Liturgical Notes
December 14, 2025
In the Baptismal Covenant, Episcopalians promise to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ. In our liturgy, we make the official announcement of this Good News every time we sing, “Alleluia” or respond with “Praise to you, Lord Christ” immediately following the Gospel Lesson. Beyond liturgy, we are all called to announce God’s presence through the ways we practice love, justice, mercy, and radical welcome. Over the past several years, our community has particularly chosen to center our children in ways that connect us better to one another. We know that the presence of our kids proclaims something to us every week. What does their presence provoke in you? Our Advent Wreath trains us to joyfully await the coming of Jesus, born into this world, like all of us, a child. We can thank Lutheran pastor Johann Wichern for introducing the world to a wreath with 19 candles, helping children count the days from St. Nick’s Day to Christmas. Now, our modern practice of lighting four candles for each week of Advent has evolved to include a theme for each week. Immediately following the lighting of our Advent Wreath in the church, our children process to our classroom in the Parish Hall. There we learn to care for one another. We also set our own prayer space with our own wooden Advent Wreath, listen to the Good News of Jesus’s presence in our lives, and contribute with a thought, a question or a prayer. You may have noticed purple links landing on our Advent Giving Tree in Foote Hall. Each chain contains a collection of our children’s connection with the themes of Advent: Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love. Our children help us proclaim these signs of the coming of God. How does your life announce the presence of God active in our lives? Jocelyn A. Sideco, MTS
December 7, 2025
“The foundation of a good essay is a strong thesis,” I can hear my middle school English teacher say, like it was yesterday. Apologies for not starting with a trigger warning before evoking that era in your life. I guess you could say my thesis for this liturgical note is: The Collect of the Day, a prayer that comes just before the readings from Holy Scripture, is the strong thematic thesis of our worship. For each Sunday, as well as the feasts and fasts of the church calendar, there are portions of the service, called the propers, that change to align with that day’s worship service. You’ll recognize these as part of our worship at St. Paul’s, and they include the selected readings from Holy Scripture (often an Old Testament, New Testament, Psalm, and Gospel lesson), the Sermon, as well as the hymns or anthems sung during that service. The Collect of the Day is a special type of prayer that collects or gathers together the theme of the propers, orienting the hearts and minds of the community in worship to the specific occasion for which we gather. Consider this week’s Collect of the Day for the 2nd Sunday in Advent: Merciful God, who sent your messengers the prophets to preach repentance and prepare the way for our salvation: Give us grace to heed their warnings and forsake our sins, that we may greet with joy the coming of Jesus Christ our Redeemer; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. As we worship this morning, you might note where else in our readings, sermon, and hymns these themes are evoked, recalling the specific occasion we gather, the 2nd Sunday in Advent, and perhaps referring to the Advent liturgical note Rev. Sarah wrote last week using the QR Code. Ultimately, you’ll have to decide if I supported my thesis and let me know if I followed through on my English teacher’s lesson all those years ago.
November 30, 2025
In Advent, we looking for the coming of Christ. This season of waiting holds more than we might realize! Advent comes from the Latin, adventus, meaning “a coming,” translated from the Greek word parousia. Scholars trace earliest Advent observance to the 4th and 5th centuries in Spain and Gaul. People new to the Christian faith then spent 40 days preparing to be baptized on the Feast of the Epiphany, which is observed in January. That season of prayer, fasting, and spiritual preparation led to communal celebrations of God’s incarnation emphasized in stories of the Magi’s visit to the Holy Family, Jesus’ baptism at the Jordan River, and Jesus’ first miracle at the wedding in Cana. The Nativity story was not the focal point of their festivities. Advent and Christmas became liturgically linked in the 6th century in Rome, as the faithful continued to look for Christ’s coming. For them also, welcoming Jesus did not center the newborn babe in the Bethlehem manger. Instead, the season was one of making ready for the Holy One whose return at the fulfillment of time would involve the judgment of the world. Death, judgment, heaven, and hell were common themes in preaching on Sundays leading up to Christmas Eve. This pastoral practice aimed to help Christians see mortality through the lens of hope, in witness to Fleming Rutledge’s observation, “how the light of the birth of Christ appeared against a backdrop of [the world’s] darkness, depravity, and despair.” In the Middle Ages, Advent became the season of preparation for Christmas much like we now enjoy. With people of faith in all times who have looked for God’s coming to redeem the pain and suffering of our planet and its peoples, we continue to wait for the coming of Christ. We may pray with differing sensibilities about that “fullness of time” in which Christ will return, to which Scripture points, yet we anticipate the hope, peace, joy, and love that our Savior will kindle as he comes again in glory, perhaps even as that biblical hymn imagines him— riding in on those poetic “clouds descending.” No one knows the hour or the day when the Lord of Life will return. But we pray as we wait to be ready to greet him with joy when Christ comes again to reign in glory over all the earth. by The Rev. Sarah C. Stewart, Rector
November 23, 2025
The “Our Father” or Lord’s Prayer has two biblical origins: “Pray then like this: Our Father [...]” (Matthew 6:9) and ‘When you pray, say: Father [...]’ (Luke 11:2). Jesus proposes this prayer in the Gospel of Matthew immediately after he gave the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7), where he instructs a large crowd on how best to avoid the consequences of verbosity, pridefulness, and public displays of prayer that mask a lack of dependence on God. In the Gospel of Luke this prayer comes in response to the disciples’ desire for a way to pray, “Lord, teach us to pray as John taught his disciples” (Luke 11:1). Jesus follows this instruction with encouragement so that the disciples can grow to trust in God for all their needs. In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus invites his disciples to do the opposite of what they have seen others value; in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus demonstrates the behavior that can go towards a right relationship with God. Invitations often come in at least these two forms: a push away from something or a pull towards something. In this case, both demonstrations of prayer lead us to a real relationship with God in which we are strengthened to see both what can be now and what may yet be realized, while doing our best to mind the gap. We are a people who believe in a heaven full of joy, love, harmony, and unity. Praying the “Our Father” invites us to place ourselves in this mysterious relationship with God where we can come to understand and trust in God’s saving power amidst all the now (earthly) moments that seem to be so far away from God’s preferred future (heavenly) moments. Praying to God in this way helps us bring about God’s justice, care, and compassion because we are encouraged to bring about heaven now, with one another, trusting that God’s love leads us to the freedom which endures yesterday, today and forever. by Jocelyn A. Sideco, Pastoral Associate
November 16, 2025
There are at least six forms of the Prayers of the People in our Book of Common Prayer, beginning on page 383. I wanted to take a moment to explore this portion of the liturgy that evokes all voices present, in addition to voices past, future, and all time. Let us take a moment to consider biblical connections that reinforce this corporate style of praying: The Bible tells a communal story, with God’s people regularly relating as a gathered body. Israel, collectively, groans, worships, and sings prayer to the Lord (Exodus 4:31, 12:27, 15:1). Jesus instructs us to pray using plural pronouns, “Our Father,” assuming a communal setting, and in the Acts of the Apostles we find the new community “devoting themselves to prayer together” (Acts 1:14). Scripture calls us to pray together and publicly, which is why we do so every Sunday. Now let us take a look at the scope of our prayers. The six most basic areas include the church, the nation and leaders, the world, the local community, those in need, and those who have died. It is quite breathtaking to consider how elegant and thoughtful this invitation to prayer really is: it moves us swiftly through both time and space, just as our faith does when we submit to God’s glory and grace in our lives. We can move from hyper-present needs to acknowledging past actions and hoping for future graces. We pray for people and situations in our present as well as those who have lived and died before us. We also move from close and dear relationships to those who commit to our care and those we commit to care for. We celebrate God’s spacious love through naming those we know and those we have yet to know or be known by. Our Prayers of the People are both for the people and by the people. Usually, these prayers are led by a deacon or lay leader who evokes a participatory invitation for all in the congregation to chime in. Therefore, let us continue to make this so, that these prayers are everyone’s. by Jocelyn A. Sideco, Pastoral Associate
November 9, 2025
Like Halloween, Día de los Muertos is a holiday linked to the Feasts of All Saints and All Souls in the liturgical calendar. But, unlike Halloween, which has become mostly about candy and costumes for the sake of entertainment, Día de los Muertos is a holiday that celebrates the lives of loved ones who have died and the generations of ancestors who have gone before us. From family picnics at grave sites, to lavishly decorated home altars, to the aroma of pan de muerto and the beauty and brightness of marigolds, the celebration of Día de los Muertos is as beautiful as it is profound. Over the last few years, we have decorated our chapel with papeles picados and engaged the imagination of our children and their families with an ofrenda where they can share images of their dead loved ones as well as appreciate the objects that attract our focus: candles, incense, calaveras, salt and water. All these items help us acknowledge the journey so many souls make from living to dying, from birth to death. As we observe the Feast of All Souls this weekend, let us continue to lift up the many people who have traveled through this life loved by many and remembered by some. At St. Paul’s, we especially offer care and deep love for our ancestors in our Columbarium (our sacred, permanent, and dignified space for memorials with personalized niches containing the cremated remains of our deceased family members) and Memorial Garden. “I am Resurrection and I am Life, says the Lord. Whoever has faith in me shall have life, even though he die.” John 11:25-26, the first words of the Order for Burial of the Dead (Rite II) liturgy by Jocelyn A. Sideco, Pastoral Associate
November 2, 2025
On the sacred symbols of Holy Baptism and their significance in our communal life of faith. Christian worship is awash in symbols held dear across diverse cultures and faiths. The sacrament of Holy Baptism lifts up two of these: water and light. Water reveals all God’s love makes possible. It points us to divine provision, creativity, and care–birthing, sustaining, and renewing all creation. Water brings cleansing power. It nourishes all living beings. This essential element teaches us that God’s generative dreams for the world flow through our receptivity and recreation. Water helps us look for new life in our beginnings and endings alike. Baptizing a person in water, in the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, is an ancient practice that has marked Jesus’ followers for centuries. Raised to share in Christ’s risen life, each baptized person is called to kindle the light that is entrusted to us. Baptismal liturgies make this visible by lighting a small candle from the greater Paschal candle, as the newly-baptized individual receives the flame with these words, “be as the light of Christ among us.” In community, we nurture our growing faith and progress toward more mature understandings of discipleship. Standing with all who are baptized into the Christian faith, this holy light of love burns ever-more brightly every time we pray, learn, discern, and choose to serve the world together in Jesus’ name. Today, our children join in carrying flameless candles from the font to remind us of our sacred call to walk in the light of God’s love. Thank you for affirming and blessing their experiences of Christ at St. Paul’s! by The Rev. Sarah C. Stewart, Rector
October 26, 2025
Regarding times when the Nicene Creed is replaced by the Baptismal Covenant in our Sunday worship. “The use of the Nicene Creed at the liturgy was a gradual development, being adopted in various parts of the church in the period from the fifth to the eleventh centuries. Earlier tradition had regarded the Eucharistic prayer as the church’s profession of faith.” - Howard E. Galley, The Ceremonies of the Eucharist Our liturgy immerses us in practices of faith. Some are Scriptural, some take shape in song. Others arise in embodied movements that awaken us to faith’s sacred mysteries. Still others invite our hearts to stretch toward God as we continue on a shared journey of faith that unfolds in community, over a lifetime. The Nicene Creed names ideas about God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit that our Christian tradition has held for centuries. It also points to how we practice faith together—praying, sharing Eucharist, loving our neighbor, seeking to serve Christ in all persons, respecting the dignity of all who live. Sometimes we use our Baptismal Covenant in place of the Creed. A pledge to follow Jesus, the Baptismal Covenant enlists our recommitment to faith as an orientation to love. Faith is active, prompting us not only to be but also to do the work of justice, mercy, and peace-making that Jesus’ love calls us to pursue in his name. Whenever someone is baptized, the Baptismal Covenant is used in worship instead of the Creed. This faithful practice asks us once again to pay attention to our promise to let Jesus’ Way of Love be alive in us. Being baptized in the name of the Triune God—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—is a choice to live with intentional care and creativity as we discern what God would have us do every day. Contemporary versions of the Baptismal Covenant, like the one we will use next week when we stand alongside Anna Malhotra at her baptism, engage us naming specific ways we will dare to answer this holy call to live love, with the aid of our Creator and Savior, through the power of the Spirit entrusted to us in baptism. We look forward to celebrating with Anna and her family next Sunday at 10am, as she is baptized into the priesthood of all believers!
October 19, 2025
If a child asks whether it is better to kneel or to stand when one prays, what do you say? Early Christians did both. Mark 11:25 describes Jesus as “Stand By Me” Team Captain. Acts 9:40 depicts Peter’s preferred “on bended knee” approach, praying to raise Tabitha from the dead. Medieval worshippers in the west felt kneeling was the best way to pray (think of all the private prayer chapels in homes, churches, and cathedrals!). We are invited to try both, as we are able, especially with those gorgeous hand-crafted needlepoint kneelers that devoted church volunteers designed and created with great care! Standing and kneeling originally were private prayer postures. But communal traditions mirrored personal habits. Church councils once forbade kneeling on Sundays and during the 50 Days of Easter. They also prescribed communicants stand to receive Holy Communion. (This may land as good news to those of us whose bodies can’t bend down to kneel at the rail!). In public worship today, kneeling tends to be more common in liturgical seasons focused on fasting and repentance, like Lent, or seasons of preparation, such as Advent. The present Book of Common Prayer aims to reaffirm the value of kneeling year-round, as desired, out of pastoral sensitivity. We are people baptized into the priesthood of all believers, to whom Jesus entrusts the ministry of reconciliation. Thus, we are right to stand when we pray, including at the start of the Eucharistic Prayer (a prayer of thanksgiving), the Prayers of the People (prayers of intercession), and during the Postcommunion Prayer. Still, you might notice people kneeling at the Sanctus, at the start of the Eucharistic Prayer, or during the Postcommunion Prayer. They are not wrong. Practicing prayer in ways that ground our bodies, focus our minds, and connect our spirits with God are the right ways to pray, always. Little ones who tend to have lots of energy sometimes enjoy being anchored in God’s love while kneeling in prayer, whether at home before bed or when participating in public worship. Find whatever posture works for you and pray!
October 12, 2025
Holy Eucharist is a sacred meal that nourishes our hearts, minds, and bodies with grace that evokes our thanks and praise! Every so often, an audible “thank you” is heard as a piece of bread makes its way into someone’s outstretched palm during the distribution of Holy Communion. At the rail, youngsters sometimes jockey for position on needlepoint cushions hand-crafted with love, expressing innocent desires for a “big piece” of Jesus. Such joyous outbursts prompt smiles on the faces of folks who witness such hungers being met, eliciting a hearty “Amen!” Sharing in this feast of the world’s redemption teaches us that fellowship is central to our common life. Our multigenerational meal connects us with God and with one another in Christ, as Saint Paul describes in 1 Corinthians 10:17: “We who are many are one body, for we all share in the one bread.” God welcomes every authentic form of gratitude that arises as we participate in these holy mysteries, whether we stand, kneel, or skip down the aisle on the way back to our seats. Celebrating God’s love in The Great Thanksgiving is a renewing practice that uplifts and fills us with gratitude. Like any sacrament that serves as an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace, this meal of love is a gift for which we are right to give thanks. Our bodies can express the posture of grateful hearts by kneeling or standing, in keeping with our physical abilities and with the liturgical season. For example, Lent is a time in which kneeling is invited more often in worship. Just as we can leverage body language, we can recapitulate our “thank you” all together using the words of the Postcommunion Prayer, part of our liturgy that dates from the fourth century. One version of the prayer was offered in the 1549 Prayer Book, two in the 1552 Book of Common Prayer. Much like other liturgical prayers, the Postcommunion Prayer has evolved to encompass an array of contemporary ways to thank God for providing the grace we need to welcome love’s transforming power in our lives. In the Postcommunion Prayer we ask for strength and courage to participate faithfully in Jesus’ mission of loving service. And we gather our energies to encounter the challenges of our world in the Spirit of Compassion that leads us out in Jesus’ name. Spoken in unison by the whole congregation as the Liturgy of the Table draws to its conclusion and before the Blessing and Dismissal or any concluding music, the Postcommunion Prayer recapitulates our gratitude for God’s generosity, drawing us together in unity and diversity around Christ’s table and daring us to rejoice in the saving mystery that this sacred meal helps us see in our daily lives.
October 5, 2025
About Sacrifice and Praise: Reflections on the Presentation of Gifts and the Gloria When was the last time you heard the word sacrifice outside of a church setting? This deeply provocative word is rarely used in everyday language. And yet, in our Eucharistic Liturgy, we know we are invited into Christ's one-time, perfect sacrifice on the cross, and the offering of the Church to God through thanksgiving, praise, and the presentation of the bread and wine. During the 10am service last week, a few of our children and adults caring for them offered personal items in addition to the bread and wine. Their intention was to physically participate and connect with this communal moment with the hopes that their gifts may be multiplied like the boy who was recorded to share his lunch one day as Jesus preached to a crowd of 5,000. We spent time reflecting on the action of giving something we value or something that nourishes us to God so that others may also be able to share in the graces of care, sufficiency, and love. But, think about it, making an offering of something quite important and valuable to you is nerve-racking. Especially when you have truly been invited to let something go. Even for me, tears began to well up when I thought of offering up my wedding ring as a symbol of my trust in God’s ultimate care, bounty, and life. Let our children’s example of handing over prized possessions serve as an invitation for us to do the same: to give what is important, not just what is excessive, surplus, and would be returned. Which brings me to not the end of the service, but the beginning. Celebrating the mystery of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection together begins in triumph and remembrance, and continues in inspiration, confession, broken offering, communal wholeness, and sending forth. Like Dr. Matthews mentioned above in her invitation to sing Florence Price’s Gloria together today, we are reminded of God’s greater glory as we re-assemble as the Body of Christ each time we gather. May this Gloria, this Hymn of Praise, sung, played, written, and felt by Florence Price bring us to a different understanding of God’s goodness so that when it comes to letting go of things we hold so dearly to, we may offer them with grace and confidence that God hears us and will care for us even more than what we can ever anticipate or hope for.
September 21, 2025
Presentation of Gifts, Preparation of the Table, and the Offertory The offertory and presentation of the gifts get conflated. Both are a part of the Liturgy of the Eucharist in which the congregation brings gifts of bread and wine to the altar to be blessed and transformed into the body and blood of Christ. The presentation of the gifts is a way for the congregation to be actively involved in the Eucharistic Liturgy and to participate in the transformation by the sacred mysteries. We bring our gifts of bread and wine and other as well as other possibly valuable items
September 28, 2025
Presentation of Gifts, Preparation of the Table, and the Offertory The offertory and presentation of the gifts often are conflated. Both feature in the Liturgy of the Eucharist in which the congregation brings gifts of bread and wine to the altar to be blessed and transformed into the body and blood of Christ. The presentation of the gifts is one way the congregation is actively involved in the Eucharistic Liturgy. Traditionally, we bring our gifts of bread and wine. Communities have, over time, made room to bring other offerings of value during this moment. We use multiple offertory sentences, and the Book of Common Prayer gives many recommendations while also saying that any Scripture reflective of offering is suitable. For more on this topic see the BCP, p. 376. Three aspects make up the offertory sentence: 1.Giving tithes and offerings 2.Supplying bread and wine for Holy Communion 3.Presenting ourselves to God Most of us probably think that the “offering” refers only to money. It certainly does involve giving to the Church and others as part of our stewardship of the resources that we manage for God. But don’t miss the other two aspects of offering: Parishioners bake the bread and wine we use for Holy Communion. Have you noticed that members of the congregation bring those elements forward at the beginning of the Eucharistic Liturgy? This action says, “we the Body of Christ are providing the very elements that will become the Body of Christ.” It’s a beautiful part of the service and a way to include the entire congregation over time. We especially offer to God ourselves, as the Rite I Eucharistic I Prayer says, “...we offer and present unto thee, O Lord, our selves, our souls and bodies, to be a reasonable, holy, and living sacrifice unto thee…” (BCP, p. 336). At St. Paul’s this year, we’ll be exploring certain dimensions of our liturgical life. When you come to church, be ready for elements of our Sunday prayers to come to life in new ways—through “Instructing Liturgies” notes published on the back page of our printed Sunday “Invitations” and in multigenerational experiences in worship that aspire to enrich. Each will be geared for all-ages (bearing in mind that some of us are not yet able to read). All are intended to help us feel more at home in St. Paul’s communal life of prayer. Coming closer to what may seem familiar, to enjoy it afresh, is a habit modeled by our best teachers, who show us the joys of practicing curiosity. Curiosity can lead us closer to God and one another. “What’s Up with Church?” is another St. Paul’s learning laboratory to enjoy together this year. A place to bring your questions as we explore sacred spaces, rhythms, and rituals. Join Bill Phillips and me after the 10am service on Sunday, September 28 for our first conversation. All ages and questions are warmly welcome! From the physical architecture of our church to the liturgical structures that lift up our life of prayer in the Body of Christ, we can discover beauty in order, hidden and revealed. May this be a year of awakening and delight as we dig into the symbolic and sacred functions that give rise to these generative forms that strengthen and sustain our life at St. Paul’s.
September 14, 2025
We enjoy a variety of blessings in our life of communal prayer, as people whose Protestant lineage locates us within the Episcopal Church, including a measure of consistency in the structure and flow of our worship. Steadiness and order have been something that our ancestors in faith long have valued, even when forging a shared identity with understandable prayers expressed in common language through uniform practices of worship has proven tricky. We can thank Thomas Cranmer and his collaborators, commissioned to create the original Book of Common Prayer, for the poetic patterns that continue to direct our hearts toward God. At St. Paul’s this year, we’ll be exploring certain dimensions of these prayers. When you come to church on Sundays, look for these patterns and shapes to come to life in fresh ways—through “Instructing Liturgies” notes published on the back page of our printed Sunday “Invitations” and in multigenerational experiences in worship that aspire to enrich. Each will be geared for all-ages (bearing in mind that some of us are not yet able to read). All are intended to help us feel more at home in St. Paul’s communal life of prayer. For in all the diverse and gracious ways we are invited to “lift up our hearts” in the Body of Christ, there is beauty and order to be discovered. A sure foundation of thankfulness and praise that can ground us in our weekly rhythms. May this be a year of awakening and delight as we dig into the symbolic and sacred functions that give rise to these generative forms that strengthen and sustain our life at St. Paul’s!
September 7, 2025
One of the blessings evident in our life as people who participate in a liturgical tradition, through our Protestant lineage within the Episcopal Church, is a measure of consistency in the structure and flow of our prayers. Such steadiness and order weren’t always enjoyed by our spiritual ancestors. Forging a shared identity with understandable prayers expressed in common language through uniform practices of worship was an accomplishment of Thomas Cranmer and his collaborators, who were commissioned by Edward VI to create the original Book of Common Prayer. At St. Paul’s this year, we’ll be exploring certain dimensions of our liturgical life. When you come to church, be ready for elements of our Sunday prayers to come to life in new ways—through “Instructing Liturgies” notes published on the back page of our printed Sunday “Invitations” and in multigenerational experiences in worship that aspire to enrich. Each will be geared for all-ages (bearing in mind that some of us are not yet able to read). All are intended to help us feel more at home in St. Paul’s communal life of prayer. Coming closer to what may seem familiar, to enjoy it afresh, is a habit modeled by our best teachers, who show us the joys of practicing curiosity. Curiosity can lead us closer to God and one another. “What’s Up with Church?” is another St. Paul’s learning laboratory to enjoy together this year. A place to bring your questions as we explore sacred spaces, rhythms, and rituals. Join Bill Phillips and me after the 10am service on Sunday, September 28 for our first conversation. All ages and questions are warmly welcome! From the physical architecture of our church to the liturgical structures that lift up our life of prayer in the Body of Christ, we can discover beauty in order, hidden and revealed. May this be a year of awakening and delight as we dig into the symbolic and sacred functions that give rise to these generative forms that strengthen and sustain our life at St. Paul’s.
Music Notes
On each of the four Sundays in Advent, the liturgy opens with stanzas from the carol Veni, veni, Emmanuel: “O come, O come, Emmanuel” (Hymn 56), the text based on the O Antiphons. Originating in sixth-century Italy, the O Antiphons are chanted at the evening office of Vespers on the last seven days of Advent, December 17 through 23, before and after the Magnificat (Song of Mary). Each chant invokes God to come among us, with different names drawn from the Hebrew Scriptures: O Sapientia (O Wisdom); O Adonai (O Lord); O Radix Jesse (O Root/Branch of Jesse); O Clavis David (O Key of David); O Oriens (O Dayspring); O Rex Gentium (O King of nations); O Emmanuel. In these petitions, one discovers an acrostic when reading the first letter of the names in reverse order: ERO CRAS. This is Latin for “I shall come tomorrow” or “Tomorrow I will be.” On this Third Sunday of Advent, Gaudete Sunday, the chant O Clavis is sung following the first reading from the Hebrew scripture. The offertory anthem is an arrangement of the spiritual Go and tell John by Larry Fleming, founding director of the National Lutheran Choir from 1986 to 1999. The text draws on two verses from today’s gospel from Matthew. The music of the communion anthem E’en so, Lord Jesus, Quickly Come is by Minnesota Lutheran composer Paul Manz (1919-2009), setting a text by his wife Ruth Manz. Ruth Manz’s text draws on the first and last chapters of Revelation, the last book of the New Testament of the Bible. While taking turns staying at the bedside of their dying three-year old son, these scripture passages had great significance for Ruth, and her paraphrase inspired her husband to compose this setting during a night he thought might be the last of his son’s life. Paul Manz died in a hospice in St. Paul’s, Minnesota in October 2009 at the age of 90 surrounded by his family, including that son, singing “E’en so, Lord Jesus, quickly come . . . And night shall be no more; They need no light nor lamp nor sun, For Christ will be their All.”
On each of the four Sundays in Advent, the liturgy opens with stanzas from the carol Veni, veni, Emmanuel, “O come, O come, Emmanuel” (Hymn 56), the text based on the O Antiphons. Originating in sixth-century Italy, the O Antiphons are chanted at the evening office of Vespers on the last seven days of Advent, December 17 and 23, before and after the Magnificat (Song of Mary). Each chant invokes God to come among us, with different names drawn from the Hebrew Scriptures: O Sapientia (O Wisdom) O Adonai (O Lord) O Radix Jesse (O Root / Branch of Jesse) O Clavis David (O Key of David) O Oriens (O Dayspring) O Rex Gentium (O King of nations) O Emmanuel In these petitions, one discovers an acrostic when reading the first letter of the names in reverse order: ERO CRAS. This is Latin for “I shall come tomorrow” or “Tomorrow I will be.” On this Second Sunday of Advent, the chant O Radix Jesse is sung following the reading from the Hebrew scripture, in which the prophet Isaiah foretells of this branch and a time in which “the wolf shall live with the lamb…and a little child shall lead them.” In the gospel from Matthew, we now hear from the preaching of John the Baptist that the “kingdom of God has come near,” the advent of Jesus for which we pray in the offertory anthem O Jesus, grant me hope and comfort through the words of German poet Wilhelm Osterwald and music of Johann Franck. The communion anthem by English composer and Orthodox mystic John Tavener, Mother of God, sets a Marian prayer of the Russian poet Mikhail Lermontov for an unnamed person, the music an icon through which we might glimpse beyond to the divine to whom we pray to come among us.
On the four Sundays in Advent, the liturgy opens with stanzas from the carol Veni, veni, Emmanuel: “O come, O come, Emmanuel” (Hymn 56), the text based on the O Antiphons. Originating in sixth-century Italy, the O Antiphons are chanted at the evening office of Vespers on the last seven days of Advent, December 17 and 23, before and after the Magnificat (Song of Mary). Each chant invokes God to come among us, with different names drawn from the Hebrew Scriptures: O Sapientia (O Wisdom) O Adonai (O Lord) O Radix Jesse (O Root of Jesse) O Clavis David (O Key of David) O Oriens (O Dayspring) O Rex Gentium (O King of nations) O Emmanuel In these petitions, one discovers an acrostic when reading the first letter of the names in reverse order: ERO CRAS. This is Latin for “I shall come tomorrow” or “Tomorrow I will be.” On the First Sunday of Advent, the offertory anthem by American composer Karen Marrolli, O Dayspring, quotes the O Oriens text and Veni, veni, Emmanuel tune. The O Oriens chant is sung following the first reading. May we find God among us even today, a light in the darkness.
“When you are praying, do not heap up empty phrases as the Gentiles do; for they think that they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him. Pray then in this way: Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” ~Matthew 6:7-13 This prayer that taught Jesus taught his disciples has inspired countless composers through the ages, among them the French organist and composer Maurice Duruflé (1902-1986). From 1929, Duruflé was organist at St. Étienne-du-Mont, Paris, a gorgeous sacred space in the shadow of the Panthéon. His wife, the legendary organist Marie-Madeleine Duruflé-Chevalier, shared this organ post with him from 1953. At the request of his vicar at St. Étienne-du-Mont, Paris, Duruflé composed a setting of the Lord’s Prayer (Notre Père) in 1977 for their congregation accompanied by organ. Throughout the fall, the trebles of the Choir School have been memorizing the words of the Lord’s Prayer and rehearsing Duruflé’s tune. On this Christ the King Sunday, they invite all to join in singing the Lord’s Prayer, as we pray for God’s kingdom to come and read words of one of the criminals crucified next to our Lord, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” All will be invited to continue singing the Lord’s Prayer at the 10am Eucharist through the Sundays of Advent.
In the offertory anthem And I saw a new heaven, English composer Edgar Bainton (1880-1956) evocatively set a passage from Revelation 21:1-4, echoing today’s first lesson from Isaiah. This is John’s revelation of a new heaven and earth where there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither any more pain – all things will be made new. Listen for the shift from the opening minor key to the parallel major key, as the text tells of the blessings of this new heaven and earth where all may dwell as children of God. At communion, the sopranos and altos of the choir sing “The Darkest Hour” from the song cycle Generations by composer Melissa Dunphy and poet Jacqueline Goldfinger, commissioned for the 2024 national convention of the American Guild of Organists, held in San Francisco. Dunphy writes: “I think of Generations tracing a message of hope across time. ‘The Darkest Hour’ portrays our anguish at present tribulations and our yearning for a brighter future, culminating in the repeated line ‘Let us be a light in the darkness of our day.’ ” Though composed for a soloist, this morning three singers from the choir divide the opening lines among them, all joining for the final repeated line that calls upon us to be the light. As Paul wrote to the Church in Thessalonica, read in today’s second lesson, “do not be weary in doing what is right.”
This All Souls’ Sunday, the choir offers movements from Ein deutsches Requiem (A German Requiem) by Johannes Brahms (1833-1897), accompanied by string quintet, woodwinds, horns and organ. Rather than the traditional Latin text for the Requiem, Brahms drew his libretto from scriptural texts - the Psalms attributed to King David, the Beatitudes of Jesus, the Revelation of John - and evocatively juxtaposed and set them with timeless music, creating a musical icon through which we might begin to glimpse the divine in life and in death. Musicologist Jim Steichen writes that through his Requiem, Brahms “speaks in universalizing terms about the passage from life to death, and especially the nearness of death in the midst of life.” The first and final movements frame the work with similar texts and musical themes, beginning with words of comfort to those who mourn the loss of loved ones (Matthew 5:4), and concluding with an assurance that the work of the blessed who die in the Lord lives on as they enter eternal rest. At the center of Ein deutsches Requiem is a joyous setting of Psalm 84, Wie lieblich sind deine Wohnungen, “How lovely are thy dwelling places.” Brahms composed the Requiem during the period 1857 to 1868. The fifth movement for choir and soprano soloist, Ihr habt nun Traurigkeit, was added last, most likely as a reflection on his mother’s death in 1865. A text from the prophet Isaiah is repeated throughout this movement: “I want to comfort you, as one is comforted by his mother.” May all who have sorrow find hope and comfort in this musical offering.
This morning we celebrate The Feast of All Saints! In the wonderful whimsy of Lesbia Scott’s 1929 English hymn written for her own children (Hymn 293), we are reminded that with the grace of God, we too can walk in the steps of the saints of God. In the first and second stanzas of her hymn, Scott catalogues saints of God that have gone before: a doctor (Luke), a queen (Margaret of Scotland), and a shepherdess on the green (Joan of Arc); a soldier (Martin of Tours), a priest (John Donne), and one slain by a fierce wild beast (Ignatius of Antioch). The third stanza tells of the many extraordinary saints surrounding us whom you may meet at ordinary places, and the saint whom you may be. We celebrate also the baptism of Anna Malhotra, a Chorister in the Choir of St. Paul’s. Anna played the lead role of Fanny Hensel in the Choir School’s two performances of their original musical, Fanny the Musical, telling of the life and music of this amazing German composer and pianist. For today’s postlude, Anna requested the postlude that Fanny had written for her own wedding, on the eve of the ceremony because the organ work promised by her brother Felix Mendelssohn had not been written in time. (He completed it 15 years later and gave it to Fanny in a collection of organ works as a birthday gift.). Anna also enjoys the cymbelstern (bells) of the organ which you will hear tinkling in the prelude, The Bells by William Byrd, and perhaps a few more times during the service. The offertory anthem is a favorite of all St. Paul’s Choristers, an arrangement of the shape-note hymn Hark, I hear the harps eternal by the legendary American choral conductor Alice Parker (1925-2023). The text tells of the gathering of the saints of God in the kingdom of heaven. At the communion, the kindergarteners of the Choir School join the choir to sing a setting of the Lord’s Prayer by French organist and composer Maurice Duruflé (1902-1986). This prayer that taught Jesus taught his disciples has inspired countless composers through the ages. From 1929, Duruflé was organist at St. Étienne-du-Mont, Paris, a gorgeous sacred space in the shadow of the Panthéon. At the request of his vicar, Duruflé composed a setting of the Lord’s Prayer (Notre Père) in 1977 for their congregation. All will be invited to join in singing Duruflé’s setting of the Lord’s Prayer at the 10am Eucharist on November 23, continuing through the Sundays of Advent.
“Be still, then, and know that I am God.” ~ Psalm 46:11 Today’s closing hymn 688 is “A mighty fortress is our God,” Martin Luther’s 1528 hymn paraphrase of Psalm 46, “Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott.” Luther composed this hymn to express how one might find comfort and hope in difficult times. Luther himself was living amid a plague outbreak, executions by the church for confessing the evangelical faith, and his wife’s second confinement. It was on October 31, 1517 when Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses to the door of the Wittenberg Castle Church, Germany, in protest of the selling of indulgences, and his hymn “Ein feste Burg” has become linked to the Protestant Reformation that followed. As cantor (director of music) of the Thomaskirche in Leipzig from 1723 to 1750, Johann Sebastian Bach was required to offer a cantata for choir and/or soloists and orchestra each Sunday and feast day. Among these works are the Cantata on “Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott,” BWV 80 composed for Reformation Day, setting four stanzas of Martin Luther’s hymn. The offertory anthem sets stanza 3 of Luther’s hymn (“And though this world, with devils filled . . .”) with unison choir declaiming the hymn tune with exuberant accompaniment. Three complete cycles of cantatas survive composed by Bach, and it is often surmised that Bach had twenty children to help copy out all the parts from his manuscripts for the choir and instrumentalists. The organ prelude by J. S. Bach introduces the tune of “Ein feste Burg.” The postlude is the famous Toccata in D minor attributed to J. S. Bach which has become inextricably linked to the last day of October for a different occasion, All Hallows’ Eve. Happy Halloween!
The gospel of peace has been spread to the world through the lives of countless messengers, the first disciples, the patron saint of this parish, Paul, and through us today at St. Paul’s Burlingame, as in the messengers of the Living Epistle. The offertory anthem, How lovely are the messengers, is a chorus from Part 2 of the St. Paul Oratorio by Felix Mendelssohn (1809-1847). The oratorio tells of Paul’s conversion to Christianity on the Road to Damascus, his Baptism and his spreading of the good news. Most likely Felix Mendelssohn felt some connection to the apostle Paul as he had converted from Judaism to Christianity as a child (along with his siblings Fanny, Rebekah, and Paul), taking on a second surname of Bartholdy to symbolize the conversion. The conversion of St. Paul is vividly depicted in a window in the narthex of the church entitled “Conversion of St. Paul on the Highway to Damascus.” When the window was installed in 1945, the church was known as St. Paul’s on the Highway. Through the communion anthem Open thou mine eyes by the Toronto composer and church musician Eleanor Daley (b. 1955), we again pray to see the way to walk as messengers of the gospel. Director of Music at Fairlawn Heights United Church in Toronto since 1982, Eleanor Daley has created a thriving choral program there for which much of her choral music has been composed. Daley sets words of the English bishop Lancelot Andrewes (1555-1626) who lived during the reigns of Elizabeth I and James I and oversaw the translation of the King James Bible. Andrewes donated his collected works to Pembroke College of Cambridge University where they remain today, a college where the choir visited this summer, and the Choir School made a video from the chapel.
The rich poetry of the 150 Psalms of the Hebrew Scriptures is sung throughout our liturgies. These songs attributed to King David can also be found in the 1979 Episcopal Book of Common Prayer in our pews. There is an appointed psalm for each of the services regularly offered at St. Paul’s, Holy Eucharist and Evening Prayer (Evensong). The choir sings today’s appointed Psalm 66 to an Anglican chant by Margaret Burk, the 2023 Marcia McCowin commissioned composer, with a congregational refrain drawn from the offertory anthem, Jubilate Deo by Benjamin Britten. Anglican chant began to evolve in the early 17th-century England from the harmonization of Gregorian chant, the latter sung daily from the Middle Ages in monasteries and convents. Music continues to bridge these ancient texts to our lives today. When the choir was in England this summer, they chanted 140 psalm verses over eight days in a 1662 translation of the psalms by Miles Coverdale paired with chants by four contemporary women composers. Both of today’s anthems set psalm texts that resonate with the appointed lessons. The offertory anthem Jubilate Deo is a 20th-century setting of Psalm 100 for choir and organ by English composer Benjamin Britten (1913-1976). Works by Britten also in the Choir of St. Paul’s repertoire include his Cuckoo from Friday Afternoons (sung by the Choristers on St. Francis Day), Psalm 150, Festival Te Deum, and Rejoice in the Lamb. The communion anthem I bless you, with all that is within me by Maine composer Patricia Van Ness sets Psalm 103. The anthem was written for the Choir of St. Paul’s and is dedicated to the memory of her husband, Peter Marks (1946-2020). It was premiered by the choir as a virtual video in May 2020, each singer recording their part separately from their home. The text is a free paraphrase of the psalm by the composer, which may be heard as a reflection on today’s gospel of the ten lepers, one returning in thanksgiving for their healing. Today’s Eucharist closes with another glimpse at Psalm 103, a congregational hymn setting from the 18th century: “O bless the Lord, my soul!” The music of Florence Price (1887-1953), regarded as America’s first significant black woman composer, is heard in today’s Communion Service in F (Gloria, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei). This morning, the choir introduces the opening section of the Gloria, as we look forward to all learning this movement new to St. Paul’s. The premiere of Price’s Symphony in E minor by the Chicago Symphony in 1933 marked the first performance of a large-scale work by a black woman by a major American orchestra. After Price’s death, her music was rarely heard outside of the black community. However, in 2009, a couple discovered boxes of her manuscripts in the attic of an old house they had just purchased outside of Chicago, which led to a reawakening of her 300 works A hallmark of Price’s style is her composition of original spiritual-like themes, such as in her anthem Resignation, recorded on the choir’s 2024 Great Host album which you may listen to on streaming platforms, including Spotify. As the St. Paul’s tower chimes resound again, the voluntaries lift up bells in quoting the spiritual “Peter, go ring them bells.” The prelude Bells is by Chicago composer and concert pianist Margaret Bonds (1913-1972) from her Spiritual Suite for Piano and the postlude by Florence Price, the closing toccata from her Variations on a Folk Song.
The music sounds forth with the wonders of all of God’s creation as they in turn glorify their creator. The organ voluntaries are from French Romantic composer Camille Saint-Saëns (1835-1921) whimsical celebration of God’s creatures, The Carnival of the Animals - A Grand Zoological Fantasy (1886). Composed by Saint-Saëns as a musical joke for his friends, verses by Ogden Nash introduce the work as a “salute to feathers, furs and fins.” We reflect on a way of life walked by St. Francis of Assisi (1181-1226) in singing his texts in the processional hymn 400 “All creatures of our God and King” and the presentation hymn 593 “Lord, make us servants of your peace.” The two anthems offer tribute to the winged creatures that accompany our walk in earth with a heavenly song, if we only would listen. Cuckoo is from Friday Afternoons, a collection of twelve songs that Benjamin Britten composed 1933 to 1935 for the Friday singing classes of Clive House School, Prestatyn, where his brother Robert was headmaster. He set words of English poet Jane Taylor (1783-1824), perhaps most well known for her lyrics “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” The communion anthem closes the choral cycle Lost Birds by Christopher Tin, a San Francisco Bay Area native and Stanford alumni. Through the poetry of women composers, Tin offers poignant musical reflections on extinct and dwindling species of birds, closing with a poem of hope by Emily Dickinson, Hope is the Thing with Feathers. The music of Florence Price (1887-1953), regarded as America’s first significant black woman composer, is heard this fall in the Communion Service in F (Gloria, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei). The choir has introduced the opening section of the Gloria for several Sundays, and this morning we invite all to join in singing. While Price’s music was rarely heard after her death, boxes of her manuscripts were found in the attic of an old house outside of Chicago in 2009, which has led to a reawakening of her music.
Offertory Anthem. In 1775, Franz Joseph Haydn (1732-1809) composed the chorus Svanisce in un momento (also known as "Der Sturm") for his first oratorio, Il ritorno di Tobia. While this oratorio did not compare to the maturity of his later oratorios (The Creation, The Seasons) and soon disappeared from the repertoire, this beloved chorus found a new life in 1784 when he replaced the secular Italian text with the sacred Latin text sung today as the offertory anthem, Insanae et vanae curae. The two contrasting sections of the anthem, fiery and lyrical, vividly depict this Latin text – encouraging us not to dwell in the maddening anxieties society imparts as important but rather free our minds to the peace of living as children walking in the light of God. Communion Anthem. The poem Lass dich nur nichts by 17th-century Saxon Paul Fleming (1609-1640), gently exhorts to live in a way of peace. Composed by Johannes Brahms in 1856 at the age of 23 as one of his Geistliches Lied (Holy Songs), this most beautiful piece of clever counterpoint created by double canons at the ninth was likely his first choral composition. Brahms’ musical setting climaxes with that of the poem: Der Eine Steht allem für. (“The One is Lord of all.”) For this All Souls’ Sunday (November 9), the choir will offer movements from Ein deutsches Requiem by Brahms. Final Hymn. Of the 720 hymns in the Hymnal 1982 in our pews, four hymns have both the music and poetry written by a woman. Kathleen Thomerson composed “I want to walk as a child of the light” in the summer of 1966 and named the tune Houston after the city of one of her childhood homes and where the hymn was premiered at Church of the Redeemer. The text resonates richly with the parable of today’s gospel, and as a reflection on the appointed psalm. You are invited to sing robustly in all the music of our liturgy, from the Greek word leitourgia meaning “the work of the people.”
In today’s Epistle, we read of Paul’s second letter to Timothy of ways to “Take hold of the life that is really life,” ways that the rich man of the parable from Luke did not take. Through the offertory anthem On Wings of Song by Gwyneth Walker (b. 1947), we pray in our fleeting earthly days to find the way, the wings, that take us to a life with God. Composer Gwyneth Walker sets the words of another New England native of an earlier generation, Caroline Leonard Goodenough (1856-1946). After graduating from Oberlin College, Caroline married fellow student Herbert Goodenough and worked with him for 35 years as missionaries to the Zulu people in South Africa. Gwyneth Walker composed On Wings of Song in November 2020 and dedicated the anthem to the memory of a beloved musician whose song had lifted the weariness of those who listened – Stanley Curtis, Director of the Warwick Valley Chorale of Orange County, New York. The Choir of St. Paul’s repertoire also includes Gwyneth Walker’s spirited arrangement of the spiritual Peace like a river. On Wings of Song has recently been published in the Music from Duke University Chapel series of MorningStar, along with the anthem On the Highway, the latter commissioned by the Choir of St. Paul’s with music by Margaret Burk setting words of Mia Ayumi Malhotra.
Prelude. September is drawn from Das Jahr, a mesmerizing cycle for fortepiano that is the first extant example of a musical calendar for piano in music history. Composed by Fanny Hensel from August 28, 1841 through December 23, 1841, she gave Das Jahr (The Year) to her husband as a Christmas gift, the artist Wilhelm Hensel. In a dedication to her husband, she described Das Jahr as a “playing picture of the fleeting year” (Das spielende Bild des Jahures, des fluchtigen) September is the only month published during Fanny’s lifetime, as the second movement of Vier Lieder, Opus 2, with no indication of a programmatic link to the month. A three-hand technique appears in this song of lament, where the tune is divided between the left and right hands. Anthems. See what love is drawn from the second part of the St. Paul Oratorio by Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy (1809-1847). The oratorio tells of Paul’s conversion to Christianity on the Road to Damascus, his Baptism and his spreading of the good news. Most likely Mendelssohn felt some connection to the apostle Paul as his family had converted from Judaism to Christianity, taking on the name of Bartholdy to symbolize the conversion. Paul’s conversion is depicted in a window in the narthex of the church entitled “Conversion of St. Paul on the Highway to Damascus.” When the window was installed in 1945, the church was known as St. Paul’s on the Highway. The anonymous sixteenth-century motet sung at the communion, Rejoice in the Lord alway, is a contrapuntal setting (each voice taking an independent line) of Philippians 4:4-7, the text resonating with today’s gospel from Luke. Postlude. On November 14, 1844, Felix gave a collection of four of his organ works as a birthday present to his beloved older sister Fanny, including today’s postlude. In September 1845, Felix broke the interregnum of the composition of major organ works that followed Johann Sebatian Bach’s death in 1750 with the publication of his Six Sonatas for Organ in London, Leipzig, Milan, and Paris. This postlude was included as the closing movement of the fifth sonata. You may learn more about Fanny Hensel and Felix Mendelssohn at the Choir School’s reprisal of their original script for Fanny the Musical on Wednesday at 6pm by becoming a sponsor of the Choir School today.
As we embark on a new choir season and anticipate the 2026-27 celebration of the centennial of the laying of St. Paul’s cornerstone, the choir offers the anthem Cornerstone, a rousing gospel setting by American composer Shawn Kirchner (b. 1970) juxtaposing Psalm 118:22, Isaiah 11:6, John 12:24 and I Corinthians 15:55. The communion anthem, You know me, is a setting for upper voices (soprano and alto) of today’s appointed Psalm 139 by Armenian-British composer Kristina Arakelyan (b. 1994). A phrase is drawn from this anthem for the psalm refrain. The music of Florence Price (1887-1953), regarded as America’s first significant black woman composer, is heard in today’s Communion Service in F (Gloria, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei). This morning, the choir introduces the opening section of the Gloria, as we look forward to all learning this movement new to St. Paul’s. The premiere of Price’s Symphony in E minor by the Chicago Symphony in 1933 marked the first performance of a large-scale work by a black woman by a major American orchestra. After Price’s death, her music was rarely heard outside of the black community. However, in 2009, a couple discovered boxes of her manuscripts in the attic of an old house they had just purchased outside of Chicago, which led to a reawakening of her 300 works A hallmark of Price’s style is her composition of original spiritual-like themes, such as in her anthem Resignation, recorded on the choir’s 2024 Great Host album which you may listen to on streaming platforms, including Spotify. As the St. Paul’s tower chimes resound again, the voluntaries lift up bells in quoting the spiritual “Peter, go ring them bells.” The prelude Bells is by Chicago composer and concert pianist Margaret Bonds (1913-1972) from her Spiritual Suite for Piano and the postlude by Florence Price, the closing toccata from her Variations on a Folk Song.