by Jonathan Dimmock

It was a glorious Spring day precisely 25 years ago when our youthful, enthusiastic faces turned heavenward and tearfully sang "Lord, you give the great commission ... empower us for the work of ministry" for the last time as a student body. Written by one of our own professors (who was soon to become Bishop of Europe), we were armed with pride, gratitude, courage, and determination. I had not been on an ordination track, nor the postulant of any diocese; so the very notion of being "sent" felt more like it was YDS and YISM that were sending me out into the world, not a church or diocese sending me out to seminary like a boomerang, needing to return to its fold. I think it would be fair to say that, on that particular day, none of us had the slightest inkling that we weren’t completely prepared to take on any obstacle or demon in our path (even if that obstacle proved to be Mother Church herself).

Twenty-five years later, every one of my musical colleagues has taken a professional "hit on the jaw" at least once (and since, for all of us, this profession is actually a vocational calling, that "hit in the jaw" felt more like a kick in the stomach). Although I’m not in as close contact with my fellow clergy alums, I do know that they, too, have not been spared the pain of a Church which has grown in a direction that none of us foresaw. Some have left their denominations, some have left their vocations, some have left the Church entirely, many have been fired, some have faced legal charges against them, some have pressed charges against the Church. Although I didn’t think we were naive students in the early 80s, there have been many times when I have silently cried out: "It wasn’t supposed to be like this! We’re all so talented, highly trained in our craft, and eager to serve. Isn’t that enough?"

The answer always was the same: Talent, preparedness, and eagerness to serve all fall into the category of pride, ego, Self. What God actually wants from us is for our heavily guarded egos to be destroyed (violently, if necessary), and to be laid open and vulnerable to the constantly moving and changing Spirit. (I don’t believe that the "never-changing God" of poetry and hymnody has any relation to the God we encounter in the scripture or in our lives.)

So, after far too long an interim since my last visit to the campus, I decided to use the excuse of playing the two new organs (Christ Church and Marquand) as requisite impetus to get me back to Yale for a brief visit. Living in San Francisco, one can be forgiven for infrequent visits to one’s alma mater on the opposite coast, but still, it had been too long! Strolling onto the campus was refreshing, if not strange. My old bedroom in Brainard is now a piano practice studio. Thomas Jefferson’s idea of students living in the quad buildings that he designed (and Yale copied) has given way to offices, computers, and lounges. But that’s OK. The School has to stay on top of modern thought and technology – or it quickly becomes irrelevant (which, for a Divinity School, would mean death).

Passing down the corridor to the chapel, feeling the presence of my old friends and professors and my younger self, it was actually a great relief to step into the chapel and see how beautifully it had been preserved, but especially how spectacular the new Taylor and Boody organ looked in the rear gallery. I immediately called to mind many of the reconstruction liturgies that we used to do as students, and felt a real excitement that the students at YDS and YISM would now have two superb, and contrasting, organs to help define their worship experience, and to help mold them for the outside world.

Having known Taylor and Boody’s exceptional craftsmanship for years, I expected that I would love it, but was still overwhelmed by the harmonious whole it presents, both visually and aurally. By now, most organists have seen pictures of the new Marquand instrument on websites, calendars, or photographs. But seeing its colonial-style coloration of faux-marble, in that particular context, is far more striking in "person" than in photographs. Sadly, there was no one around who could demonstrate the instrument for me, so that I could hear it from the floor. And the hour that I had for trying it out, improvising, and playing, proved not long enough to sample all that it can do. Every stop is unique and perfect. Every combination of sounds gives an elegant ensemble. The full plenum is a sonic delight. The action is clean, crisp, and not fussy. The feel of the keys, combined with the almost endless varieties of sound, makes one want to play for hours. In short, everything about the instrument bespeaks nobility, like something that has been around for an extremely long time, and will remain around for an extremely long time.

I then took the walk down from Holy Hill to meet up with my former teacher, Tom Murray, at Christ Church. I can never walk in that gorgeous building without recalling a liturgy class practicum with Jeffrey Rowthorn, which had all of us in there singing the daily office at 4 a.m. one morning! This time, I walked in to the sounds of Tom Murray playing on the new Lively-Fulcher organ. What a contrast to the instrument that once lived there! This one is undoubtedly the most convincing and pleasing English sound that I’ve heard in the United States or in England! And hearing Tom improvise on it brought out all of its magic. Playing it was just as fun as listening to it – an ideal instrument for liturgical use and recital use both. New Haven must be blessed with the most wonderful organs per square mile of almost any town or university in the U.S.