An Easter Reflection
This Easter will be my 16th Easter at Emmanuel. It is hard for me to believe. I still remember the resistance I received from several choir members in the week that led up to that first Easter in 2011, when I elected to not have the choir sing the Hallelujah Chorus. They claimed, “But we do that every year!” I just couldn’t imagine having the choir sing the Hallelujah Chorus in an acoustically dead church, with a dreadfully inadequate organ, and all crammed in the rear gallery with not enough space for singers, let alone room, or money, to hire string players and the trumpet and oboe required.
Fast forward to 2026, and everything has changed. This Easter, the choir and choristers will be accompanied by a string quintet, oboe, trumpet, and organ, and the awesomeness of the Hallelujah Chorus will fill our sacred space with a resonance of joy. Money is now budgeted for Easter musicians. A world-class pipe organ is positioned regally behind the choir. Our church, while much modified, has been restored and amended to the acoustical beauty that would have been close to its original 1926 construction. On Sunday, when we all respond, THE LORD IS RISEN INDEED, ALLELUIA, it will sound as one triumphant voice ascending to the heavens.
As the years have accumulated, I have found myself surveying my time at Emmanuel. Overall, it has been very good. I was 32 when I played my first Easter at Emmanuel. I am somewhat older now. I have matured musically and spiritually. I have learned a great deal about the church and its people. I also know that I do not have the same energy I had at 32. I now battle sleep apnea and the ravages of stress force me to wear a nightguard on my teeth. A few years ago an accident here at church broke my left-hand pinky. I can no longer play the same way.
I know that I will not be able to do this job forever. Barring any unforeseen illness or injury, I have a solid 15 years of prime music making to offer. That realization has me asking questions such as, what music do I want to offer and make in the time that remains? What music do I want to teach the children of Emmanuel? What music do I want to invest time and energy in with the choir and the handbells? What music best edifies the church? Is it timeless and of the highest possible quality? Does what I have to offer, best serve the people of this community?
This week I read an article in The Pilot written by Dr. Philipp Wirth titled, “Life’s Value Is in What We Relinquish.” The essence of the article is that choices we make in how we spend our time is transactional. That is, “we pay with time, energy, attention and presence.” He asks to think about the things that truly bring you joy, not the things that are supposed to bring you joy. It is there that your soul and your heart are aligned. They are your core. He concludes with two thoughtful questions, “What are you willing to keep exchanging your life for? And what are you finally ready to let go of, so you can reclaim the parts of your life that are no longer for sale?”
Last week I received a handwritten note from Toni Robinson. I don’t ever recall meeting Toni, but she met me through the music I conducted at the 2026 Carolinas Treble Festival at St. John’s Episcopal Church, Charlotte. In the closing of her brief note, she wrote, “Here’s wishing you courage, patience, and gratitude on your path.” I’ve received many handwritten notes and cards in my lifetime and much to my wife’s annoyance, I never throw them away. Yet, none have expressed that wish of “courage, patience, and gratitude.”
Sometimes the Holy Spirit sends the messages that you’re searching for in the moment you need them most. It takes loads of courage and patience to be the father of five children. The pace is hectic and there is no time for self. As I thought of my own parental struggles, I was humbly reminded that I must do it all with gratitude.
To serve the church is not for the faint of heart. It is an all-encompassing vocation. It is not the type of job that when you leave the building, the responsibilities of work stop. They are ever-present. Burnout is rampant. It takes courage. It takes patience. It takes gratitude.
One hope for my position at Emmanuel is this: Unlike living in an urban setting, where there are multiple Episcopal parishes and many churches with prominent and exciting music programs, in Moore County, I am the only full-time Episcopal Church musician. For that matter, there is only one other Episcopal Church, St. Mary Magdalene in Seven Lakes. By contrast, I was the dean of a 400-member organist association in Phoenix. Such a thing does not exist here. I struggle with musical isolation, and it can be very hard to manage sometimes. In an effort to stay connected, I read several journals associated with my profession, The American Organist, The Diapason, The Journal of the Association of Anglican Musicians, The Tracker (the journal of the Organ Historical Society), the Reed Organ Society Quarterly, as well as newsletters from the Handbell Musicians of America, the Royal School of Church Music, and the Choristers Guild.
In the March issue of The American Organist, a letter to the editor was submitted by James Wallace of Salisbury, Maryland. I have never met James, nor did I know of him prior to this letter. He introduced his letter by stating that he played his final church service before retiring on June 1 of last year, after a career of more than five decades. He noted that he used to tell people that being a church musician is not something one does; it’s something one is. Only after retirement did he fully realize the eye-opening amount of stress and anxiety he put himself through week after week in order to pull off the next service, the next concert, the next tour, the next fundraiser, etc. In retirement, however, he has realized that of all the career choices he could have made, of all the things he could have done with his life, he “got to do this!” He remarked on all of the teachers that helped him along the way, and he expressed his gratitude for the opportunity to lead that kind of life.
Courage…patience…gratitude.
He concluded with the following, “I was never a renowned concert or cathedral organist. I was never conductor of a professional choir or orchestra, or a college music professor. But I did what I could with what I had, and I helped many, many people make great music they never knew they had in them. Sadly, for the last few years I had really downplayed the value of it all in my mind. But, with a little help from Maurice Duruflé, I’ve been reminded: A church musician’s life is a life well lived.”
It was the message I needed to hear, and as I look back on the last 15 Easters at Emmanuel, I see that. It has been a life well lived. Now, as I look toward the next 15 years, I can hear the music that I want to give my time, energy, attention, and presence.
Our time here together is brief, no matter if only a few months or a few decades. What are you willing to keep exchanging your life for? Are you paying attention to your deep spiritual needs? Are you regularly reminding yourself that you are a valued and loved child of God? Are you allowing yourself to be open enough to freely give and accept love? Are you spending your time chasing money or are you spending your time seeking beauty and joy?
This Sunday is Easter. Death is defeated. Our sins have been forgiven. We have been granted the gift of eternal life. It is a time of renewal and hope. Together we walk…with courage…with patience…and with gratitude.