Theological Musings for 2016

It's already the 11th and I have not yet written anything to mark this new year!

First, I want to say that in rereading some of my old posts that were not about singing, particularly the ones about same-sex marriage, sexism, and ageism, I see that they are good pieces of writing that can stand on their own, and that I would be proud to read at any writers' workshop.  So I am going to write more of these.

As for my singing, as the huge endlessly frustrating technical problems that I struggled with for years seem now to be at an end, there is less to write about, unless I have sung something somewhere or am making plans.  Every now and then I will have a "bad day" (my teacher and I had a talk about this at my last lesson) but for the most part I have a reliable technique that will stand me in good stead in most situations I am likely to find myself in.

I have two concerts scheduled for 2016: a reprise of the concert version of Carmen (on May 2), and my birthday concert (on July 31).

I have been able to squelch the envy that can overtake me by simply shutting out the world of all the emerging professionals, semi-pros, and others who flock to my neighborhood (the opera Mecca of the world).  I don't go to their performances or read their blog postings or comments.  Little Miss is mostly gone from the choir.  Yes, I am still, somewhere, seething that she has performed with two of the opera companies that rejected me, and that the choir director forwards her email announcements when he never forwarded mine, but my next concert, at least, will only be open to guests over 60 so there!!

Now, as for the title of this post.  One thing I was pondering recently was why, on the one hand, I always define myself theologically as a Unitarian, when, on the other hand, I don't like attending their services.  I think I finally came up with an answer.  I was reading a piece about Unitarians and Christmas that really resonated with me. This was back when Unitarians celebrated Christmas, which now seems to be one of the many sources of friction at their congregations, along with classical music and Biblical art.  Reading that article made me realize that what I am is a nineteenth-century style "Unitarian" not a contemporary "UU".  Suddenly an image came to mind, an image of a large tree.  Judaism is the roots, because of course Christianity grew out of Judaism, and the trunk is what people think of as "JudeoChristian" culture and values.  The tree now has many branches, some of which are fundamentalist, and some of which more liberal, like Reform Judaism and mainline Protestantism, all of which denominations accept same-sex marriage and tend toward the political Left.  Unitarianism used to be a branch of mainline Protestantism.  One that had been growing away from strict doctrine, yes, but still attached to the tree (for example the Unitarian church in Brooklyn where I grew up featured traditional church music, and the choir wore robes).  Now, however, I feel that "UU-ism" has fallen off the tree and is another plant entirely, and it is that with which I am not comfortable.  Having been raised as an atheist, I certainly don't feel rooted in JudeoChristian doctrine, but I do feel rooted in Western culture, much of which involves JudeoChristian music, art, and stories.  How one interprets the art, music, and stories is another matter.  So for example, I see most Bible stories as myths or parables, not as things that happened.  I do not believe that Jesus was the only Son of God, simply a person who was killed for speaking truth to power, and I do not want to be Baptised.  But if I want to have a "church" experience, I want it to be an authentic one (the kind I remember fondly from reading Anthony Trollope and Agatha Christie).  I don't want to hear African drumming or Buddhist chanting.  I also don't want to hear songs by Bob Dylan or John Lennon.  On the other hand, I do appreciate African-American spirituals, even gospel music, because to me those are part of the rich fabric of Western religious experience, particularly in this country.  And I would be happy to to sing or listen to some of the music that is featured in synagogues.

For the most part, singing and worshiping (the latter in my own fashion, which is what Unitarians do, after all) in a progressive Lutheran church has satisfied that need.  And not just my need as a singer, but also my need as a person who cares about social justice, social outreach, and the life of the mind.

Yesterday, however, I heard a sermon that I found deeply offensive, something that has never happened to me at that church before.  Usually it's simply a question of taking things with a grain of salt, staying in my seat during the procession toward communion (I have now laughingly  named myself the "Shabbas Goy" of the choir because when other people are communing, I sing the communion hymn - sometimes it has been as a solo!!), and not speaking prayers beginning with the words "I believe" if, in fact, I don't.  (If I am speaking, I am BabyD a private person.  If I am singing, I am a church singer doing a job, even if it's  one I don't get paid for.)

But getting back to yesterday's sermon.  The woman preaching was one of the seminarians, but she is not young.  I would guess late 40s early 50s and ministering is obviously a second career for her.  I have always been very fond of her.  She was preaching on Baptism.  I have heard sermons on Baptism before and in fact several years ago the beloved drop dead gorgeous blonde pastor who has moved on to another career, gave a sermon on Baptism, after which I told her that I loved coming to that church but that I did not want to be Baptised because my mother was Jewish and she said that was perfectly OK.

The woman preaching yesterday, however, obviously had another opinion.  She did not just say that Baptism gives you membership in the Body of Christ (something I am very certain I do not belong to), but that Baptism is what makes you a child of God.  I found that outrageous.  I am a child of God (as is everyone) and to be that you do not need to belong to any particular religious group or adhere to their specific doctrines.

But worst of all was how she ended the sermon.  She said "If there's anyone here who is not Baptised, come make an appointment to see me now!"

I really feel that this overstepped a line.  That is the sort of thing that you hear in right-wing fundamentalist churches, not a Lutheran church on the Upper West Side that is a magnet for classical musicians as well as Lutherans.

So when I hear this sort of thing I am reminded of why I call myself a Unitarian.  But not a "UU". I'm still very much a "churchlady" (and yes, I love wearing "Sunday best" to services), just one with a healthy twenty-first century skepticism. But with a love of high art, a lot of which was inspired by Christianity, but exists for the aesthetic appreciation of all.

It's Not What You Know, It's Who(m) You Know

(As for the title, there was a long discussion thread in one of my copyeditor online groups about whether to use the m.  It was decided that using it is correct grammar, and that not using it is idiomatic, in that "It's not what you know it's who you know" has become a little jingle.)

Despite my having had a pleasant time at choir practice and trying to work on anger management, yesterday I had a huge meltdown.  It had to do with my partner's having a minor health problem that she allowed to get out of hand, with repercussions (I don't want to go into these here; I do respect her privacy in some regards) that led to my having to drop everything and run over there yesterday.  I had promised not to be "mad" at her, which I wasn't, although when I got there and saw the state the apartment was in I burst into tears.  Then things just went from bad to worse.  The problem is that I am awash up to my neck in people who went to Ivy League schools, have multiple graduate degrees, have music or theater degrees, have fellowships, are going to school in early middle age because they have "connections" (more on that in a minute, as that is what prompted the title of this post) and then what I have to contend with is my dreary dull work, and someone else's mega dysfunction, which is very wearing no matter how much I love her.  The contrast between my life and these people's (considering that we all started out in the same place socioeconomically, more or less) is just sometimes more than I can bear.

As I was leaving yesterday, after we had patched things up, my partner said something so profound, it shook me to my core.  She said "take care of 'us'.  'Us' is real.  All the things you want are not real, are they, if you don't have them?"  I wish so very very much that I could believe this.  I mean really believe it.  But you see I don't, because the things I want are being lived out by 90% of the people I know every hour of every day.  These are not things that I see on tv or read about in the newspaper.  Lincoln Center is not someplace I heard of and want to visit someday (something a relative of my partner's said recently).  I have to pass it every single day when I go to the grocery store, the drug store, the bank, or the subway.  That mega marker of my my failure and irrelevance, towering over me never letting me forget how insignificant and pathetic I am.

Then I saw this picture

on Facebook, liked it, and shared it.  And thought I was grounded.

No sooner than I did that, than I found out that the woman I referred to in the previous post, who is getting a multi-art degree, is getting this free of charge because her husband teaches theater at the university in question.  So there you have it.  I don't begrudge her this, she is a good person.  But that is why she is doing what she is doing, and I am (not) doing what I am (not) doing.  It does matter whom you know.  Yes, you need talent, and you need hard work.  People aren't handed something for nothing.  But you need to be in that milieu.  If you weren't born into it,  you need to go to school for it when you are young, meet people, and maybe marry one of them.  And then that network is there.  

So how can I get past this?  How can I stop sobbing and screaming that I have all this talent (which I have been told by other people) that no one cares about?  That I want to be somebody?  Maybe it would be easier if I were Christian.  Christians believe that the last is first and the least is best.  But do they really? The church I sing at does many many many good works (which is why I give them a charitable donation) but it is the Ivy Leaguers, the conservatory graduates, and the people working on and off Broadway who are the "stars" there, not the health aides and the people who work in the food pantry.

Why I Started Going to Church in the First Place. Oh, and Paging Dr. Who

I realize that with all I've written here about the Mentor, the Unitarian church, my current involvement (mostly, but not entirely musical) with the Lutheran church, and my atheistic family, I have never really explained why I started going to church in the first place.

I should say that despite my parents being atheistic Marxists and my mother being ethnically Jewish, we lived in Brooklyn Heights, which was an extremely WASPy neighborhood.  At that time it was not, however, an expensive neighborhood, the way it is today.  There were Old Money WASPs there and poor WASPs (not to be confused with poor whites). These poor WASPs were people who had somewhere long ago been connected by blood to Old Money but had severed all connections with their families either because they were gay, were or had been active alcoholics, lived a bohemian lifestyle of some sort, or their parents or grandparents had been crazy and had given most of the family money to charity.  And most of these people attended the local Episcopal, Presbyterian, or Unitarian churches (in those days Unitarian churches were not that different from Protestant churches except that they didn't call Jesus "Christ" and didn't mention the Resurrection or the afterlife; but there was classical music and people got dressed up to attend services).  So this was the culture I was immersed in.  Not to mention my total immersion in Brit Lit, where the local village church and its vicar were regular stock characters.

As I grew older, when I wasn't seeing myself as a femme fatale, I saw myself more and more as a character in one of these books.

An essay that changed my life was an essay on the subject of Christianity and the Victorians written by Gertrude Himmelfarb. I hesitate to mention her because her husband and son are rather loathesome right-wing ideologues, but Gertrude has mostly confined herself to writing about the social sphere and has equally condemned the "feel good" revolution from the left and the "greed is good" message from the right as being responsible for fraying the fabric of society.

This essay mentioned that after the ideas of Darwin gained a foothold, very few British intellectuals believed in things like the Virgin Birth, the Resurrection, or the afterlife (although they continued to mythologize the latter), but that hey still considered themselves "Christians", most notably "Anglicans" which was part of having a British identity.  Even Jews, such as Disraeli, considered it not oxymoronic to be both Jewish and members of the Church of England.

So this led me to think that it was "OK" for me to want to go to church even if I didn't believe a lot of the doctrine.  Having had fond memories of my childhood visits to the Unitarian church in Brooklyn, including singing in the choir, I decided to go (with my partner) to the local Unitarian church on the Upper West Side.  Well, the rest is history.  When I started attending services I had no intention of singing, but, well, the hymnals were there, so I sang.  And I met The Mentor.  And then I developed a faith in God, which I had not had before, even after 28 years of sobriety in AA.  If my voice returned, better than it had ever been, after 23 years, when I was in God's house, then s/he must really be there.

After I met the Mentor my identity shifted from "nice churchlady" who watched Masterpiece Theater, to  "occasional femme fatale", but I thought I had a niche.  I could sing solos on the big holidays (really the only other trained singers were a coloratura soprano pursuing a career, and The Mentor himself) and once in a while sing an aria in one of their annual "talent shows", which consisted of a little singing in various genres, a little poetry reading, a little dance, and some silliness - very English village.  But that did not happen.  I fell in love with Mentor, he fell out of love with me (that might have happened anyhow; I think he would have gotten bored with me in any event), and the congregation decided it didn't want to hear operatic style singing or "Christian" oratorio pieces.

Where I am now is a lot more formal, and has in recent years, despite that there is no pay for singing, become a magnet for serious talent, not to mention that it is smack between Juilliard, Mannes, and the Manhattan School of Music.  And, oh, did I mention that Marilyn Horne has made an arrangement for her proteges to give recitals there?

When I was thinking of scaling back (not giving up singing, just giving up opera singing other than the occasional aria or scene) I was imagining myself somewhere where I could do what I did at that Unitarian church: be one of a tiny handful of acknowledged "stars" in a struggling choir, sing solos at the big holidays, and sing an aria or two at special events.

If I shut my eyes tight I can imagine myself, in the late 1940s or 1950s, in a tiny church in St. Mary Mead, listening to the choir struggling through a hymn with gusto, my voice soaring above them. Oh, Dr. Who, could you please take me there?