A year ago today, as I was hibernating in Minnesota, I attended a noon Mass in a little Catholic parish. The readings were stories of young Samuel—learning to say “Speak Lord, your servant is listening.”—and Jesus—retreating into the mountains to pray before working miracles. The priest invited us to begin each day by simply saying: “I am your servant. I am listening.” But, he warned, God probably won’t speak to you in that moment. He is most likely to speak later in the day when you are busy.” “Well good,” I thought, “because I am busy a lot.”
At the end of my retreat, I went home to a new year of work. There were a lot of big unknowns ahead of me and I was having trouble imagining how I was going to handle all of it. I had clarity on exactly two things: I wanted to serve God. And I was overwhelmed. A prayer from the Daily Office made it onto the pages of my journal before I went home: “...that they may see what must be done and gain strength to do what they have seen.” Well, Amen to that.
Two momentous things happened for me in 2024 simultaneously, and technically unrelated.
I am privileged and delighted to serve as Precentor of a small ELCA congregation in urban Indianapolis—Bethlehem Lutheran Church. Its choral music tradition is the sort to make a young church musician’s dreams come true. Quite literally. After five years I know I’d never give up my work there willingly. But having somewhat recently converted to Catholicism, I’ve been attending a parish downtown near my home on Saturday nights. After two years, St. Mary itself had come to feel like home. I’d also begun to play the Saturday Mass there because there was a need, and I could fill it. In May the announcement came that St. Mary would be transitioning to a different priest. With the loss of the current priest, we would also lose the music director he’d brought with him from his other “linked” parish.
As if from nowhere (or maybe from God, I soon began to suspect), the most preposterous and uncomfortable idea popped into my head. St. Mary was soon to be without anyone to plan or lead music for their English-language Masses. With two parishes linked, the current music director was already sub-contracting most of the Masses to other musicians (myself included). I was working only part-time and my kids were getting big enough that I was beginning to look ahead to taking on more professionally. So I sat down with the departing priest and said “I bet I could help. That’s crazy right?” That was a Saturday, and I came away from the conversation somewhat crestfallen, and sure that it was in fact crazy. There probably wasn’t enough money in their budget to pay me even enough to replace the freelance income I’d be losing as a wedding organist, let alone continue to pay an additional musician to play the Sunday Mass while I stayed at my post at the Lutheran church. But the need at St. Mary was going to be acute. Church musicians are hard to come by these days. Two hours later I knelt to pray before playing the Mass. My intention: “Give me wisdom and give me generosity. Show me what I should do. I am your servant. I am listening.”
And then as I was kneeling during the Eucharistic Prayer, another thought arrived suddenly and unsought: “Students are the only people who this church can afford to pay.” I laid my head on my pillow that night with a vision of an internship program: Developing musicians could experience a sort of trade-school approach to church musicianship, and I could make their tiny stipend a bit more attractive by offering free music lessons and professional coaching. “OK,” I announced to God. “This sounds like something you are doing. But you need to understand that my foot will not be on any gas pedal, ever. If this isn’t wanted, I’m not doing it. (Been there, done that.) But I’ll keep walking through whatever doors you open.” Initial conversations with mentors and colleagues and the parish leaders were all alike: Enthusiastic “yes!” to this. I kept walking through the doors.
The second momentous thing was my investiture as a novice of the Benedictine Oblates of St. Meinrad Archabbey. This was something I’d been aiming toward for several years, and the moment had come. Sitting in the Chapter Room at the monastery with the others who’d come for investiture, I suddenly had tears pouring down my cheeks as the monk who was explaining to us what we were embarking on read from the story of Samuel. “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.” I went home and signed the employment paperwork at St. Mary. I’d work fifteen hours a week there, and continue with twenty at Bethlehem. I’d begin development of a Liturgical Music Internship program in Indianapolis. Three weeks later I was at the monastery again for a novice retreat. My kids came with me and played on the beautiful hill all weekend. Driving home, I said to my newly-teenaged son, “I hope someday you get to experience this kind of certainty. I’ve never in my life been more sure that I’m following God’s will than I am this summer as I begin this second job.” I told him how I’d said “I am your servant. I am listening.”
So, I am "doing what I’ve seen." In the year ahead, I’ll be fundraising, networking, grant-writing, and (the part I’m most excited about) visiting local school music classes to tell them what I do, why I do it, and how I got started when I was just a kid. The first few months of work on this project have proven that the biggest challenge will be student interest. Fellow parish musicians think it’s a great concept, but there aren’t a lot of youth interested in these skills these days. Everyone is busy, sports are the default extra-curricular activity, and music is easy to come by via download and AV equipment. My goal is to "sweeten the pot" by securing generous funding and by sharing my joy and purpose, which I hope will be contagious.
Every day I am humbled and honored to continue serving two worshiping communities here in Indianapolis, facilitating and nurturing opportunities for the experience of God through my artistic craft. Most of the work is extremely mundane—I spend more time photo-copying and sending messages than I do actually making music. But all of it is holy, and it is especially in the mundane that I learn what it means to serve—and to see—Christ in my brother and my sister. Sure enough, it’s been in the busy moments that I am hearing God speak.
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