For Now the Infant Cries

The orientation to my first semester at St. John Vianney College Seminary ended with a weekend silent retreat. We were encouraged to journal on a set of readings which were determined by our spiritual directors. I was happy to be assigned passages from Luke which focused on the Incarnation. During one period of journaling I began to write a simple poem, meditating on the mystery, naming what I imagined to be the infant Christ’s surroundings, and appreciating the juxtaposition of the omnipotent Lord incarnate as a helpless babe. It was August in Miami by the way, not exactly the time or place to dwell on Christmas themes. Nevertheless, I was satisfied with the little poem I wrote, and I did not expect anything to come of it really.

During the first week of classes, the Freshmen had to undergo a vocal test to see if we would be assigned to the Schola Cantorum (Latin for “school of singers”). This may sound like conscription, but it is actually mandated that all seminaries keep alive the tradition of sacred music with their own schola. Well, I was 20 years old at the time and had never sung in public in my life. Apparently I had some range and could sing on pitch, which is all the choir director could hope for. So I joined the small men’s choir as a baritone and began learning how to read and sing choral music. It was fascinating! I was astonished that a composer could take the music living in his head and communicate it to a choir through marks on a page.

All of our repertoire was geared towards two annual concerts during the academic year–one for Advent and Christmas, and the other for Lent and Easter. As we prepared for the Christmas concert, a collaborating party withdrew something like ten songs from the line-up. All of a sudden it became a scramble to find enough music that could be learned by our amateur choir of college seminarians. Hearing that there was an opportunity for new music, an idea struck me. I downloaded a free music notation software, set my Christmas poem to a melody that was rattling around in my mind, taught myself how to arrange for four parts, and hey presto, I wrote my first song!

Initially, I felt a bit sheepish before showing my work to the choir director, but I realized that timidity would not result in it being performed. So I found the courage to present it and she thought it was good enough to program for the concert. A few men from the schola volunteered to sing my music and let me tell you, it was a humbling experience. These were the best singers, some of whom had careers in music before discerning the priesthood. And as my brother seminarians, they had no qualms about identifying certain shortcomings in writing and arranging for a male choir. It was through this human formation that I learned the practical importance of voice-leading, vocal ranges, and–I cannot stress this enough–allowing singers to breathe. So what if the melody and harmonies are nice? It makes no difference if the song is unsingable.

About a week before the Christmas concert, I walked into the chapel for private prayer. Lost in meditation, I began to hear the familiar tune of my song in my head. I attempted a centering exercise to quiet my mind, but nothing seemed to work. It took me longer than I care to admit to realize the music I was hearing came from the sacristy, where the small group was rehearsing my song. I had become the composer who communicated the music in his head through marks on a page, and it was a joyfully surreal experience to hear it outside of my mind, fully formed and sung so beautifully.

My family came to hear the world premiere of my first choral composition. I don’t think any of them expected this charism to manifest itself in me, nevertheless they delighted in this tender expression of myself. The piece, For Now the Infant Cries, drew a gracious response from the audience, and I was invited to the center of the chapel to receive their ovation. Recalling that moment both fills me with joy and haunts me. I will always rejoice in the discovery that I can touch the hearts of my audience, and I fear that I will forever chase the high of my first performance.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aLKyuT9VIhY