raised a legitimate point. George says this question should be discussed later. Trautman says no.

usccbmedia: George urges that the bishops move on to the work before them. Trautman asks to speak again.

usccbmedia: Trautman notes that his motion is still alive. "Not to complicate matters further, but ..."

usccbmedia: Serratelli is introducing Proper of Saints, noting this is bishops' last chance for input.

usccbmedia: Passage of this, as other items, requires 2/3 vote of Latin-member bishops.

usccbmedia: Serratelli notes that a decade-long process is nearing an end.

usccbmedia: Bishop Sklba stands to note good work of Serratelli and committee, but flaws of translation.

usccbmedia: Sklba suggests that welcoming of traditional Anglicans will mean our translation is unfavorably compared to Book of Common Prayer.

usccbmedia: Niederauer notes that everyone can find something to dislike here. Blaire notes that other English-speaking countries have passed this.

usccbmedia: Bishops voting on Proper of Saints.

usccbmedia: 88% percent of bishops approve (195).

usccbmedia: Serratelli presents Roman Missal Supplement.

usccbmedia: There are no amendments to this document.

usccbmedia: Silva notes that saint whose feast is celebrated in Hawaii is eligible to be on national calendar.

usccbmedia: Serratelli and George say this can be considered under US Proper discussion.

usccbmedia: Serratelli presents translation of Commons.

usccbmedia: In arguing inclusion of Hawaiian saint, Silva notes several saints on calendar who lack the "national cultus" his saint presumably lacks.

usccbmedia: Bishop Rosazza notes that English-speaking bishops seem to be held to tighter translation than, say, the French.

usccbmedia: Bishop Trautman re-raises point about Rome stepping in on the antiphons. Serratelli asks that current text be addressed.

usccbmedia: Impromptu amendment on mentioning Native Americans accepted on the spot.

usccbmedia: US Propers goes up for vote. Bishops approve.

usccbmedia: US Adaptation of Roman Missal passed. Serratelli calls this historic moment. George quips, "Not yet."

usccbmedia: Serratelli: Perfection will come when liturgy on Earth gives way to worship of God in Heaven.

usccbmedia: Serratelli speaks on importance of catechesis on translation. Says time of implementation of translation will be determined by recognitio.

usccbmedia: George thanks head of ICEL for his work on the translation.

usccbmedia: George says Trautman issue will still be addressed, as Conference may have right to translate antiphons.

usccbmedia: Says USCCB could sue Congregation in Apostolic Signatura, or USCCB could say they approve Congregation's help with translation.

usccbmedia: Bishops take evening coffee break.

usccbmedia: Trautman makes motion on antiphons.

usccbmedia: Wuerl asks if body can simply approve antiphons based on what they've seen in order to get recognitio.

usccbmedia: Abp. Myers asks if another vote follows recognitio.

usccbmedia: Vigneron asks if Trautman's motion might be remanded to committee. Wants thoughtful review of appropriate people.

usccbmedia: Chaput wants opinion of canonist if bishops can vote to delegate to the Congregation on matter of antiphons.

usccbmedia: Conlon, Bruskewitz, Mahony, Listecki, Sample, others speak up.

usccbmedia: Pilarczyk offers to submit motion that work on antiphons be remanded to Rome.

usccbmedia: Trautman says bishops shouldn't get into habit of walking away from having their rights overstepped.

usccbmedia: Bishops voting on Trautman motion.

usccbmedia: Motion fails.

usccbmedia: Pilarczyk submits motion that antiphons be remanded to Rome. Bishops voting.

usccbmedia: Motion passes overwhelmingly.

===

For more detailed coverage go to the official United States Conference of Catholic Bishops fan page on Facebook.

* As far as I know, Twitter tweets are not copyrighted. This is implied by Twitter's allowance of RT or "retweet" for the continuous sharing of posted tweets.

2012: Relax! It’s Only a Movie

2009-11-16T18:21:00.000-08:00

The 2012 movie, this past weekend’s box-office bonanza, has fueled interest in The End of the World. Yawn. Here we go again.

Every now and then, there is some kind of prediction or omen that the world is going to end, causing confusion and panic. Indeed, if you read Twitter and Facebook status updates, the new movie has triggered a whole new wave of speculation. The producers of the movie must shoulder a big share of the blame for this, although they must be loving the free publicity. Unfortunately, a lot of young people are buying into this.

[To promote the film 2012,] the [Columbia] studio launched a viral marketing website operated by the fictional Institute for Human Continuity, where filmgoers could register for a lottery number to be part of a small population that would be rescued from the global destruction. David Morrison of NASA has received over 1000 inquiries from people who thought the website was genuine and has condemned it, saying "I've even had cases of teenagers writing to me saying they are contemplating suicide because they don't want to see the world end. I think when you lie on the Internet and scare children in order to make a buck, that is ethically wrong."

This marketing is unconscionable if it is causing people to consider suicide. Folks, it’s only a movie! There have been End of the World predictions before, with each “doomsday” date passing without incident. To wit:

December 31, 1999: Countdown to the New Millennium --
That New Year’s Eve was certainly fun, but was it the End of the World just because of an arbitrary turn of the Western calendar? Oh, well. At least the bottled water industry and the disaster kit industry made a killing.

1988: Hal Lindsey, in his best-selling book, The Late Great Planet Earth, predicted the Rapture would happen during this year. Former NASA engineer Edgar C. Whisenant pinned it down to between September 11 and Sept. 13. Nothing happened. Unbowed, Lindsey still predicted that these are the end times. Whisenant died in 2001.
(Okay, I admit this one has a lot of weird coincidences but 1988 passed and we’re still here.)

1919: Meteorologist Albert Porta predicted six planets would come together on December 19, creating a cataclysmic event that would explode the Earth.

1914: Jehovah's Witnesses said this was the doomsday year. When nothing happened, they followed by a series of later dates. In the 1990s, Jehovah's Witnesses quietly abandoned a prediction that people alive in 1914 would live to see the Second Coming of Christ.

May 19, 1910: Halley’s Comet was scheduled to brush the earth with its tail. Doomsday devotees were stirred up. The day passed with no apocalypse, but the night sky was sure pretty.

March 21, 1844: Baptist minister William Miller pinpointed this doomsday date and gathered followers to wait with him in prayer. The day came and went. Miller said, “I confess my error and acknowledge my disappointment.” The date was reset for October 21, 1844. Again, “doomsday” passed without incident. The followers went on to establish the Seventh-Day Adventist Church.

Need I go on? The Middle Ages were predicated on a popular belief in the imminent demise of the world. For centuries, the Book of Revelation has been misinterpreted as a predictor of the apocalypse. (Don’t get me started on that one.) Even the early Christians thought Christ’s second coming would be in their lifetime. Indeed, the author of the Gospel of Mark wrote his gospel to help his community deal with their persecution and the apparent delay in Christ’s coming.

As for the current 2012 craze:

The 2012 phenomenon comprises a range of beliefs and proposals positing that cataclysmic or transformative events will occur in the year 2012. The forecast is based primarily on what is said to be the end-date of the Mayan Long Count calendar, which is presented as lasting 5,125 years and as terminating on December 21 or 23, 2012. Arguments supporting these scenarios are drawn from a mixture of archaeoastronomical speculation, alternative interpretations of mythology, numerological constructions, and alleged prophecies from extraterrestrial beings.

Mainstream Mayanist scholars argue that the idea that the Long Count calendar "ends" in 2012 misrepresents Maya history. To the modern Maya, 2012 is largely irrelevant, and classic Maya sources on the subject are scarce and contradictory, suggesting that there was little if any universal agreement among them about what, if anything, the date might mean.

I’m obviously a non-believer in Doomsday. Sorry, but I’m just too busy living. I believe that on the day we are born God gives each of us a clean slate to work with, and we need not fear man-made predictions of apocalypse and doom. The only thing we know for sure is that we will die; we can’t avoid that. So until that time, why not fill up our lives with love and laughter and peace while working to make this world a better place? With God’s grace, the future is bright and filled with hope.

For I know well the plans I have in mind for you,
says the Lord,
plans for your welfare, not for woe!
Plans to give you a future filled with hope.
- Jeremiah 29:11-13

Hear, O Lord, the Sound of My Call . . .

2009-11-14T00:05:00.000-08:00

My book, Keep the Fire Burning: The Folk Mass Revolution, is the story of a bygone era in the American Catholic Church. The 1960s was a decade characterized by radical change in just about every field, from politics and race relations to education, science, entertainment, art, morality, and organized religion. One can only guess what would have happened to the Church during this time of upheaval if Pope John XXIII had not convened the Second Vatican Council (1962-1965). Undoubtedly, Catholicism would have survived in some form regardless, as it has for two millennia. But would it have weathered the Sixties as well as it did without the Council?

I believe the Catholic Church not only survived the Sixties but thrived. Since the Protestant Reformation, the Church had been in an apologetic “fortress” mode as a response to the confusing atmosphere of the 1500s. This was entirely understandable. The Council of Trent (1545-1563) closed ranks, so to speak, to defend the Church against the challenge of Luther, Wesley, Zwingli, and other reformers, who were attracting former Catholics in droves.

But 400 years was a long time to keep the walls of that fortress up. In the 1960s there was a new challenge to morality and, because of the nuclear threat, to humanity’s very survival. Pope John was only reading the signs of the times when he called for a Council that would open up the fortress windows. The Church must be the light of Christ for all people of every faith and nation, and the Council would be a model of hope for a world that was starved for Good News.

This is the context in which I wrote my book. The sacred liturgy was one aspect of the Church that felt threatened by the Protestant reformers. In response, the Council of Trent froze the Mass. Faithful Catholics would know without a doubt that they had entered a Catholic church because of the silent celebration of the Latin Mass, as opposed to the participative services of the Protestant congregations.

Because of Vatican II, the Mass was translated into the language of the people, who were encouraged to participate in the liturgy in a way that, ironically, Martin Luther would have approved. That meant encouraging Catholics to find their voice in song. Because it was the 1960s, that meant folk music.

To be sure, much of the liturgical innovation in the American Catholic Church came about because of the tireless work of liturgists, musicians and publishers who seized the innovative spirit of Vatican II and took it in directions the Council Fathers never envisioned. For example, the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy spoke highly of Gregorian chant as having “pride of place in liturgical services.” The pipe organ was to be “held in high esteem” because it “adds a wonderful splendor to the Church’s ceremonies” (Sacrosanctum Concilium Nos. 116 and 120). There was no mention of folk music and guitars as the norm for liturgical music. The document simply spoke of “other instruments” that may be used at Mass. American liturgical innovators took those two words and ran with it. The sound of strumming guitars captured the imagination and energy of young Catholics, and their participation in the Folk Mass got them involved in their Church.

In history, the pendulum swings from right to left and back again. With the support of Pope Benedict XVI, Catholics who treasure the traditional heritage of the Church are today enjoying a renaissance of appreciation for Gregorian chant. The songs of the Folk Mass are now long forgotten and often recalled with derision because of its simplicity. Of course, that was the very reason it caught on so quickly in the 1960s.

All this is a long way of saying that I was not prepared for the reaction that I have received at my book appearances for Keep the Fire Burning. Not surprisingly, my audience is comprised primarily of Baby Boomers – Catholics in their 50s and 60s who were children and teenagers in the post-Conciliar Church. These are people who grew up with the music of Ray Repp, Paul Quinlan, the Dameans, the Medical Mission Sisters, and Sebastian Temple, among many other Catholic folk music composers. In other words, this is music that is no longer sung or heard, since the original recordings have been lost in the dustbins of Catholic school libraries and shuttered parish convents.

I begin my events by talking about the Council and the transition from the Latin Mass to the English liturgy. But I cannot speak of the Folk Mass without also sharing its music. That means singing and, to set the scene, we begin with some secular folk music like Bob Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind” or Woody Guthrie’s “This Land Is Your Land.” With guitar in hand, I notice a spark in the audience as they immediately connect with these songs. We then launch into Ray Repp’s “Here We Are,” which brings a lot of smiles and laughter. Yes, the song is very dated now, but we have to remember that Repp originally wrote the song for his 4th grade CCD class.

Interestingly, the singing of Repp’s “Hear, O Lord,” has become the emotional high point, when the tears of the audience just start flowing. With its simple four-chord structure and heartfelt lyrics, it is clear to me that “Hear, O Lord” still resonates with an age group that obviously identified with the song’s theme of loneliness and trust in God. I find the reaction to this song very touching, and I have to be composed so as not to cry myself.

These are songs that have not been sung publicly for almost forty years. They are the suppressed expression of a generation’s search for God, and that’s valid. Is it good liturgical music for today? I will let others answer that question. But in the singing of the Folk Mass songs, many Boomer Catholics are reliving a time when their youthful idealism pointed to a bright future of endless possibility. To that, I can only say, “Amen.”

To hear the music of the Ray Repp and other Folk Mass composers, go to the podcast page on Ken’s website.

Keep the Fire Burning is available on Amazon.com.

To book Ken Canedo as a speaker, contact him here.

Of My Hands I Give to You . . . the Lord’s Prayer

2009-11-12T23:37:00.000-08:00

Because of the current flu epidemic, it looks like American Catholics are beginning to let go of the unofficial custom of holding hands during the recitation of the Lord’s Prayer at Mass. In many parishes, the H1N1 scare has also limited the Sign of Peace to a slight bow or a friendly wave, and communion under full cup has been temporarily discontinued. Given the severity of the epidemic, who can blame them? In my parish school alone, over 90 students stayed home sick from the flu last week.

Back to holding hands: No one really knows how that liturgical custom became so widespread in the United States, or when it began. I have a few theories that I would prefer to save for a book I am writing. But I will say that it most likely came about in the 1970s because of the concurrent popularity of the Folk Mass and the Charismatic Renewal, both of which epitomized the growing informality of the Church and of society in general.

“But we’ve been holding hands at the Our Father for as long as I can remember,” observes a thirtysomething friend of mine. “What do you mean when you say it’s an unofficial custom?”

The General Instruction on the Roman Missal does not mandate that Catholic worshipers hold hands at the Our Father. In fact, it says very little about that prayer except the following, as found in paragraph 152:

After the Eucharistic Prayer is concluded, the priest, with hands joined, says the introduction to the Lord’s Prayer. With hands extended, he then says this prayer together with the people.

The Sacramentary itself only has these instructions:

The priest sets down the chalice and paten and with hands joined sings or says one of the following: (here follow a choice of four introductory exhortations)

He extends his hands and he continues, with the people:
Our Father, who art in heaven . . .

That’s it! Nowhere in the official instruction is there any mention of the assembly holding hands at this part of the Mass. On one side, traditionalists say the custom is an aberration of the rubrics. On the other side, less formal Catholics (I hesitate to label them as outright liberals because many of them are not) couldn’t care less about strict rubrics and find it both meaningful and comforting to join hands with friends, family and strangers while praying in the words our Savior gave us.

So what is the official word on this gesture from Rome or from the United States Bishops? Surprise! There is no official word. As many people know, the attention given to the liturgy these days is directed toward the eventual promulgation of new English texts that conform closer to the original Latin. There has apparently been no official discussion on the issue of holding hands. However, an Internet search on the topic turns up no shortage of opinions, some from authoritative sources. Here is a sampling, with a link to the sources so you can read the quotes in context. Each writer makes excellent points that need to be considered.

===

From Father Edward McNamara, professor of liturgy at the Regina Apostolorum Pontifical Athenaeum:

It is true that there is no prescribed posture for the hands during the Our Father and that, so far at least, neither the Holy See nor the U.S. bishops' conference has officially addressed it. The argument from silence is not very strong, however, because while there is no particular difficulty in a couple, family or a small group spontaneously holding hands during the Our Father, a problem arises when the entire assembly is expected or obliged to do so.

The process for introducing any new rite or gesture into the liturgy in a stable or even binding manner is already contemplated in liturgical law. This process entails a two-thirds majority vote in the bishops' conference and the go-ahead from the Holy See before any change may take effect. Thus, if neither the bishops' conference nor the Holy See has seen fit to prescribe any posture for the recitation of the Our Father, it hardly behooves any lesser authority to impose a novel gesture not required by liturgical law and expect the faithful to follow their decrees.  

While there are no directions as to the posture of the faithful, the rubrics clearly direct the priest and any concelebrants to pray the Our Father with hands extended -- so they at least should not hold hands. One could argue that holding hands expresses the family union of the Church. But our singing or reciting the prayer in unison already expresses this element. The act of holding hands usually emphasizes group or personal unity from the human or physical point of view and is thus more typical of the spontaneity of small groups. Hence it does not always transfer well into the context of larger gatherings where some people feel uncomfortable and a bit imposed upon when doing so.  

The use of this practice during the Our Father could detract and distract from the prayer's God-directed sense of adoration and petition, as explained in Nos. 2777-2865 of the Catechism of the Catholic Church, in favor of a more horizontal and merely human meaning. For all of these reasons, no one should have any qualms about not participating in this gesture if disinclined to do so. They will be simply following the universal customs of the Church, and should not be accused of being a cause of disharmony.  

From ZENIT: The World Seen from Rome Nov. 18, 2003

Father McNamara’s column generated a sizeable response:

Judging from the response to our reply regarding holding hands during the Our Father, it would appear that the world is divided into hand-holders and arm-folders with the occasional hand-upholder wedged in the middle.

An Australian subscriber points out: "The best argument for not holding hands is that the holding of hands anticipates and then negates the sign of peace." I must confess that I had never thought of this argument but it does have a certain internal logic.

Personally I would not go so far as to say that the gesture negates the sign of peace, but it does anticipate and duplicate it from the symbolic point of view and, as a consequence, probably detracts from its sign value.

A California reader observes that I said there is little difficulty with a family holding hands during the Our Father. He asks: Should not hand-holding also be appropriate, then, for a larger group, if we consider the parish as family? He also objects to "the idea it might make some feel uncomfortable. “Then let's not have them say the creed either. It might make them feel uncomfortable. Faith is all about being uncomfortable. Growth starts with discomfort."

As is often the case, the analogous value of words can lead to misunderstanding. Yes, the parish is, in a way, a family, but then so is the universal Church, and so is the human race. The point is that holding hands is a normal expression of affection for nuclear families or relatively small groups of people who know each other well.

It is not a usual expression for larger groups of people even though they may be united by spiritual bonds, such as membership in Christ's Mystical Body. I do not deny that it may happen but it is rarely spontaneous and is usually provoked by an organizing agent.

===

The following is from an article by Fr. William Saunders in the Arlington Catholic Herald. He is dean of the Notre Dame Graduate School of Christendom College and pastor of Queen of Apostles Parish, both in Alexandria, Virginia.

Perhaps the holding of hands was introduced with good intentions to highlight the unity of the congregation as they pray, "Our Father," not "My Father." Yet, if unity is the key, then should we not be holding hands throughout the entire Mass?

The unity that is sought really comes later and after a spiritual progression: First, we fall on our knees as the priest offers the sacrifice of the Mass: we recall not only our Lord's passion, death, and resurrection but also our need as individuals to offer ourselves to Him. Second, we pray in the words our Savior taught us, the Lord's Prayer, in which we ask, "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us," even the person next to us in the pew. Third, we offer the Sign of Peace, a gesture found in the earliest Masses to show a genuine unity based on peace and forgiveness. Finally, we receive Holy Communion, which truly brings us into communion with our Lord and with each other. Looking at the logic of this spiritual progression to real unity, the holding of hands at the Our Father is extraneous.

Can a congregation hold hands anyway, even if it is extraneous? While no one can find fault if a husband and wife, or a family want spontaneously to hold hands during the Lord's Prayer, the priest does not have the right to introduce, mandate, or impose it.

The Church also reminds the priest, who is the guardian of the sacraments and who acts in persona Christi in offering the Mass: "The priest should realize that by imposing his own personal restoration of sacred rites he is offending the rights of the faithful and is introducing individualism and idiosyncracy into celebrations which belong to the whole Church" (Third Instruction on the Correct Implementation of the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy, No. 1 (1970)).

A person in the pew should not feel obliged or coerced to hold hands with someone else during the Lord's Prayer, yet congregational "peer pressure" could easily lead to such feelings. One can only imagine how intimidated a person must feel by the rest of the congregation if he does not desire to hold hands, whether because of personal preference or because of another reason such as arthritis.

Granted, the holding of hands during the Lord's Prayer seems to have become almost a tradition in some parishes throughout the country. Nevertheless, we must remember that this gesture is not prescribed, it is an innovation to the Mass, and in its goal to build unity and sensitivity, it can be alienating and insensitive to individuals.

From a 1999 edition of The Arlington Catholic Herald

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Andrew Santella writes for Slate and has the following thoughts:

It's a dilemma: Hold hands and give up a bit of the traditional Catholic solemnity, or forsake your neighbor's hand for a rosary and take refuge in the practices of the past. It's a choice between retrenchment and assimilation.

That's pretty much the choice facing Catholics on the weightier questions about the church's future as well. Questions like whether priests can someday marry will be settled by the church's hierarchy. But so far, the call on whether or not to hold hands has been left to the people in the pews. The choices we make about holding hands and other points of worship etiquette may not be as binding as a papal bull. But they help articulate the faithful's vision of the church.

From Slate magazine Oct. 31, 2005

===

David Philippart studied liturgy at the University of Notre Dame and lives in Chicago. He writes:

In technologically advanced and wealthy cultures, the bonds of community are often strained. Whereas in some places -- or even in our own country 50 years ago or so -- you might be born, live, and die all in the same village surrounded by the same people, today we move about, live far from extended family members and close friends, and communicate electronically rather than in the flesh. We sometimes yearn to feel more connected to the people around us, especially our sisters and brothers in Christ and particularly at this moment of supreme intimacy with God and with each other that is the Eucharist.

But precisely because hand-holding denotes a specific kind of intimacy in our culture -- romantic love, or the love of parent and child, for example -- some people feel uncomfortable holding hands at Mass. It's best to respect this. Yet if it is parish custom, those who balk may need to ask themselves, "Does it really hurt me to grasp hands for a few minutes?"

Every parish has a personality, just like every family or household does. Some families or households are very physical in expressing affection: lots of touching, hugging, kissing. Others are more reserved physically: Love is expressed in words and deeds but maybe not very often in hugs and kisses. There's no right or wrong here. What's essential is that we pray the words of Jesus' with sincerity and love.

From US Catholic magazine 2007

===

W. Patrick Cunningham has written a book that discusses hand holding within the larger context of the entire liturgy.

When I raise questions about this innovation [holding hands at the Lord’s Prayer], the response is usually, "Well, why not? Anything that brings people together is good. We are preparing for Communion, so why not introduce another element of unity? We are saying 'Our Father,' so why shouldn't we symbolize our commonality by joining hands?"

It sounds innocent. But the very fact that this is a radical innovation should give us pause Nowhere in the history of the Church do we find holding hands as a liturgical sign, except in the marriage rite, where hands are joined as a sign of marital unity. If we truly understand and respect the intimacy of this sign, we will not make it promiscuous. There are already powerful sign: of Christian unity in the Mass: the Pax and Holy Communion.

Psychologically speaking, an obtrusive sign of unity that tries to enforce its own compliance is more likely to be in practice a sign of disunity.

-W. Patrick Cunningham
At the Name of Jesus, Every Knee Shall Remain Unbent?
The Language of the Body and the Mass
(New Oxford Review) Feb 1999

Click here for web excerpt

===

What is my stand on the question of holding hands at the Lord’s Prayer? I am a parish liturgist and musician so I take a pastoral approach. I personally am uncomfortable with the custom, for many of the reasons stated by the above writers. I prefer to simply place my hands in the “orantes” gesture as a gentle indication to those around me that I will not be grabbing their hands. However, my orantes is sometimes mistaken for an invitation as people next to me take my hand anyway. When that happens, I do not pull away. Above all, I do not wish to “make a scene” and distract from the sincere prayer of my parish community.

I admit that I wince whenever I hear a priest introduce the Lord’s Prayer by saying, “And now, let’s take the hand of the person next to us and pray our family prayer . . .” I also regret that two or three generations have now grown up with the custom as a matter of course and do it without question. When or if the US Bishops finally address this issue there will surely be a lot of hurt or confused feelings in the event of the gesture's suppression.

Let us pray . . .

Alienation: Welcome to My Nightmare

2009-11-11T13:11:00.000-08:00

My next door neighbor recently mentioned how much he was looking forward to the new movie, Fourth Kind, and wondered if I would join him in seeing it. I politely declined.

There is a new television series called V and whenever there’s a commercial for it I quickly change the channel. I have no intention of seeing it, nor did I see the original 1980s series that it is based on.

Both the movie and the TV series feature the story of aliens on earth, and that creeps me out. You see, I have had a recurring nightmare ever since childhood of being visited by aliens from another world. Each nightmare is consistently the same and goes like this:

I am asleep in my bed when a bright pulsating light starts shining through the drapes of my bedroom window. I groggily get out of bed, open the drapes, and see several space vehicles of various neon colors silently hovering outside my house. A few of them swiftly trade places with each other except for the mothership, which slowly starts to maneuver toward me, it’s bright purple and blue lights strobing faster and faster.

There is no sound at first, but as the mothership zeroes in on me I begin to hear a low throbbing hum. It gets louder and louder as the purple-blue lights start to envelop me. The other ships start zooming around and around in confusing patterns as I feel myself drawn into the mothership, which is now emitting a piercing high-pitched white noise. I’m being pulled into the ship against my will and scream at the top of my lungs.

“No! No! No . . .”

Then I wake up in cold sweat, safely in bed. I had this dream often as a child, and its occurrence increased when I was in college, then tapered off in middle age. But every now and then it comes back with a vengeance. In fact, I dreamed it last week and woke up screaming. My cat, who usually sleeps in another room, came running into my room and jumped on top of my bed, as if to check up on me. He ended up spending the rest of the night at my feet. (Don’t laugh. This really happened.)

I have no idea what this recurring dream means. All I know is that when it occurs, it’s terrifying. I suppose the whole “aliens and spaceships” motif is a symbol for something, but I have never bothered to analyze it. Perhaps I am too scared to even think about it.

“Maybe you were abducted by aliens once,” suggested a good friend of mine. “Do you have any unexplained scars?” He was serious.

Stop right there. I do not for a moment believe in alien abduction, nor do I believe in UFOs. That’s only science-fiction entertainment. So why have these dreams haunted me all my life?

I am open to ideas and interpretations from my readers.

Sideswiped

2009-11-10T19:39:00.000-08:00

LOL. After reading my recent blog on The Abbey Road Medley (Side Two), a young friend wrote to me and asked, “What do you mean by Side Two?”

I started laughing and chided myself for being so Boomer-centric. After all, it’s a legitimate question that deserves a decent answer. Here goes. For pedagogical purposes, I will answer this question as a dialogue.

===

Youth: What do you mean by Side Two?

Boomer: Once upon a time, before iPods, iTunes, MP3 players, and CDs, recorded music was distributed on a medium called a “record” that came in two sizes: a “single,” distinguished by a large hole in the center and played at 45 RPMs; and a long-playing album or “LP,” distinguished by a small hole and played at 33 and 1/3 RPMs.

Youth: Hold on. What’s RPM?

Boomer: Revolutions per minute.

Youth: You mean the little record goes around and around 45 times in one minute?

Boomer: Yes.

Youth: Let’s count it out . . .

Boomer: No, please take my word for it. Where were we? Oh, yeah, each record has two sides: Side One and Side Two.

Youth: Duh!

Boomer: Do you want to hear this or not? A single has only one song per side. An LP might have as many as six songs per side.

Youth: (Yawn) My iPod Nano can hold over 2000 songs.

Boomer: Right. Anyway, when a side is over, you have to get up and turn the record over to play the other side.

Youth: That’s dumb.

Boomer: No, it isn’t. It was actually ahead of its time since it made good use of the entire medium and didn’t waste anything.

Youth: Yeah, but when you were a teenager and you had a party, that means the music stopped at the end of the record and somebody had to turn it over.

Boomer: So?

Youth: Talk about killing the mood . . .

Boomer: Some of us had an automatic hi-fi record player where we would stack several records. At the end of one record, the tone arm would swing back, allow the next record to drop, then automatically place the needle on the first track.

Youth: (mock surprise) You used needles when you were a teenager?

Boomer: (with headache starting) Now cut that out!

Youth: (laughing) Yeah, yeah, I know all about records and turntables. DJs are still big for my generation, you know. I was just messing with you. Anyway, back to Side Two. I still think it’s inconvenient to stop the party or whatever when one side is over, get up, turn the record over, and put the needle back on, even if you have that stacking thing.

Boomer: Well, there was one really cool advantage to having two sides to an album. Rock groups and singers could arrange the tracks like a show. Side One was like the first act. Side Two was the second act and the first track of Side Two was as important as the first track on Side One because they each drew the listener into the side. Let’s take Abbey Road as an example.

Youth: I like the Beatles.

Boomer: All right! Side One starts with “Come Together,” an awesome way to begin. It’s followed by “Something,” “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer,” and all the great tracks that lead to the thundering “I Want You,” with its droning ending.

Youth: Cool.

Boomer: So, after hearing those six killer tracks, the listener almost needs to catch his breath and turn the record over. After John Lennon’s dark “I Want You,” it’s a pleasant relief to hear George Harrison’s bright and airy, “Here Comes the Sun.” In fact, when I was a kid and flipped the Abbey Road record over for the first time, I almost fell on the floor upon hearing the sheer joy of George’s song. And then that led to the whole suite of The Abbey Road Medley, straight through to “The End” and “Her Majesty.” What a masterpiece!

Youth: But . . .

Boomer: But, what?

Youth: You mean you actually listened to whole records in one sitting, from start to finish?

Boomer: Yeah. It was the cool thing to do when we were hanging out with our friends.

Youth: (scratching his head) I dunno. I always hit Shuffle on my iPod. I like to be surprised by the variety of songs and artists that Shuffle sends into my earbuds.

Boomer: (sighing) That, my friend, is the difference between your generation and mine. Why, back in my day . . . (annoyed) Hey, are you even listening?

Youth: (texting into cell phone)

Boomer: Hello? (waving hand over youth’s eyes) Anybody home?

Youth: Sorry, dude. Gotta go.

And off he goes, iPod earbuds in place, oblivious to the world around him as he continues texting. He’s happy with music his way, and more power to him. But there are times when I do miss Side One and Side Two and the whole pleasure of hearing an album’s tracks unfold in the thoughtful order that the artists intended.

Notre Dame Rumor Mill

2009-11-10T09:39:00.000-08:00

Whoo, boy! The rumor mill is running rampant among the Fighting Irish cognoscenti. Ever since Notre Dame lost to Navy last Saturday (second time in three years), the cries of “off with his head” have been directed at coach Charlie Weis with a vehemence not seen since . . . the time they were directed at the previous ND coach.

Poor Charlie’s been on the hot seat for more than three years, ever since he signed the ten-year contract that expires in 2015, and whose idea was that? Although his win-loss record isn’t exactly a disaster, for Notre Dame football, success is only measured by an appearance in a BCS bowl, something that hasn’t happened in the Weis years. (Someone please correct me if I’m wrong.)

Here are some of the more interesting rumors that circulated on Monday:

Weis gets fired this week. He is replaced by Corwin Brown or Ron Powlus, QB coach and former Irish star.

Weis stays on to coach the remaining three games: Pittsburgh, Connecticut, and Stanford. If he wins all three there may be a reprieve. Or, if he wins all three, he graciously steps aside and allows the aforementioned Brown or Powlus to coach any ensuing consolation bowl.

Weis gets fired after this season.

Here is a list of rumored successors:

Brian Kelly (currently with the Bearcats of the University of Cincinnati)

Urban Meyer (currently with the Florida Gators; if only ND had been successful in wooing him four years ago . . .)

Jon Gruden (ESPN broadcaster this year, former coach of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers and the Oakland Raiders

Whoa! Jon Gruden? Really?

Hold on. These are just rumors and flights of fancy. Kelly and Meyer are doing very well at their current schools. Why on earth would they move? As for Gruden, I have to think that there will be a few NFL openings for him after this season. Why would he go to the college game?

In fairness to Weis, when he took over after Tyrone Willingham he did coach Brady Quinn into one of the most successful quarterbacks in recent Irish memory. But that was years ago. In sports, you’re only as good as “What have you done for me lately?”

Interesting days ahead for the Fighting Irish. Meanwhile, here's an interesting analysis from Sports Illustrated:
"Notre Dame Is No Longer Different Than Other Programs of Its Type" by Stewart Mandel

The Abbey Road Medley (Side Two)

2009-11-09T21:34:00.001-08:00

Robert Feduccia, my friend and fellow Beatles fan, was gushing last week about his copy of the newly remastered Abbey Road album. He asked me about how involved John was in a couple of Paul's songs. Here is my reply.

===

Like scriptural form criticism, one cannot speak of "Golden Slumbers" and "Carry That Weight" unless it is within the context of all ten songs in what has come to be known as The Abbey Road Medley:

Because
You Never Give Me Your Money
Sun King
Mean Mr. Mustard
Polythene Pam
She Came In Through the Bathroom Window
Giolden Slumbers
Carry That Weight
The End
Her Majesty

The Beatles were breaking up. They knew it and their producer George Martin knew it. Nobody really said, "Let's do a final album because we're breaking up," but that sentiment certainly informed the whole time they recorded Abbey Road. The group had just been through a near-disastrous filming and recording of the Let It Be tracks and they knew those songs weren't really the best they could do. There was even talk of not releasing Let It Be at all. So "we can do better than that" was the spirit that drove the Abbey Road sessions.

The problem was that the guys really didn't have too many finished songs for a new album. Oh, they had the splendid complete compositions on Side One (Come Together, Something, Maxwell's Silver Hammer, Oh Darling, Octopus' Garden, I Want You), plus George's superb "Here Comes the Sun" that opened up Side Two. But they needed more songs to finish out the LP. You can almost hear them talking among themselves.

Paul: John, you got anything?

John: Nah, just a couple of jibberwoks with nonsensical lyrics (Sun King, Polythene Pam). You?

Paul: Not much, just a lullaby (Golden Slumbers) and that blues song we've been jamming on for a few weeks (Bathroom Window).

George Martin: Well, let's just record everything you've got and see what happens. . .

And they did. And it was Paul who said, "Let's put it all together like a suite. Can you do that, George (Martin)?"

And so George Martin did. This is a prime example of the whole being better than the parts. And as they polished each song fragment, all four of them contributed something to just about all the tracks. For example, all four sang the chorus on "Carry That Weight," a rare occurrence on a Beatles song. John also played bass on that track. George Harrison played Moog synthesizer* on "Because" and bass on "Bathroom Window" and "Golden Slumbers." John, Paul AND George played dueling lead guitars on "The End." And, for good measure, they persuaded Ringo to play his first-ever drum solo on the track so he could shine like they did on the guitar duel. In other words, despite the group's pending breakup, they apparently had a grand time recording Abbey Road.

In an interview for The Big Beat magazine, Ringo is quoted as saying:
"I love the second side of Abbey Road, where it's all connected and disconnected. No one wanted to finish those songs, so we put them all together and it worked. I think that piece of that album is some of our finest work."

Knowing this background story, I think it is clear that the Beatles knew exactly what they were doing when they gifted the world with the Abbey Road album. If they were going to break up, they might as well go out in style.

"And, in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. . ."

===
Sources:
Stephen J. Spignesi and Michael Lewis, Here, There and Everywhere: The 100 Best Beatles Songs, New York: Black Dog & Leventhal Publishers, 2004

Mark Lewisohn, The Beatles Recording Sessions, New York: Harmony Books, 1988

* Among other things, Abbey Road was also one of the first mainstream rock albums to extensively use the then-new Moog synthesizer. You can hear it shine on "Maxwell's Silver Hammer," "Because," and "Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight."

Astro Boy and Other Childhood Icons

2009-11-05T19:21:00.000-08:00

It happens when I least expect it. There’s Toby on the movie screen, reconstructed, confused, and wondering who he is and what he has become. Accidentally falling out the window of his high-rise apartment, he suddenly discovers the awesome power of flight. He is Astro Boy and he soars happily through the cloud-filled sky. Onward and upward!

My eyes start to water with tears.

There’s Alan Tracy and his pal Fermat in the rec room of their boarding school, watching his big brothers of International Rescue on TV as they risk their lives in their futuristic Thunderbird crafts, saving innocents from certain disaster. The kids in the school gasp at every treacherous move, then burst into cheers as the rescue is accomplished.

Tears.

There’s the confused young Peter Parker who, on a hunch, starts climbing up the wall of an old city building. Looking down from several stories, his eyes widen in amazement as he yells out in the sheer joy of discovery. He has become a Spider-Man!

More tears.

There’s Superman, weak from a kryptonite stabbing by Lex Luthor. Rescued from sure death by Lois Lane, who pulled out the deadly knife from his wounded side, they are now aboard Richard White’s seaplane, flying away from the danger. The Man of Steel opens the hatch to return to Luthor. Lois is aghast. “What are you doing?” she exclaims.

“I have to go back.”

“He’ll kill you!”

Superman looks fondly at his one-time girlfriend and smiles. “Goodbye, Lois.” And off he goes into the sky. He has a job to do.

I’m bawling my eyes out.

Okay, what’s happening here? I’m not one to cry easily, especially in public, but the tears do seem to come easily in a darkened theater if the movie is about one of my childhood icons. I was crying again while watching the new Astro Boy movie, grateful that the theater was practically empty for the early afternoon matinee.

I think it comes down to trying to recapture a lost part of my youth. I had a . . . difficult childhood. (And let the record state that I do NOT blame my parents.) I grew up in poverty, in a housing project, surrounded by crime and idle youth. I was bullied at school, sometimes just because I got good grades. There were times when I felt like I didn’t have a friend in the world.

So I took refuge in comic books. For only ten cents I would be soaring in an entirely different brightly colored world, filled with heroes who struggled with their everyday lives but somehow overcame the villain by page 23. Pow! Bam! Zap!

“This country is safe once again, Superman, thanks to you!”

I thrived on science-fiction and comic books and watched my favorite TV shows religiously every week: Lost in Space; Batman; Star Trek; The Green Hornet; Thunderbirds; Astro Boy; and the endless reruns of George Reeves’ The Adventures of Superman.

This fantasy world was my refuge from the daily challenges I grew up with. My heroes gave me hope that I could rise up above the forces that challenged me. I, too, could triumph in the end.

Eventually, I grew up and became a man and put aside such childish things. But whenever Hollywood makes a movie of one of my childhood heroes, I am the first in line -- and the first to cry.

My childhood scars helped shape me into the man I have become. I am grateful for my heroes, for the good that they symbolized and, most of all, for the hope that they inspired in me.

Of Blogs and Ken

2009-10-14T22:09:00.000-07:00

First, an apology. I set up this blog page to share my musings and I really haven’t shared anything of late. The truth of the matter is that I have nothing to say. Is that okay? (Good morning, good morning, good morning, yeah . . .)

I do get a kick out of reading other people’s blogs, mainly because they seem to be such exercises in self-indulgence. Have you noticed the current penchant for incivility? (“You lie!” cried the out-of-order senator on the Senate floor.) I’m not saying blogging is the root of the problem, but it is certainly a symptom, or at least related tangent. After all, it is so easy type away one’s indignation at the president’s policies, the politician’s unbending stance, the talk-show host’s picadillos, the current state of liturgical music, the total collapse of one’s favorite team in the playoffs, or that jerk who cut me off on the freeway while I was talking on my cell phone. What a world we live in! How can I get back? I’ll show them: blogs and blogs of negative diatribes!

[SEND]

That’s the problem right there. Too many people are expressing exactly what they think and feel (generally a good thing; get it off your chest) and sharing it immediately without thinking through the ramifications (a not-so-good thing). Blogging is such an anonymous and empowering medium. As the 1980s saying goes, “On the Internet, nobody knows that you’re a dog.”

I think it was mom (always a good quotable source) who said: “Think before you speak.” We need to listen more to mom.

Another consideration: What goes on the Internet stays on the Internet.

I often counsel young people to think twice before they share photos of their last drunken party on Facebook, or post blogs of frustration laced with four-letter words against their teachers or parents. This stuff may come back to haunt them later in life. In fact, the Internet has been around long enough where I actually know a few people who are regretting something they posted just a couple of years ago because it apparently made the difference in their unsuccessful job application. Yes, of course, their prospective boss Googled their name. These days, who doesn’t?

I guess this is a rather long way of explaining why I might seem hesitant to post my innermost opinions on a blog. I do feel that I might have something worthwhile to share, but I also don’t want to contribute to the negative incivility that seems to be characterizing this first decade of the 21st century. I also don’t want stuff to come back and haunt me.

But I’m a writer and I make a living as a writer. And being a writer means taking the risk to put yourself out there. Maybe it’s time for me to do just that.

Roots of my Notre Dame fandom

2009-09-12T12:25:00.000-07:00

"Touchdown Jesus" at Notre Dame Stadium!

Any casual reader of my Facebook, Twitter and blog entries will notice my enthusiastic devotion to Notre Dame football. Some questions people ask me:

Did you go to Notre Dame?
No, but I have many friends who were or are students there.

Were you taught by the Holy Cross Fathers?
No, although I did play the organ once at a Mass celebrated by Father Hesberg while he was visiting a church in Southern California. Got to shake his hand, too. That was a thrill!

Well, then, why are you a fan of Notre Dame, especially since you were born in Los Angeles and should be rooting for USC?
Two words: Irish priests! I grew up with Irish priests. One of my fondest teen memories is helping out at my parish on Saturday afternoons: stuffing envelopes in the pews, changing the missalettes, putting out the bulletins, etc. After we finished, the pastor would invite us helpers to watch the afternoon Notre Dame game with him. Father would then explain the nuances of college football, and how all Catholics should be rooting for Notre Dame.

What can I say? I’m an obedient Catholic. Go, Irish!

The Meaning Behind It All

2009-09-11T10:59:00.000-07:00

World Trade Center as seen from the International Space Station on September 11, 2001. To download this NASA image, click here.

Every generation has their “red-letter date” when people remember exactly what they were doing and where they were when they heard the news. For Tom Brokaw’s “Greatest Generation,” it was December 7, 1941, when the Japanese Imperialist forces attacked the US Navy base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. President Franklin Roosevelt declared it a “day of infamy.” The United States had no choice but to shed its isolationist stance and enter World War II by sending troops to both the European and Pacific fronts.

For Boomers, their date was November 22, 1963. Although I was not around during World War II, I do remember vividly the day that President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. It was late morning and I was in 5^th grade in Los Angeles. The teacher from next door came into our classroom and whispered something into the ear of my teacher, Miss Plested. They both started crying and that sure got the kids’ attention because we had never seen our teachers cry before. Miss Plested announced the dreadful news, and we were stunned.

The principal cancelled classes for the rest of the day and sent us all home for lunch. President Kennedy was my hero and I was stifling my emotions in front of my classmates. But by the time I arrived home I suddenly burst into tears and ran to my bedroom. My father happened to be home that morning, and both he and mom rushed over to my side. They heard the news, of course, and mom cradled me in her arms.

September 11, 2001. It was a beautiful fall morning in Portland, Oregon, and I opened my balcony window to take in the downtown view as I got ready to drive to work. As per my custom, I turned on the television to get weather and traffic reports, and there was the World Trade Center in New York City, with one tower on fire. I was a little groggy and not fully awake as I tried to comprehend what was going on. Suddenly, the cameras focused on a jetliner that was zooming dangerously low. As it crashed into the second tower, the newscaster exclaimed three simple words that I think summed it up for all of America: “Oh, my God . . .”

Writers and pundits better than me have tried to find and express the meaning behind it all. On the two red-letter dates of my lifetime, I was struck by the unity that followed in tragedy’s wake. For a short time, the world seemed to be one as we mourned the passing of President Kennedy or as we gathered in our churches, synagogues and mosques to pray during the week of 9/11. Alas, this unity was short-lived as the 1960s unfolded into more tumult and war. Strangely, this current decade has experienced a similar unfolding.

On this eighth anniversary of 9/11, let us remember those who have died or who have suffered: the victims and those brave police and firefighters who rushed to rescue them and also died trying. I pray that the unity that we glimpsed that week may someday become a lasting legacy. Perhaps that might be the meaning behind it all.

Pope Benedict's Prayer at Ground Zero

Grant Us Peace

Why two Rubber Souls?

2009-09-10T16:35:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, 9/9/09, was an anointed Beatles Day because of the dual release of the remastered Beatles albums and the Beatles Rock Band video game. More on those two items in future blogs.

My friend and spiritandsong.com colleague, Robert Feduccia, had asked me why there were two versions of Rubber Soul, the Beatles' landmark 1965 album that was the first sign of their maturing songcraft. I was somewhat amused by that question because it showed how young my friend really is! (Or, maybe how old I really am!) Anyway, here is my explanation.

Capitol Records is the American affiliate of Britain's EMI record label. Both sides of the Atlantic had their own peculiar standards for record production and track listing. Capitol, which originally rejected the Beatles as being "too British," ate crow when the group hit it big on the Ed Sullivan Show on February 9, 1964. But rather than simply re-release the British LP With the Beatles (the group's then-current chart topper in the UK), Capitol decided to milk the Beatles for all they were worth. They renamed the album Meet the Beatles and removed several tracks to make room for some hit USA singles, namely "I Want to Hold Your Hand" and "I Saw Her Standing There."

A major difference in philosophy: UK record labels didn't believe in including hit singles on albums. American labels thought that was ridiculous and saw the hit single as the way to entice buyers into buying the whole album, even though they might already have bought the 45. Also, British albums had more tracks than American albums. Hence, ever since Meet the Beatles, Capitol had to take all the removed tracks and put them onto another album, with more hit singles tacked on to fill it out and sell it. So in the USA we had The Beatles' Second Album which consisted of the removed With the Beatles tracks plus the "She Loves You" hit single. The Beatles' Second Album did not exist in the UK.

And so it went for several years. Capitol removed some tracks from the British A Hard Day's Night and included them in Something New (the group's third Capitol album) along with some tracks from British EPs that were not available in the USA ("Slow Down," "Matchbox").

EMI released Beatles for Sale. Capitol cannibalized that into Beatles '65 and included the hit singles "She's a Woman" and "I Feel Fine" (my absolute FAVORITE grade school hit, BTW).

EMI released Help! and Capitol regurgitated that into two albums: Help! (USA) and Beatles VI, which also included some leftover Beatles for Sale tracks.

Most insidious was Capitol's splitting of Rubber Soul and Revolver into THREE albums: Rubber Soul (USA), Revolver (USA), and Yesterday and Today, which included all the removed tracks from the the two British LPs plus the monster USA hit single "Yesterday," which, BTW, was NEVER released in Britain as a single. Paul's timeless solo ballad was a uniquely American phenomenon.

Needless to say, the Beatles were not pleased with Capitol's permutations, especially with Rubber Soul and Revolver since those two albums were the beginning of their emergence out of the box of their boy band image. By the time Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band was produced, the group demanded that Capitol release their psychedelic masterpiece exactly as they mastered it -- or they wouldn't give it to Capitol at all. Thankfully, Capitol caved, and every Beatles album since Sgt. Pepper was the same on both sides of the Atlantic.

In fairness to Capitol, I will tip my Beatles wig respectfully to them for two major reasons: 1) Capitol added more reverb to the vocals to match American standards; and 2) Capitol turned up McCartney's bass to meet American standards. Lennon was the one who complained loudly about Capitol's cannibalism, but he did praise the American label's bass volume. "Why can't EMI turn Paul up more like in America?" he used to complain to the British engineers.

Reference point: Compare the EMI and Capitol versions of "And I Love Her." The song is great on EMI, of course, but on Capitol, Paul's bass has such presence and his vocals shine with effervescence.

Anyway, long story short, Capitol did kinda rip off the American fans with their cannibalism, but they more than made up for it with their solid remastering. And, the American track order is what we 1960s kids grew up with, and that's valid. I still cringe when I hear "Drive My Car" as the first track on "Rubber Soul." I prefer "I've Just Seen a Face" as that album's Gathering Song. :-)

I CAN'T WAIT to get my hands on the new remixed/remastered CDs!