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Tag: church
SoCS: if only…
If only I could organize my days…
or life…
is something I have been saying to myself off and on for years.
The truth is that most of my adult life has been spent as a caregiver, some of it in very challenging situations dealing with long-term illnesses.
Not the kind of life that lends itself to following a daily schedule. If you ever think you know what is happening on a given day, chances are the phone will ring in the morning and you will be off dealing with some need that has arisen.
Let me be clear that none of this is a complaint. Rather it's just a statement of fact – and evidence that I was privileged enough to be able to choose a life of unpaid caregiving instead of needing to take paid work and cramming in the caregiving around my employer's schedule.
The day after Paco's death, the hospice social worker said to me that now I could figure out what I wanted to do. We had first met during my mother's illness, so she had some idea of what my life has been like over at least the last few years, if not decades.
While it's true that I have spouse B and daughter T at home, we are able to collaborate on taking care of the house and each other, so the years of intensive caregiving are probably over for a while, as long as we all remain reasonably healthy.
So, I'm starting to piece together how I want to spend my time in the coming months. Admittedly, right now I am necessarily busy with settling Paco's estate and final bills and insurance claims and such, which takes a lot more time and energy than you might think if you have never had to do this for a loved one.
I'm trying to keep from jumping back into everything I have put on hold in the past because I think there is a danger of over-committing and exhaustion. I do know that I want to spend more time with writing, so, perhaps, finally regularly posting here again.
I also need to return to spending serious amounts of time with my poetry. During the recent Boiler House Poets Collective residency, I was able to re-connect with my full-length manuscript that revolves around that area and my family's connections with it. I am going to do a review of it with the Grapevine Group, my local poetry circle, later this month and then do revisions and look for submissions opportunities. I also need to look for more opportunities for my chapbook, as the rejections have been rolling in over these last months so it is only out at a few places at the moment.
I am considering auditioning for a local chorus, although that might not be until after the holidays. I expect that, for the first time in many years, we may travel for both Thanksgiving and Christmas.
I am staying in the loop but not spending a ton of time on environmental and political issues. I still send letters and do public comment on social justice and environmental causes and send emails to my elected representatives but I am trying not to spend hours every day on it, as I did for years during the height of the anti-fracking fight in New York. I admire the energy and commitment of today's younger activists and support their efforts as best I can.
Church volunteering is still on hold. Eventually, the book study I facilitate may return but only if we can meet safely indoors unmasked. We aren't there yet.
So, can I do this? Can I re-organize my life and have it stick?
If nothing dire happens…
Linda's prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday this week was to being the post with the word if. Join us! Find out more here: https://lindaghill.com/2021/10/15/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-october-16-2021/
Author Joanne CoreyPosted on October 16, 2021 October 16, 2021 Categories blogging, family, government, musings, poetry, Stream of Consciousness Saturday, writingTags #SoCS, advocacy, Boiler House Poets, caregiving, church, life, manuscript4 Comments on SoCS: if only…
SoCS: ups and (mostly) downs
When I saw that Linda's prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday this week was "up/down", I knew that I needed to write a follow-up to last week's SoCS in which I talked about my father (Paco) and his recent fall, hospitalization, and move to a rehab facility.
When I wrote last Saturday, it seemed that, though there was a long way to go, things were trending up.
Everything changed on Sunday when new complications arose. For various reasons, I will not even attempt to elaborate.
Let's just say it has been a very "down" week.
We are working hard at untangling a mass of symptoms and trying to keep him safe and comfortable, but it's an uphill battle. I know he is 96 and so, very vulnerable and prone to complicating factors but it is still so hard to deal with.
And to watch.
I know intellectually that I am doing all that is possible for me to help him and his care team, but my heart aches because I can't make it better.
We have no idea what the outcome will be. It's not just one day at a time, which is Paco's favorite saying. It's one hour at a time. One moment. One more early morning phone call telling me that he fell again during the night.
There are up moments here and there. When Paco easily remembers my name. When he gets to enjoy a slice of blueberry pie for dessert at lunch. When he manages to make a little joke with his aides.
I had planned to go to vigil mass today at a friend's church, but was too tired to make the drive, so I went to a nearby church instead. I was blessed to see Sister A. there. She had been one of the stalwart visitors during my mother's final illness, a span that stretched over two years. Because of the pandemic and other circumstances, I had not seen her in months. I was able to fill her in on Paco's condition and she assured me that she has been lifting him up in prayer.
After such a "down" week, that assurance was a much-needed balm.
Join us for Linda's Stream of Consciousness Saturday! Find out more here: https://lindaghill.com/2021/06/25/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-june-26-2021/
Author Joanne CoreyPosted on June 26, 2021 Categories blogging, family, medical care, musings, religious/spiritual, Stream of Consciousness SaturdayTags #SoCS, aging, church, healing, illness, injury, prayer13 Comments on SoCS: ups and (mostly) downs
Today is the Sunday after Pentecost which is celebrated in the Roman Catholic tradition as Trinity Sunday. It is also the name day of a close family member, so it holds additional significance for me.
While I had attended mass in person a few times during Lent and Holy Week after I was fully vaccinated, I had not attended since because space was so limited and advance reservations were required. Now, though, with the new guidance from the CDC and our diocese, fully vaccinated people may attend unmasked and capacity restrictions have been eased, so I decided to attend to celebrate Trinity Sunday in person instead of via broadcast.
We still had temperature checks as we entered, but the ropes that had blocked every other pew have been removed. People still maintained some distance from each other, especially important for families with children too young to be vaccinated or teens who haven't had time to complete their vaccination series yet. Some adults were masked because they haven't yet been fully vaccinated or because they chose to wear masks because they are medically vulnerable or feel safer masked while indoors in close quarters. People are also masked when fulfilling certain roles in the liturgy, such as distributing communion. It was nice to see the octet able to stand unmasked in pairs singing the same voice part, rather than scattered about by household as they had to be under full pandemic protocol.
This week, we still used the pandemic protocol of distributing communion after the concluding rite, so that people were distanced as they exited immediately after receiving, avoiding large crowds in the gathering space. Next week, though, when we celebrate Corpus Christi, communion will be distributed at the normal time before the concluding rite, so we will get to have a proper closing hymn again. Our bishop has also rescinded the dispensation of the obligation to attend mass in person as of next week, although, as always, people who are too frail or medically vulnerable are exempt.
I'm not sure what will happen. Many churches, including the one I attend, cut back on the number of masses each weekend due to cleaning protocols. Will there now be too many people trying to fit into fewer masses? Will some people who have been accustomed to participating virtually continue to do so because it feels safer or easier or more convenient?
I admit that, for me, being back in person is difficult and saddening. Perhaps, it will be less so as we are able to resume talking to other congregants; it's lonelier to me being in the midst of people with whom I can't interact than being alone participating in mass via television. The bigger problem, though, is my discomfort with many of the clergy and bishops in the United States over the last several years. Too many of them are mired in clericalism that fails to acknowledge the decades/centuries of abuse, misogyny, racism, and injustice in which the hierarchy was either perpetrating or complicit. Too many of them are more enamored with their personal power over others than with following the servant-leadership of Christ. Somehow, for me, it feels safer with a priest on a screen than a priest in the same room, even a large room like a church.
I was just looking back at this post, which I wrote after my first Lenten mass in person. At the end of it, I write about the struggles of living through a lot of pain to remain in the church and questioning if I can go back to being confronted with that every week.
The answer may well become evident in the coming weeks.
Postscript: One of the online resources that I use is catholicwomenpreach.org. Their Trinity Sunday 2021 homily is powerful. If this was the preaching I heard in person at mass, it would be a cause for joy rather than pain.
Author Joanne CoreyPosted on May 30, 2021 May 29, 2021 Categories musings, religious/spiritualTags Catholic, church, clergy, clericalism, covid 19, hierarchy, Mass, pandemic, power, service, Trinity SundayLeave a comment on Trinity Sunday 2021
SoCS: last year and the year before
There is an old song "What a Difference a Day Makes" but today I'm thinking about what a difference a year makes.
Or two.
Two years ago this spring, my mom, known here as Nana, was living in the skilled nursing section of the senior community where she and my father, Paco, had lived for ten years. She was under hospice care as she was nearing the end of her battle with heart failure. My father and I visited every day for hours with frequent visits from my daughters and granddaughter ABC, who were living with us at the time. My out-of-town sisters were able to come to visit often, too.
Nana passed away in May 2019, a few days after her 87th birthday. We were able to hold her funeral in her parish church with a visiting hour before with friends coming to comfort us. There was also a gathering at her and Paco's senior community.
Last spring, we were all in COVID lockdown. Visiting nursing homes was totally shut down with very limited exceptions for end-of-life situations. I often thought of what that would have looked like for us, if Nana had been facing death in spring 2020 rather than 2019. We would have lost those last few weeks with her, which were painful but also filled with precious moments. We were able to bring her flowers, including her beloved lilies-of-the-valley which blossom in May, just in time for Mother's Day and her birthday. One of the last things she was able to eat was a little fruit tart I had brought for her birthday. I helped her by cutting it and fed her as she had me when I was a baby…
In 2020, we would likely not have been allowed to visit until the very end when she was unconscious. The church was totally closed, so there would have been no funeral, not even for family.
It was hard last spring, too, because we could no longer visit Paco every day in his apartment. Although visits to independent living apartments were not totally forbidden, they were supposed to be limited, with some masked outdoor visits preferred over anything indoors. My sisters had planned to visit for Paco's 95th birthday in March but that had to be postponed. Little did we realize at the time that that postponement would turn into cancellation.
That brings us to this spring, which is just getting underway here with some of the early bulbs flowering and the first trees starting to bud. Paco is now living in assisted living which is part of the health care center. While visiting and gathering there are still limited, my younger sister and I were able to visit him for half an hour in his apartment on his birthday and he was able to share a large birthday cake we provided with the other residents and staff on his unit later in the day. Later this month, my elder sister will be able to visit in person for the first time since last summer. She lives out-of-state so hasn't been able to travel to New York without prohibitively lengthy quarantine, but now, with vaccines available and changes in state policy, she will finally be able to see Paco again.
We have no idea, though, if or when daughter E and granddaughter ABC will be able to visit. They moved permanently to the UK in fall 2019, joining son-in-law L in London. They have since been joined by granddaughter JG, who recently had her first tooth break through.
Spouse B, daughter T, and I would love to think that this spring we could jet off to London to meet JG in person for the first time, but it isn't possible. Maybe this summer? It depends on conditions with the pandemic and travel restrictions.
Will we get to hold her while she is still a baby or will she be an on-the-move toddler by that time?
Will Paco ever get to meet her in person? For the UK family branch to visit the US is much more complicated and we have no idea when that will be feasible. We also, sadly, don't know how things will go with Paco's cognitive decline. While sometimes he remembers names of family members, sometimes he forgets them.
Sometimes, he forgets that he has great-grandchildren at all.
In 2019, I knew that spring 2020 would be very different because my mother would not be there. I could not have imagined how different 2020 would turn out to be.
Or 2021.
I dare not project to spring 2022.
Linda's prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday this week is "difference." Join us! Find out more here: https://lindaghill.com/2021/04/09/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-april-10-2021/
Author Joanne CoreyPosted on April 10, 2021 Categories blogging, family, Stream of Consciousness Saturday, travelTags #SoCS, change, church, covid 19, dementia, Loss, nursing home, pandemic, spring, year6 Comments on SoCS: last year and the year before
This year, for the first time in a while, I actually made it to all three main liturgies of the Triduum, which, in Catholic parlance, is Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday.
Back in the days when I served on liturgy committee and I and my daughters served in music ministry, I would be at all the Holy Week liturgies plus the children's liturgy on Easter morning, but, after my long-time parish disintegrated in 2005, I couldn't bring myself to attend all the services. The situation got even more complicated when my elder care responsibilities grew.
Then came 2020 and the pandemic and no one could attend services in person for Holy Week.
I didn't attend mass in person for over a year. I wrote here about my first time back a dew weeks ago. I noted in that post that I wouldn't try to attend every week yet due to space constraints at church. I was able to get a reservation to attend Easter Vigil on Saturday evening and decided to attend on Holy Thursday evening and Good Friday afternoon because the church made those open without reservations, although we did have to sign in and leave contact information in case a COVID case was verified and they needed to do tracing. We also had temperature checks and single-use programs so there were no hymnals or prayer books that subsequent worshippers would be touching.
Holy Thursday had long been my favorite liturgy of the year. Its focus is the Eucharist, as it commemorates the Last Supper. In an ordinary year, there would be significant involvement from the laity. The priest would wash the feet of twelve parish members and another group of people, often a family, would dress the altar. There would be a large choir to lead the congregation in sung prayer. Because of the pandemic, everything had to be pared down. Footwashing was eliminated globally to reduce risk. There were two lay lectors, appropriately distanced from the clergy in the sanctuary, but they were both men, so there were no women's voices in any of the spoken prayers, which added to the sense of distance for me.
The music was beautiful, though. The music director put together an octet from the music ministry, which included some married couples so that the spacing would work as they could stand right next to each other instead of having to be feet apart. With masks, spacing, and good choral microphones, they were able to lead the sung prayer very meaningfully.
Because so much of the Holy Thursday liturgy revolves around a meal, there are many references to food. Because we are living in a time of increased hunger in the United States, these passages were particularly meaningful to me this year. For example, the gathering song was "Table of Plenty" by Dan Schutte, which contains the lyrics, "O come and eat without money; come to drink without price." and "My bread will ever sustain you through days of sorrow and woe." Those familiar lines resonated differently knowing that many people do not have enough to eat.
The service on Good Friday afternoon is, by its nature, quite stark. It's the one day of the church year when there is no mass with Eucharist. Instead, there is a liturgy of the word, veneration of the cross, and distribution of communion with previously consecrated hosts. Without having the liturgy of the Eucharist, the emphasis shifts to the liturgy of the word, which includes reading the passion narrative from the gospel of John.
Paradoxically, Good Friday felt less stark to me than the Lenten and Holy Thursday masses I attended. I think this was due, at least in part, to the fact that there were more lay voices and, in particular, women's voices included. The first reading, the suffering servant passage from Isaiah, was proclaimed as a choral reading, alternating between a woman lector and the music ministers. The gospel is presented with different people reading narration, the voice of Christ, and the voice of others in dialogue, with the congregation participating as the crowd. Even though we are assigned to proclaim a lot of challenging verses – we have to say, "Crucify him!" multiple times – it is good to feel that we have a part in telling the story.
Another element of the liturgy of the word that gets more emphasis on Good Friday is the intercessions that follow the homily. They were chanted by two cantors, a woman and a man, who alternated between them, with a sung response from the congregation and a prayer by the priest after each. This year, there was an added petition specifically for the pandemic, which was both moving and sobering to hear.
The veneration of the cross was much simpler than in usual years. It's been the custom for each person to come forward in procession to kiss the cross but that isn't possible under pandemic protocol. Instead, the assembly knelt and venerated the cross from our places in the pews. In truth, I preferred this to the processing and kissing because it felt more solemn.
For the Easter Vigil on Saturday night, we begin in a mostly darkened church. The time is set to be after sundown so it will be dark so that the first part of the mass, the service of light, begins in darkness. Usually, a new fire is lit and blessed outside the church, the new Paschal candle is blessed and embedded with incense, then lit and carried through the church in procession with music and sung responses, as each person holds a candle which is lit and passed to the next until the church is filled with candlelight for the singing of the the Exsultet (Easter Proclamation).
However, this was rather drastically abbreviated this year. We heard the blessing of the fire and the Paschal candle was brought into the church but the congregation had no candles of their own and most of the lights remained off in the body of the church. The Exsultet was chanted by a cantor whom I have had the privilege to hear sing for many years; it was very moving and brought back memories of hearing the priest chant this prayer when I was the teenage organist in my childhood church.
The liturgy of the word that follows the service of light begins with three readings from the Hebrew Scriptures, each followed by a psalm and prayer. Unfortunately, the lights in the body of the church were still off, which made it a bit difficult for the assembly to sing the psalm responses which were printed in our programs. I happened to know the pieces fairly well so I could sing, but I could tell that some others were not familiar enough with them to join in. Admittedly, it was dramatic to have the lights turned on as we were singing the Gloria, but I missed the growing candlelight followed by the lights being turned on as we extinguished our candles and began the liturgy of the word.
I admit that I struggled with the homily. While it was meant to be a unifying message, the way it was conveyed reminded me too much of how many instances of division there are within our society and the church. It saddened me.
The Easter Vigil is traditionally the time when new adult members enter the church, so there are often baptisms, professions of faith, confirmations, and first Eucharists included. This year, though, there was just one candidate for confirmation, most likely because the pandemic prevented the usual series of liturgies and classes for new members that take place in the months leading up to Easter.
The liturgy of the Eucharist unfolded in almost normal fashion. I was again very appreciative of my organist-friend and the octet she had assembled. The mass that we sang is one that I know well and that we had used often. In my mind, I was adding in the sound of the handbell accompaniment and larger choir that we used on festive occasions like Easter. I wonder when or even if such large and close gatherings will again be possible.
Perhaps I should say that the liturgy of the Eucharist proceeded in pandemic-normal. There is no sharing of a sign of peace, although people do wave or nod to others across the empty pews between occupied-but-spaced ones. We also do the formal dismissal before communion is distributed, so that people receive the host and then exit, all while keeping their distance.
I was just re-reading this post to edit and I'm sure, if you have made it this far, that you realize I'm a bit of a Catholic liturgy wonk. I want to convey my wishes for Easter blessings to those celebrating and my universal wishes for peace, love, respect, and care to all.
Author Joanne CoreyPosted on April 4, 2021 Categories music, musings, religious/spiritualTags Catholic, church, covid 19, Easter, Easter Vigil, Good Friday, Holy Saturday, Holy Thursday, liturgy, Mass, pandemic, Triduum1 Comment on Triduum
back to church
Yesterday, for the first time in over a year, I attended mass in person.
If you had told me prior to the pandemic that I would ever go a year without going to church, I would not have believed it. I grew up Catholic and going to mass for Sundays and holydays was an important part of our faith practice. I was in church as a teen more than most because I became our small country church's only organist in my second year of high school. I spent many years in music and liturgical ministries and, although I hadn't been active in them in recent years, I still considered taking part in mass and receiving the Eucharist a vital part of my faith life.
Last March, when the severity of COVID was first becoming apparent, I decided not to go to mass for fear of exposing my father, one week before New York State went into lockdown and the churches temporarily closed. I began participating via televised mass as my mother had done when she was ill. Over time, churches here resumed services, first outdoors or broadcast to congregants in their cars in the parking lot. Later, indoor services were permitted with distancing, masking, temperature checks, pre-registration, and other measures in place, although the bishops have kept the dispensation from in-person attendance in place.
Because being part of a large group of people who are speaking and singing is inherently more risky than being at home or in a grocery store, I had made a personal decision not to attend mass in person until I was fully vaccinated. Last week, two weeks after my second dose of the Pfizer vaccine, I called the church to make a reservation to attend the Saturday vigil mass yesterday.
I arrived early, knowing that there would be a check-in process and that we would need to maintain spacing. I was masked, of course, and gave my name to the volunteer at a table, who found my name and contact information on her list. They keep the information on file so they can call if a positive test is reported. There was a temperature check and the distribution of a leaflet with the day's music. I was allowed to choose my own seat among the pews, although every other row was blocked off by purple cords draped around the end. I sat near the music ministers, so that I could watch my friend play the organ and see the cantor who would be leading the singing.
If I had to choose one word for the experience, it would be stark. This is partly a function of it being Lent, which is a penitential season. There are no flowers and the sanctuary is kept as simple as possible. What was striking to me, though, was the space between all the ministers. The priest, deacon, two lectors, and single altar server were in chairs scattered around the altar and ambo, which is necessary for viral reasons. It amplified my sense of separation from them and from the rest of the congregation. Only people from the same household can sit in a group, so many of us were sitting alone.
I felt most like I was part of the assembly when we were praying aloud together. Although we were masked and there were far fewer of us than our pre-pandemic numbers, our voices carried well and we could hear one another, ironically helped by the acoustics of the space without so many bodies to absorb the sound. This was, however, a double-edged sword. During the prelude, I was annoyed by a couple behind me discussing home improvement projects, no doubt unaware how well their masked voices carried in the space.
As often happens, there were emotional moments for me during the liturgy, although not when I had expected them. As part of the prelude, my friend improvised on the Irish hymn tune St. Columba, which is often used with the text "The King of Love My Shepherd Is". It is one of my favorite tunes. Back in the days when I could play the organ and was practicing, it was one of the hymns I would sing as a personal prayer. I was very grateful to hear it yesterday.
When we prayed the Lord's Prayer together, I was particularly drawn to the last phrase, "deliver us from evil." I am still pondering the full implications of being drawn to that at this time. Like most Christians, I have prayed this prayer thousands of times. It is a testament to its strength that it reveals different aspects of faith as our circumstances change.
The third moment was that I choked up as we started to sing the Lamb of God. This simple text, which is placed in the liturgy shortly before communion, has long been my favorite prayer of the mass ordinary. Long ago, I set it in a choral anthem paired with a text from Isaiah. Again, a prayer that I have recited or sung thousands of times but that was somehow connecting with me in a new way.
Strangely, the thing that I expected to be very emotional was not and perhaps goes back to my feeling of starkness. In order to maintain distancing, communion was not distributed at the usual time. Instead, we prayed the concluding rite and then received communion. The priest and the deacon went to positions at the end of the far aisles and the congregants, keeping six feet of distance between them, filed up to receive the host, step away, briefly lower their mask to consume the host, then immediately process to the doors by a different route and exit, all while the communion hymn was being sung. Because I was near the front of the church, that meant exiting during the hymn without an opportunity to join in that prayer. Intellectually and from the public health viewpoint, this procedure for communion makes perfect sense. It keeps people from congregating in the building or around the exits and minimizes the chance of spreading the virus. From a liturgical perspective, though, it feels stark. The word Eucharist means thanksgiving and the word communion has the same roots as the word community; this more isolating experience feels counter to that. As someone who has study music and liturgy, it also was very difficult for me to leave while there was still sung prayer ongoing.
I was grateful to be able to attend in person but I don't think that I will try to do it every week yet. Due to the cleaning protocols involved, there are only two masses per weekend; with fewer masses and reduced capacity, I don't want to deprive other people from being there by taking up space myself on a regular basis. I do hope to go once during Holy Week, Easter Vigil if possible or Holy Thursday if the Vigil is in high demand.
Otherwise, I will continue to participate from home until our area progresses to the point where we can gather safely in large numbers again, when we can exchange a sign of peace, when things will not be so stark.
When we do get to that point, there will be another, more complex decision to make, which is how much of the politics and abuses of power in the church itself I can continue to tolerate. The clergy of the church continue to grapple with its own history and legacy of crimes, abuse, and sin, or worse, some grapple and some continue to deny. Meanwhile, lay people are not given the opportunity to fully use their gifts in service to the people and the church.
It's exhausting.
The pandemic has blunted the effect of having this struggle before me every week. I haven't decided yet if I can take it on so consistently again. I used to go to mass every week, even when I cried because of the pain. I did it because I couldn't imagine being separated from the Eucharist. Because of the pandemic, I now know that spiritual communion is a reality, that I can feel close to Christ and to creation and all people, even when I'm not able to attend mass in person.
I don't know what I will choose to do.
Another aspect of life in which I dwell in mystery.
Author Joanne CoreyPosted on March 14, 2021 Categories current events, family, musings, religious/spiritualTags Catholic, church, covid 19, Eucharist, faith, hymn, Lent, Mass, pandemic, prayer, singing12 Comments on back to church
Choirs in the time of COVID
I often participate in Linda Hill's Stream of Consciousness Saturdays. Her last prompt was "song." The instruction was to "find a picture–the closest one to you. Your prompt is the title and/or the lyrics of the first song that comes to mind when you look at the picture."
I couldn't manage to follow the instruction – my brain doesn't work that way – but thoughts about song have been flooding my consciousness for the last couple of days.
I can't remember the first song I sang, but singing has been an important part of my life, especially choral singing. Decades of it. Most of it has been associated with schools or church. It has been my privilege to sing some of the great choral works of Western music. I love singing Bach; my background as an organist probably influences that. My favorite large work to sing is Brahms' Requiem, in German, of course.
I've written sorrowfully of the probable demise of University Chorus due to a re-organization of the choral program at Binghamton. At the time, I never dreamed that choral singing itself would be on indefinite pause.
It turns out that singing is a high-risk activity to spread coronavirus. A choir rehearsal, with lots of people singing in close quarters indoors, can easily become a super-spreader event. While some churches have begun re-opening, they cannot safely have their choirs sing. They can't even have their congregations sing. The thought of returning to church but having to stay silent is more than I can bear.
Nine years ago, I made my first trip to Europe as part of the Smith College Alumnae Chorus. We sang the Mozart Requiem in Sicily. I have sung with the SCAC in several on-campus events, as well as last year's tour of Slovenia. Any planning for future events is on hold, not knowing what conditions we will be facing over the next couple of years.
Someday, some year, there will be widespread vaccine and/or effective treatment for COVID-19 and singing in groups will again be reasonably safe. I hope that choral organizations manage to survive so that they can reconvene and make music together again. I hope that I, then in my sixties, will be considered young enough, healthy enough, and mellifluous enough to join in.
Author Joanne CoreyPosted on July 12, 2020 Categories current events, music, musings, travelTags choir, chorus, church, covid 19, pandemic, singing, Smith College Alumnae Chorus, song, University Chorus4 Comments on Choirs in the time of COVID
Yesterday, June 1, 2020, was one of the darkest and most frightening days of my almost sixty years as a citizen of the United States.
President Trump is pressuring governors to use the US military against protesters in their states and is threatening to use the military, beyond the National Guard which is under the jurisdiction of each governor, within the states if the governors refuse. To do this, he would have to invoke the Insurrection Act, which, in the rare instances in which it has been used, has only been applied to a small, specific area for particular isolated incident. If the president tries to invoke this act across different states and regions, is he surmising that a widespread insurrection is underway? The Cambridge Dictionary defines insurrection as "an organized attempt by a group of people to defeat their government and take control of their country, usually by violence." This is not at all what is happening. Even if you add civil unrest as a possible cause, the vast majority of the country is seeing non-violent protests, which are within our rights to free speech and assembly. The limited amount of violence and destruction/theft of property are matters for local law enforcement, sometimes aided by the state's National Guard, if the governor sees fit to use them.
The president seems to think that his bravado makes him look strong, but the opposite is true. His resorting to such threats shows how weak he is as a leader that he cannot talk to the nation to calm the situation and take effective action to address the injustices that have so many millions across the country taking to the streets.
The most horrifying part of yesterday was that the area near the White House was cleared of protesters so that the president could go to a nearby church for a photo op. These protesters were non-violent and the curfew had not yet taken effect when they were attacked with teargas, concussion grenades, rubber bullets, and physical violence. Clergy and volunteers who had been offering water, snacks, and assistance to the protesters throughout the day were also driven from the area.
These actions ordered by the president violated the free speech and freedom of assembly rights from our Constitution, as well as interfering with the religious expression of those who were there to serve others to fulfill the calling of their faith. The president also did not inform the clergy of St. John's or the Episcopal Bishop Mariann Budde that he would be clearing the church grounds and using their sacred space for a photo op. Rev. Budde and other Christian faith leaders have objected to the president's actions and rhetoric, pointing out that he is espousing views antithetically opposed to the tenets of Christianity.
Donald Trump has no moral authority whatsoever. He says that he wants "law and order" while himself violating the Constitution that he has sworn to uphold.
I am afraid of what will come next. I don't have a vivid enough imagination to envision what will happen beyond the pandemic, injustice, and widespread suffering we have all around us.
We need competent and compassionate national leadership as soon as possible. There are millions of us all over the country ready to embark on the gargantuan task of building back a country worthy of our highest ideals of equality, unity, peace, and community.
Author Joanne CoreyPosted on June 2, 2020 June 2, 2020 Categories current events, government, musings, religious/spiritualTags church, Constitution, Donald Trump, governors, military, rights, states, United States, violence8 Comments on Where am I?
In the first few seasons of The Late Show, Stephen Colbert did a recurring skit, now a best-selling book, called Midnight Confessions, in which he "confesses" to his audience with the disclaimer that he isn't sure these things are really sins but that he does "feel bad about them." While Stephen and his writers are famously funny, I am not, so my JC's Confessions will be somewhat more serious reflections, but they will be things that I feel bad about. Stephen's audience always forgives him at the end of the segment; I'm not expecting that – and these aren't really sins – but comments are always welcome.
I don't miss going to church.
I'm writing this after being unable to attend in-person mass for two and a half months due to the COVID-19 pandemic. I have been watching a pre-recorded mass on television and often reading a homily from the Catholic Women Preach website. These are good resources, but I feel more like an observer than a participant. Obviously, there is no opportunity to receive communion, which is a very important part of Catholic practice.
I should interject that there has never been a time in my life when I haven't gone to church every weekend. For many years, I was involved in music ministry and liturgy planning. I am also a long-time advocate for church reform, including the ordination of women, the recognition of equality among the laity and clergy, and the model of servant-leadership. In 2005, my parish home was shattered due to abuses of power. Those wounds have never healed, but I still continued participating in mass, even though I would sometimes cry – and sometimes feel that I could write a more thoughtful homily than the one I heard in church.
Perhaps, being an isolated home observer feels safer than being in the midst of a congregation when I get emotional. It's also unlikely that televised mass will plunge into fraught topics, so there is a certain level of safety that doesn't exist when you are in the pews.
Some church congregations or groups have taken to meeting via Zoom or other kinds of video conferencing during the pandemic. The congregations that I know that have done this are much smaller, though, so there is opportunity for interactions, such as offering prayer petitions. There are well over 1,000 families in my parish here, which makes meaningful videoconferencing impractical. Some of the church reform groups with whom I affiliate are offering prayer services, which is appealing in concept, but I worry that participating would make it even more difficult to remain within the institutional church. Leaving has been a decades-long temptation for me. [There is not enough room in this post to explain that struggle. Maybe, someday…]
I received a letter from my parish, explaining that this weekend they will begin celebrating mass under a new protocol. The priest will livestream weekend masses so that people can see and hear it on their phones or other wifi devices from the church parking lot. At communion, several Eucharistic ministers will zigzag through the parking lot, stopping at each car so that its occupants can come out and receive communion and then get back in their cars so that they won't be near to anyone else.
This scenario does not appeal to me. I worry about the risk to the Eucharistic ministers, who will be in close contact with dozens of people, albeit outdoors. Other than being able to receive the Eucharist, the participation quotient is about the same as watching a televised or live-streamed mass, other than being in your car in whatever weather that day offers instead of in your home.
The root meaning of the word liturgy is "the work of the people." To me, the current methods of celebrating liturgy at a distance feel more like watching a performance. I don't know if I will adjust to this over time or not. I also don't know if, many months from now when larger gatherings with singing are reasonably safe to attend, it will be difficult for me to muster the energy to leave my home and be in the midst of people and all the uncertainties that involves.
I don't know and it makes me sad.
Author Joanne CoreyPosted on May 31, 2020 May 30, 2020 Categories JC's Confessions, musings, religious/spiritualTags Catholic, church, covid 19, liturgy, Mass, pandemic, servicesLeave a comment on JC's Confessions #12


Living Room : Dark Blue Microfiber Wingchair Brown Leather Convertible Sofa White Crystal Chandelier Tempered Glass Wooden Coffee Table Traditional Fireplace Maple Natural Hardwood Flooring. Adorable Interior Decorating With Brown Cream Red and Blue. Magenta Leather Ottoman. White Antique Octopus Pendant Light. White Synthetic Area Rug.
By Sing0. Living Room. At Monday, June 04th 2018, 12:57:38 PM.
Blue and white living room, If there`s one thing you can count on in traditional rooms it`s furniture with curved edges. While you may see a square or rectangular side or coffee table, the majority of pieces (particularly seating) will have soft edges and curved details.
A large table in front of the fireplace divides the space into two conversation areas, and its yellow-and-white cotton striped skirt introduces a sunny spirit that's essential for a room so large to feel livable. Matching sisal rugs define both sides of the room, and their Greek-key edges are banded in yellow to plant the palette underfoot.
Garnishing a living‐area with brown plus cream and red also blue is a tempting way to incorporate warm and cool with neutral‐tones into your space scheme. Brown also red are cozy colors, blue is a cool color plus cream has impartial 'undertones'.
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Thoughts on Dark Blue Microfiber Wingchair Brown Leather Convertible Sofa White Crystal Chandelier Tempered Glass Wooden Coffee Table Traditional Fireplace Maple Natural Hardwood Flooring?