When Easter Sunday choruses fade, we must continue to rejoice. Christian joy is a practiced art. Like well-rehearsed music, it should be in our muscle memory—our natural disposition in times of gladness and sorrow.
I know my feet are prone to slip, unsure,
So I play it again: Alleluia.
And I know my hands may strike without measure,
So I play it once more: Alleluia.
But, worst, I know my heart is yet impure,
So I pray it again:
Alleluia, Amen.
The organist and choristers know well
The rehearsed rejoicing of that spontaneous swell,
For rhythms help to raise a practiced praise,
And so we once more play
And once more pray:
Alleluia, Alleluia, again—
Alleluia, Alleluia,
Amen.
- R. McLaren, Easter 2021
Although my soul craved to spend Holy Saturday in solemn silence, I spent much of it practicing the pedal lines of Easter hymns, which are notoriously tricky. Over and over again, I played an “Alleluia” refrain, attempting to wrangle my feet and fingers into coordinated submission. And I was frustrated with each repetition, with each phrase of praise. This exhausting practice…
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A Bookish Charm 