This week, I have found my mind wandering back to Holy Weeks of a couple of decades ago, which was the last time (other than my years in Tanzania) when I didn’t have any responsibilities for presiding at anything or the music. This has felt like a strangely empty week – I have a deep awareness of the week that is unfolding around me, but I have no responsibilities for anything.
When
I was a church musician, especially the last couple of years before beginning my
theological studies, Holy Week was a very busy time, playing for all of the
services at Trinity Lutheran Church, while also trying to sing in the choir for
as many services as possible at my own church, Knox Shuniah United. It usually
looked something like:
Thursday: Play for Maundy Thursday at Trinity, then zip across town for a choir
practice at Knox
Friday: Play for Good Friday at Trinity in the morning, then sing in the Cantata
at Knox in the evening
Sunday: Attend the Easter Sunrise Service; cross town to play for the Easter
service at Trinity, then zip back across town to sing in the Easter service at
Knox
When I started with this whole clergy thing, my Holy Weeks all of a sudden involved a whole lot fewer services!
But this year the week feels empty in comparison, like it hasn’t felt since the year 2000. This afternoon, I did something that I haven’t done in many years – I sat down at the piano to play and sing through some of my favourite Holy Week hymns. And I felt those words and melodies deeply in my soul. I have the luxury to stay in the moment of what is going on in the story, rather than practicing Easter hymns and anthems while it isn’t even Good Friday yet, or writing my Easter Sermon before the “Hosannas!” have faded from my ears.
This morning as I ate breakfast, I listened to an interview with Mandy Patinkin on CBC Radio. (He is bringing his one-man show to Saint John next week, so this was a promotional interview.) He is always an interesting interview subject, and one thing that he said this morning caught my ear. He was asked about how he has managed to keep his (singing and speaking) voice in shape over the decades, and in part of his reply he shared some advice that he was given when he was in Evita at the age of 25.
“Oscar Eustace, who runs the public theatre in New York, refers to actors, singers, and anyone who tells a story, as ‘emotional athletes.’ 99% of the game, for me, is caretaking of my being so that I’m rested, I’m exercised, I’m eating right, I’m meditating, and I’m doing everything I can to conserve my energy and pace myself so that I can get up there for 2 hours and give you everything I have.”
Emotional Athletes. I think that I would probably include clergy in that category, along with other story-keepers and storytellers. I’m starting to recognize that a lot of the fatigue that I’ve been carrying – the fatigue that made rest my number 1 sabbatical goal – this fatigue is more than just physical and mental fatigue but it’s also emotional fatigue.
We carry the stories of all of the people that we encounter and hold these stories alongside the sacred story in an attempt to make meaning. And so all of this advice from Mandy Patinkin about resting and exercising and eating right and meditating (praying) and pacing – this is not just about managing physical and mental fatigue, but it’s also about managing emotional fatigue.
The grief that I have been working through this season of Lent has cracked open my emotions and made me realize everything that I have been carrying.
And I think that this is what I need to pay more attention to when I go back to work in May – I tend to be aware of my physical and my mental state, but I need to be more aware of my emotional state, and do better (especially at the pacing part of his advice). We are Emotional Athletes, and this is a marathon and not a sprint.
Spending some time today with Holy Week music
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