Signature Dish

Every chef—even a home chef—needs a perfected signature dish. The recipe you’ll find below is mine, but you’ll notice one component of a typical recipe is totally gone: the measurements. That omission is entirely intentional. Early in the quarantine, we were under because of the Coronavirus, in either March or April 2020, I had a ton of chicken thighs in my home fridge and I didn’t really know what to do with them. This recipe, which I’ve prepared pretty much every time we’ve bought large quantities of chicken thighs since then was born out of the quarantine—a time when I was fairly limited in what I could use and what or when I could restock. My philosophy in the kitchen is this: “The best chef is not the one who follows a written recipe the most correctly but the one who produces the best results without any recipe at all.” I haven’t included many measurements here (other than the intentionally vague “pinch,” “dash,” and others) because one of my firmest convictions as a home chef is that the average home chef doesn’t know how to cook without a recipe—by coming up with ideas and tasting and adjusting through the course of assembling a dish. If every home chef in America knew to taste food and what to look for in the intermediate steps of cooking, so many more people would realize their great untapped potential and in doing so, would realize that cooking is not a task or a chore, but an incredibly fulfilling activity—if done with good technique. Good technique will yield good results. If nothing else, let this be a lesson in tasting and proportional cooking.

In some sort of bowl (I like the largest circular-ish Pyrex bowl I can find in my kitchen, which holds 7 cups), combine about equal parts of three different acids (I like balsamic and red wine vinegars, plus the zest and juice of some citrus, usually lime and/or orange). Whisk lightly to combine. These things just need to mingle, so it’s perfectly acceptable to go easy on the whisking at this point. Whisk in about the same amount of reduced-fat homogenized milk as any one of the acids. Again, here, it’s okay to whisk lightly. Now, whisking quickly, stream in about 3 times as much liquid oil as there are (total) acids and milk in the bowl. Oil doesn’t like the acids or the milk (because the milk is mostly water and the oil doesn’t like water), so the two will try to stay separate from each other; whisking constantly and adding slowly will essentially “make the molecules hug each other” in such a way that they won’t separate. Basically, you need to get the fat cells in the oil of your choice (again, use a liquid oil like olive or canola, not a solid one like coconut) into units that are as small as possible—in the best case, just one molecule— which are surrounded by and attracted to the water molecules. The chemistry of water allows us to create this “molecular hug” just by whisking long enough and adding in the oil slowly enough. Here, whisk vigorously. An unbreakable emulsion has been achieved when the fat particles are small enough as to be invisible to the naked eye and thus small enough to be held in suspension in the other liquids.

Technically, what this step does is it creates an emulsion, a mixture of two things that chemically don’t like each other but which are held together either by physical force (applied by whisking) or by each bonding to one side of something that both things are attracted to. (This is why people like to put eggs in meatballs: the eggs not only add protein, but they bring together elements of the meatball which chemically repel each other per se, but are both attracted to the egg, so they can be held together if they hold on to the egg—the egg thus gives the meatballs the structural integrity they need not to fall apart too soon.) Every good marinade has four components: fat, acid, spices, and salt. Whisk in spices. I’ve always used smoked and sweet paprika, basil, oregano, thyme, dill, garlic powder, bay leaves, fresh-cracked black peppercorns, and salt. Especially if you’re inexperienced in the kitchen, I recommend using Kosher salt. Kosher salt has the advantage of being coarser than normal “table salt” that isn’t Kosher, so it’s easier to see how much you’re actually salting something if you use Kosher salts rather than non-Kosher. I recommend having tasted the marinade at least three times by now: when only the acid, the milk, and the oil have gone in; after everything but the salt has gone in, and after the salt has gone in, adjusting what you already have in the bowl at each round.

Move this out of the container in which it was built into a container whose lid’s area is big enough such that the container could reasonably hold all the chicken in as close to a single layer as possible. If there are some spices left over in the container where the marinade was built, use some water to loosen the spices and pour them over the chicken. Close the chicken container, and shake it for a few seconds, just long enough to get the marinade moving around and coating all the pieces of chicken. Leave this in a refrigerator for at least 12 hours, but no longer than 48. Any longer than 48 hours and the acid in the marinade will actually begin to “cook” the chicken rather than just tenderizing and flavoring it.

Once ready to continue, after no less than 12 but no more than 48 hours of marination, move the chicken into enough baking dishes so that they all lie flat in one layer. If you have any more than 4 thighs on an average-sized baking pan, you will need more than one. Preheat an oven to 375 Fahrenheit (190 Celsius); once the temperature has been reached, place the thighs on the same level rack of the oven, and leave them there for an hour. Transfer the marinade into a sauté pan (something that’s wide, has a lid, and has sides that are maybe 2 inches tall), and let it come to a boil, reducing by a third. At this point, the sauce is safe to taste, so you should do so for likely the fourth time in this process.

While the chicken is roasting, it will release two things that together can only be described as “culinary gold.” The first is some of the juices from the chicken—don’t worry, this always happens, no matter how you cook chicken, and this chicken will still be particularly moist. The second is “schmaltz”—that is, slowly melted, flavored chicken fat. Move the chicken onto a separate plate and reserve it. Transfer all the schmaltz from all the roasting trays used into the pan where the sauce is being assembled. Whisk to combine—try to start emulsifying the sauce, but don’t be alarmed it stays separated; in fact, it won’t be until the next ingredient is added.

Cook one pound of some sort of long pasta—I like fettuccine with this recipe—to one minute short of the manufacturer’s instructions. Time the pasta so that it is drained as close to at exactly the same time as when the chicken comes out of the oven and the schmaltz is added to the sauce. Drain the pasta and reserve momentarily. Add anywhere from 2 to 3 heaping tablespoons of sour cream to the sauce and whisk until emulsified. You should not be able to distinguish the schmaltz from the marinade or the schmaltz-marinade from the sour cream. Once everything is thoroughly incorporated, the schmaltz does not appear separated, and there do not appear to be any visible white specks of sour cream in the sauce, it has been properly emulsified. Check for seasoning, adding salt and/or freshly ground black pepper as desired.  Bring drained long pasta into the sauce and stir or toss to combine. Serve chicken atop pasta, garnishing with as much grated Parmigiano Reggiano and/or pecorino romano cheese as desired.

 If you make this, be sure to leave a comment down below letting me know!

Mother's Day Chicken Parmigiana

I prepared the following recipe today as a special Mother's Day Lunch, and it has proven to be quite popular on Instagram, so I thought I'd share it here as well. Enjoy!

1 18 oz jar of fire-roasted tomato and garlic sauce

1/2 onion finely diced

4 Roma tomatoes

4 cloves garlic

1 on-vine tomato

2 Tbsp each of oregano, salt, freshly-ground black pepper

2 oz Chianti or another medium-body red wine

Bread crumbs

Mayonnaise

Milk

Thinly-sliced (about 3/4") whole chicken breasts-- buy them sliced or make a cut along the long side of the breast so it opens up like a book

Long pasta (linguine, spaghetti, etc.)

Mozzarella

Parmesan

Sweat out the onions in a thin coating of olive oil, letting some fond develop on the bottom of the pan, but not allowing the onions to burn in a large sauté pan. Process the tomatoes, onion, and garlic until smooth, and use water to collect bits of sauce that didn't come of the food processor. Season with salt, pepper, and oregano. Allow spices to bloom over low heat. Stir. Once fragrant, add wine and raise heat to high to allow alcohol to cook off quickly, then lower heat to low. Add in sauce from jar in 2/3 cup increments, incorporating each measure into the homemade sauce before adding the next. Once whole jar has been incorporated, season again, raise heat to medium, then cover. Maintain over medium heat until ready to serve-- about 40 minutes.

Combine milk and mayonnaise. Season with salt, pepper, and oregano. Season bread crumbs. Trim excess fat from chicken breasts, discard. Dredge chicken first in milk/mayonnaise, then in bread crumbs, shaking off excess each time. Bake at 350° for 32 minutes.

Remove chicken from oven. Slice medium-moisture mozzarella. Top chicken with sliced mozzarella and grated parmesan. Place back in oven, now set to broil on high or to highest possible temperature if broiler isn't available. Leave under broiler for 4 minutes.

Cook pasta according to packaged instructions to al dente so as to be ready when chicken is ready. One minute before the pasta should be ready, remove it and place it in the sauce, allowing some of the water the pasta was cooked in to come into the sauce. Uncover the sauce, and turn off the burner. Let residual heat in pan finish cooking pasta in sauce.

Once pasta, sauce and chicken are ready, plate and serve.

If you make this, be sure to leave a comment down below letting me know!

May 6, 2020: A day of great joy for the Archdiocese of Atlanta as we celebrate the Mass of Installation of our Seventh Archbishop

As I originally shared here two months ago, Archbishop-designate Gregory Hatmayer, OFMConv was announced as the seventh Archbishop and eighth Bishop of the Archdiocese of Atalanta, and he would be installed soon. That day has come and as of this afternoon, we no longer need to call him our Archbishop-designate: the See of Atlanta is no longer vacant, and, for the first time in more than a year, we have an Archbishop. Anyone who attends a Mass via livestream in the Archdiocese will, for the first time, hear "Be pleased to grant her peace, to guard, unite and govern her throughout the whole world, together with your servant Francis our Pope and Gregory our Bishop, and all those who, holding to the truth, hand on the catholic and apostolic faith" (if the celebrant uses the Canon, or the equivalent petition in the other Eucharistic Prayers), once again having a chief shepherd to pray for by name.

I was one of thousands of the faithful of Atlanta who, on March 6, began making plans to attend today's Mass of Installation at St. Peter Chanel. Finals would be over, I'd be home, and I live relatively close to St. Peter Chanel (I've done several multi-parish retreats that included both my home parish and St. Peter Chanel precisely because the parishes in my area are close enough to do events in clusters like this), so the date and time would be perfect for me. This was such a momentous occasion that I wrote and shared my first publiccomposition here to celebrate the appointment and impending installation.

Alas, COVID-19 at the time was a much milder threat back then than it is today: since then, the number of cases in Georgia has increased from three cases on the day of the announcement to well over thirty thousand today (an increase of 1,022,000%). So, a few weeks ago, Bishops Konzen and Shlesinger, the auxiliary bishops in whose temporary care the Archdiocese had been for about a year, made the prudent decision not to keep hundreds of sexagenarian, septuagenarian, and even octogenarian priests close together in an enclosed space for a few hours-- these Masses under normal circumstances tend to run from 2 to 3 hours in an enclosed space, plus there's the time they're waiting in a sacristy together before and after Mass (in an even smaller space), plus the reception afterward (with thousands of people from all over the state). When social distancing guidelines came out, our local church, under the care of our Diocesan Administrator and Auxiliary Bishop Joel Konzen, had made the decision to turn the installation into a private ceremony-- but one which the faithful were still absolutely encouraged to witness by means of the Internet livestreams. They also moved the installation back to the Cathedral (from where it was previously scheduled while still a public event, at St. Peter Chanel), so the installation of the Archbishop and his taking possession of his new Cathedral would be one liturgical action, not two liturgies on different days as had been planned.

For those who didn't make it to the original live stream and who would like to watch the archived version (or for those of you who did make it, and want a summary of what happened) already in the know about the installation procedure, refer to this post from when the announcement for a play-by-play inspired by a joke by Archbishop Bernard Hebda of St. Paul-Minneapolis that he regretted that there were no "How To Consecrate and/or Install a Bishop" tutorials on the Internet for him to watch beforehand, so he'd need the people of Sioux Falls and their Bishop-elect to bear with him as he went through the rite for the first time. (The consecration of Bishop DeGrood of Sioux Falls earlier this year was Archbishop Hebda's first as principal consecrator.)

Here's a recap of what happened this afternoon at the Mass that not only marks the transfer of the care and governance of the Archdiocese to Archbishop Hartmayer, but also the Archbishop's (as of yesterday) 41st anniversary of ordination to the priesthood.

(I apologize in advance for the poor quality of these pictures. Most of the screen captures I got weren't very good at all, and at points the video was streaming below 240p. If/when the Archdiocese posts the archived footage off today's Installation Mass-- probably be the end of the day, if at all--I'll edit this post to include those better pictures.):

Archbishop Wilton Gregory, the previous Archbishop of Atlanta who served here from January 2005 to April 2019, and has now been in Washington since May 2019, welcomes the Archbishop-designate, via a video message before the Mass of Installation began. When the Archbishop-designate was appointed a bishop in 2011 and sent to Savannah, Archbishop Gregory was the man who consecrated him and thus made him a bishop by the authority of the Pope.

Archbishop-designate Hartmayer, ceremonially locked out of Christ the King Cathedral, knocks on its doors three times (once for each Person of the Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit), asking to come into the Cathedral and become the new chief shepherd, and is welcomed into his new Cathedral by its Rector

Archbishop-designate Hartmayer enters what will momentarily become his Cathedral for the first time, in a homecoming of sorts-- between 1995 and 2011, Archbishop-designate Hartmayer had been pastor of two parishes in our Archdiocese before being appointed Bishop of Savannah, where he had served until now.

The Apostolic Nuncio, the Pope's ambassadorial representative based in Washington, read the English translation of a mandate written and signed by Pope Francis in Latin that named Archbishop-designate Hartmayer officially as the Archbishop of Atlanta and released him from his obligations in Savannah, After being asked one more time if he accepted the appointment, the mandate was shown to a group of priests and to the people to verify its authenticity. Here, a deacon shows the people the original Latin mandate. Around 2000 devices watched the installation. Given that there were probably families watching together on a single device, if the Mass of Installation had been held with the public present, the 3000-plus seats of the Cathedral would likely have all been full.

Msgr. Frank McNamee, Rector of Christ the King Cathedral, on behalf of all the clergy of Atlanta (only about 10 of whom were present, out of nearly 300, in keeping with social distancing) inspects the Papal Mandate naming Archbishop-designate Gregory Hartmayer to Atlanta for its veracity

The mandate was shown to us, the faithful at home, so we too could see that the signature on the mandate really was that of Pope Francis, and that, therefore, the mandate was authentic.

The mandate was verified by both the people and the clergy, so everything was leading up to this moment, when he sat on the Cathedra for the first time and became Archbishop Hartmayer, officially assuming responsibility for the teaching, governing, and sanctifying of the 1.2 million Catholics in Atlanta, and ending the 13-month vacancy that had begun in April 2019 during which there was no Archbishop. Ordinarily, the people would give their assent by applauding the Archbishop from within the Cathedral; however, expressions of such assent were limited in scope since the Cathedral was almost empty. However, Archbishop Hartmayer, you can be sure that all of us who watched from home are very pleased with your appointment. To the Archbishop's right in the background, you can see another Bishop, Bishop Kevin J. Boland, applauding. Bishop Boland, Bishop Emeritus of the Diocese of Savannah, reached the mandatory retirement age of 75 in 2010 and was replaced in 2011 by then-Father Hartmayer. Bishop Hartmayer succeeded Bishop Boland, and he served in Savannah as their Bishop until he was appointed to serve as our Archbishop back in March.

After the Gloria, Collect, First Reading, Responsorial Psalm, Second  Reading, and Gospel, the newly installed Archbishop Hartmayer gives his first homily as Archbishop. By Canon Law (the laws of the Church) ordinations/installations of priests who are not yet bishops can happen up to 4 months after the date on which the mandate was given, with exceptions made for extenuating circumstances. Installations of men who are already Bishops must happen within 3 months, with exceptions made for extenuating circumstances. From within that window, this  particular week was selected because this previous Sunday was Good Shepherd Sunday-- and the Archbishop is the chief shepherd of his Archdiocese, and Archbishop Hartmayer explicitly requested that there not be a delay so the installation could still coincide with the week of Good Shepherd Sunday.

At the conclusion of his Mass of Installation, Archbishop Gregory Hartmayer gives us, the people of Atlanta, his new flock, his first blessing as our new Archbishop.

Three things in particular stood out about this Mass: first, the deeply Franciscan charism of our new dear Archbishop, reflected in the fact that, under his chasuble (the cream-colored poncho-like outermost garnet the Archbishop is wearing in all these pictures, aptly named, since in Latin, “casula” means “small house” and these things really are big enough to justify that naming), stole, and alb, the Archbishop wore the Conventual Franciscan habit, and in the musical selections which, again, had a very deeply Franciscan character about them. Second, the homecoming that this was for Archbishop Hartmayer. The Archbishop served here in the Archdiocese as a priest from 1995 to 2011, being a pastor of two parishes in that time (one from 1995 to 2010 and the second from 2010 to 2011). In 2011, Pope Benedict XVI called him to go to Savannah, and he served there as their bishop for eight and a half years before being called back to Atlanta to serve as our Archbishop. Archbishop Hartmayer has been a priest for 41 years as of yesterday (Happy anniversary, Archbishop Hartmayer! Ad multos annos!), and more than half that time has been spent in Georgia’s two dioceses. Third, and most obviously, the lack of people in Christ the King Cathedral. Though Georgia’s statewide stay-at-home order has been lifted, the Archdiocesan suspension on public Masses continues for our safety, so only the most essential people were in the Cathedral: the Archbishop, his two auxiliaries, a few priests and deacons, one lector, and the Cathedral’s organist and its choirmaster. Notably absent from the expanse of its pews were the thousands of faithful who would have gone had the Mass been open to the public, but who instead watched a livestream from home.  Mass, as a liturgy, is by definition a both communal and a public act, so this felt very strange to all involved. We all long for the day when we will get to meet our Archbishop in person, but we know that while social distancing is in place, that day will not come. However, we also know that if we do our parts to minimize risk and exposure by wearing a mask and social distancing, the outbreak will be over sooner, and the day we have been longing for will draw closer. If we do what we are supposed to do and if we pray with and for one another, albeit from a distance, the day will come when we can gather again, and the day will come when we no longer need to see our Archbishop through a TV or other screen, but when we can be with him. Hang in there, my friends. Stay safe, practice social distancing, and be careful— those are the ways we will return to  the communities we know and love. 

To our dear Archbishop Hartmayer, welcome back home to Atlanta. Receive from us our warmest congratulations to you on your installation and your 41st anniversary of priestly ordination. Your appointment and installation have come during a time of great uncertainty amid the COVID-19 pandemic, and during a time when it has not been possible for us to be with you to welcome you back to the Archdiocese where you served 16 years, now as our Archbishop. These first few months as our chief shepherd will be difficult and different from any other time you’ve experienced in your forty-one years as a priest and nine years as a bishop, but do not be afraid, for our prayers are with you. The road ahead will not be an easy one, but you are a worthy, humble, and capable shepherd, and we your flock place our love and trust in you, guided by the Holy Spirit, to help us through these trying times. Our prayers are with you now and always. When it is safe to do so, we will happily celebrate with you in person, we all look forward to meeting you, and we will cherish the opportunities to pray with you and celebrate the Sacraments with you. 

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me bring love.

Where there is offense, let me bring pardon.

Where there is discord, let me bring union.

Where there is error, let me bring truth.

Where there is doubt, let me bring faith.

Where there is despair, let me bring hope.

Where there is darkness, let me bring your light.

Where there is sadness, let me bring joy.

O Master, let me not seek as much

to be consoled as to console,

to be understood as to understand,

to be loved as to love,

for it is in giving that one receives,

it is in self-forgetting that one finds,

it is in pardoning that one is pardoned,

it is in dying that one is raised to eternal life.

Amen. 

St. Francis, pray for us! St. Gregory, pray for us! St. John, pray for us! St. Pius X, pray for us! St. John the Baptist, pray for us!

From Denver to Rotterdam and around the world: A message of hope amid a global crists.

As I write this, we’re currently in lockdown in my home state of Georgia. Millions of people have been diagnosed with what was originally thought to be a mysterious and quite aggressive form of pneumonia after having visited one specific open-air market in China in late December 2019. By 2020, the disease was found to be a new pathogen, and the city where the outbreak started (and the whole province)—close to 60 million people—were on lockdown in China.

My home country, the United States, got its first case in February, in the state of Washington; my home state of Georgia was about a month behind the first case in the country. In early March, we had 3 cases. More than 24 thousand people in my state now have the disease, and the whole country has 989 thousand cases—the most in the world—and worldwide, at least 3.06 million have contracted the virus, of whom more than 212 thousand have died. We need to test people to see if they have or had the disease, but, especially here in the United States, we can’t—there just aren’t enough tests. Millions more may be infected and that we’ll never know for certain because they weren’t tested, not because they chose not to be tested, but because they couldn’t be tested since the tests they needed literally did not exist and could not be made. Because of the severity of the disease we’ve been fighting—for months now classified as a pandemic—the world economy is at a standstill; many countries in Europe and many areas in my United States have been limiting economic activity to only the bare essentials, often closing every business indefinitely except those that make food, medicine, or things needed to fight the virus.

Hospitals are overrun. Doctors are desperate, some having to make life-or-death calls, giving life to one patient and denying life to another in a zero-sum game fighting over ventilators and experimental treatments in dangerously low supply. Public health officials say that this is the most serious affront to our national and global health systems since the Spanish Flu of 1918 a century ago. To prevent the death toll of the Spanish Flu pandemic, governments worldwide have put billions of people under government-enforced lockdowns and stay-at-home orders, potentially for the next several months, for their protection. The leading doctor fighting the virus here in America says we may have to wait until 2022 for a vaccine, and even longer until the vaccine is distributed widely enough that we can all consider ourselves safe again and to have some semblance of a return tot normalcy, like things were before the virus.

We are all scared, and we all need hope. Even for those of us who have not yet been directly affected by the virus, it's an incredibly treacherous time with so many unknowns: everywhere we look, we’re reminded of the crisis, and every time we turn on the TV and check the news, it’s bad, and very few people can give us sound information that tells us the end is really in sight. The numbers have worsened: more have died, there are fewer available hospital beds and ventilators, and there doesn’t appear to be any end in sight. 

For musicians, it’s a tough time: the concert halls are closed indefinitely, and some ensembles have had to disband entirely because ticket revenue has fallen so much so suddenly. Doing what we love to do-- playing for audiences who love what we play-- is impossible right now. One of the orchestras that shines brightly as an example of how to continue bringing music and hope to the world even though we musicians can’t rehearse together, let alone play in a packed concert hall for thousands at a time, is the Rotterdam Philharmonic in the Netherlands. The musicians in that Dutch orchestra, at a time when their country currently has about 37,000 cases, came together to give the world hope. The musicians came together via video from wherever they were, and from living rooms and kitchens, each musician alone played his or her part in the finale of Beethoven’s Ninth. As far as I can tell, the choral part was reused from another one of the Rotterdam Philharmonic’s recordings of the Ninth. The video, which went up on March 20, 2020 on the Rotterdam Philharmonic’s official YouTube channel, now has nearly 2.7 million views, 127 times as many likes as dislikes, and 2800 comments as of when this was written in late April 2020. The video was probably put together with next to no rehearsal time, and certainly no rehearsal time together, and titled “From us, for you,” has been a tremendous source of hope through the desolation and devastation of the pandemic. Even though this performance didn’t happen in one of the grandest concert halls in Europe led by an all-time great conductor for an audience who paid for a ticket to see a concert, it still managed to touch the hearts of millions of viewers. That’s the power of the Ninth: whenever or however we hear it, it’s an instrument of hope, of healing, of comfort.

I’d like to share some of the comments posted on the video.

This one is from a doctor actively working to end the pandemic “Thank you – as an ER physician dealing with the repercussions of this global tragedy, it is beautiful to have reminders of why we are putting our lives at risk every day. You have touched my heart and given me, and others, strength to keep being what we are - doctors - because of what you are - artists....”

An Indonesian doctor said this “I am a physician in Indonesia. I lost it when the chorus came in. Thank you.”

 Another man said this about his Dutch wife’s past experiences through World War II and how they relate to the current pandemic: “…Her parents watched [Rotterdam] erupt in flames in May of 1940 and lived through five years of occupation. As we cope with this pandemic, I remember the courage of my Dutch family, I draw strength from knowing that people have survived terrible times…” 

This commenter included a quote from Washington Irving, an American writer roughly contemporaneous with Ludwig van Beethoven. The commenter said: “‘There is a sacredness in tears. They are not a mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition and of unspeakable love.’ [ –Washington Irving] Thank you for giving me Joy 💖.” 

 This commenter speaks of the immense emotional impact even an impromptu performance under the strangest of circumstances, like this one, can have: “When I saw all the comments saying how they cried unexpectedly, I didn't think I would cry but I did. This hit me so hard, thank you so much. Music can heal.”

This commenter points out that authentic joy is transcendent over even the most crippling illnesses or physical disabilities, like Ludwig van Beethoven was: “A deaf man that knows what joy would sound like is a great testament to the potential greatness of humanity.” An American commenter wrote this: “This brought tears to my eyes. Music is the universal language. Thank you and much love from America. 🧡🧡🧡”

Another commenter contrasts the desolation of today with the hope of tomorrow: “Literally crying at the end. It's difficult to explain how powerful this music is. This song has survived so many ugly events in human history. Yet, it remains beautiful. Thank you, Rotterdam philharmonic orchestra. You have shown us exactly what context our current worries exist in. In the existence of this song, Rotterdam was cruelly burnt to the ground. The citizens of the Netherlands experienced unimaginable suffering, yet the song survived. Now the citizens of Rotterdam can proudly perform the music, just like the generations before them. I know coronavirus is terrifying, and it has deeply harmed my personal life. But we will survive this crisis, just like Beethoven's symphony. There will be a time when symphony halls across the world will be full again.”

Another commenter on the transcendence and historical importance of this performance, despite it not being in as grand a setting or with as illustrious a conductor as the other monumentally influential performances I'll discuss in that section of my upcoming book. “No concert, no lesson, no future musical event will ever be more important or as powerful as these last 4 minutes. Thank you for sending such an uplifting message in such tumultuous times. God Bless.”

This commenter speaks to the universality of the healing power of music, our common language: “This is why music is SO important. In a language that we can all relate to, all feel and all bond. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! For sharing your gifts with us all in time where we need hope, love and song. Beautiful!”

On the uniting power of music: “This is so beautiful I'm crying. If only the world would come together like this at all times. Thank you!!”

Another similar video was released at around the same time by the Colorado Symphony Orchestra, based in Denver, Colorado. There, 544 thousand people have seen the video, there have been 136 times as many likes as there have been dislikes, and there have been about 490 comments as of when this was written in late April 2020. Here’s a sampling of those comments.

“We may be remote but we are STILL musicians and we can still touch souls.... We need our music and those around us virtually need it as well…”

“I started tearing up watching this. If you'd brought in a full choir, I would have straight-up broken down. Wonderful job, all of you.”

“The arts are what make us human, both in good times and times of difficulty. Everyone of these individuals, everyone of these instruments is unique and different and yet when they come together, they bring peace, beauty and joy. Thank you to each of these musicians for sharing this beauty. May we all learn a lesson that when we come together, in our uniqueness, we can make beautiful things happen. I so enjoyed this amazing rendition of Beethoven's Ode to Joy, last movement of his 9th Symphony. Thank you!”

“Brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for sharing your gift of music with us at this time.”

“I'm in tears. Thank you so much for sharing joy in this time of uncertainty. Blessings on each of you."

“Thank you so much for this beautiful song! I think it's so amazing that us musicians can still play together, even under the current circumstances!”

“Music is essential in crisis. It gives you courage.”

Using online tools to translate their comment from Japanese, I found that one person wrote “I will be healed. I pray that all the hearts of the world will be healed. Thank you for the wonderful music.”

 “Thank you. In a time of distancing you all model music togetherness. And bring out individual gifts for the gift of shared music. Thank you”

 One of the great miracles of this symphony is the hope that this melody and its lyrics inspire in all of us: "Alle Menschen werden Brüder." "All men will be brothers." Leaning on each other and on our music for strength and encouragement, we'll make it through the crisis. These past few months have been difficult, and there are many more difficult months ahead. But do not be afraid. Now, while many of us are scared, let us remember that we have each other, and let us take comfort in each other's company, and in the beautiful music and memories we can create together, even in the midst of a global crisis because hope, music, and love transcend anything. Anchoring ourselves by our music, let us not lose one of the things that matters most: our hope. Stay strong, my friends.

Urbi et Orbi, March 2020: An Extraordinary Blessing

A truly unique event just concluded. From St. Peter's Basilica, to an empty St. Peter's Square, Pope Francis just gave an extraordinary (and here I use the word both in the liturgical sense of "outside the normally prescribed times" and in the typical sense of "awe-inspiring") "Urbi et Orbi" blessing. These blessings "for the City [of Rome] and for the World" traditionally only happen on only the rarest and most solemn of occasions. Currently, they are given at:

a.      Easter (last time was about a year ago; next time will be in about 3 weeks)

b.     Christmas (last time was 3 months ago; next time will be 9 months from now)

c.      The first blessing of the newly-elected Pope as Successor of Peter and Vicar of Christ (In the last 60 years: March 2013, April 2005, October 1978, August 1978, June 1961)

I’d never seen one before; the Easter and Christmas blessings usually take place in the midmorning from St. Peter’s in Rome, usually between 9 and 10:30 AM local time. Adjusted for my time zone, that’s sometime between 3 and 4:30 AM for the Christmas blessing or between 4 and 5:30AM for the Easter blessing. The first blessing after the conclave varies, but almost certainly occurs in the ballpark of 6:00 AM or 12:00 noon Eastern time, depending on if the conclave finishes after the morning/noon (Rome time) votes or the evening (Rome time) votes.  March 13, 2013 was a Wednesday, so at that time, I was in 6th grade, probably at lunch. I didn't learn of the end of the conclave until around 5:00 Eastern Time, about 5 hours after it ended that day. 

Before 1870 (when Italy unified), the blessing was also given on these other dates: Holy Thursday (the Thursday immediately before Easter), the Feast of Saints Peter and Paul (June 29), at the Papal Coronation (when the new Pope received for the first time the three-tiered Papal Tiara sometime after his election), not used since the 1960s), the Solemnity of the Ascension (40 days after Easter, 7 weeks after Holy Thursday), and when a new pope was elected as Bishop of Rome, and on the Solemnity of the Assumption of Mary (August 15).  Since 1870, however, the blessing had only been given at the three previously-mentioned times: Christmas, Easter, and the election of a new Pope.

As far as I can tell, before the blessing that just concluded, never before had an Urbi et Orbi blessing—which can only be given by the Pope because only he is the Successor of Peter, but which can technically be given at any time—been given outside of those traditional times or without a crowd gathered to receive the blessing.

This evening, the hour-long period of adoration and benediction began with a reading from the Gospel according to Luke (specifically Luke 8), after which the Pope gave a brief homily on the passage from Luke's gospel wherein the evangelist recounts Jesus' calming of the storm from the boat. Following this, the Pope spent time in prayer before an image of the Virgin Mary and the Infant Jesus, and then venerated a miraculous 16^th century crucifix. The church where the crucifix is housed was almost completely destroyed in a fire in 1519, but the crucifix survived the fire unscathed. In 1522, only 3 years later, Rome was hit by a terrible plague, and the friars in charge of the church decided to process through the streets of the city with the crucifix despite local authorities protesting the inevitable gathering of people that would follow the procession through the city as being a bad idea from a public health perspective, not unlike the civil leaders of today who try as much as possible to implement social distancing and limit bringing people into close contact with one another. When the procession in 1519 was concluded, however, the plague miraculously left the city and everyone was restored to health. Tonight’s veneration of the same crucifix served the same purpose: to implore to God that the city of Rome, the country of Italy, and the entire world be spared from the Coronavirus; for the alleviation of the suffering of all those who currently have the virus or are caring for someone who has it; and for the souls of everyone who died because of the virus.

Then, the Pope went back into the Basilica and a monstrance was brought out, and the Pope and the few other members of the clergy who were there spent some time in prayer before Christ made present in the consecrated Host—the Body of Christ—made present there in the monstrance. The typical Rite of Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament was followed, after which there was a time of silence, exactly as one would see in an ordinary church, if these times did not call for the churches to close to protect the people. After several minutes of silence for individual prayer, the Litany of the Sacred Heart and the Divine Praises were said. The chanting of the Tantum Ergo signaled that our time in Adoration, even if virtually, was about to come to an end, and that a Eucharistic Benediction (using the monstrance which contains the Body of Christ to deliver a blessing) would soon follow. Again, if these were ordinary circumstances, benediction with and reposition of the Blessed Sacrament would be totally normal things to be seen in any parish throughout the world. 

This, however, was no ordinary benediction. As Pope Francis prepared to receive the monstrance and to head to the door of St. Peter’s to deliver the Eucharistic Benediction to the City and the World, there were almost no people in the Square which, at Christmas, Easter, and the election of a new Pope, the traditional times for this blessing, would normally be filled with tens or hundreds of thousands of people who would receive the blessing in person. As I said at the outset, I don’t know of any instances of this blessing being given to an empty St. Peter’s Square or outside of the traditional times; this evening in Rome, something happened for the first time in the 2000-plus year history of the Church. Instead of blessing the thousands of faithful gathering in the Square and in the surrounding areas, the Pope blessed an empty Square with no one anywhere to be seen except for a few police cruisers blocking the entrances to the Square to enforce the lockdown containment measures put in place a few weeks ago by the Italian government. (The Vatican is a separate country from Italy, but it is fully adopting and complying with all the lockdown measures implemented by the Italian government.) Looking out at a world that is in pain from not knowing what will happen tomorrow; a world that wants answers, prayers, comfort; and a world longing and praying for a cure, Pope Francis gave the Eucharistic Benediction to all of us in the City of Rome and around the world. The bells of St. Peter's Basilica tolled to announce to the City and the World that the Blessing was being imparted upon us. 

In recent decades, TV, radio, and the Internet have become reliable and widespread means of communication. As such, the Vatican made some provisions so that anyone who watches or listens to the blessing, live, from the radio, the TV, the Internet, or any other means of communication can receive the blessing (and all the graces attached to it) in the same manner as anyone would if the public health situation were better and people were allowed into the Square.

 

In the image above, Pope Francis delivers the Eucharistic Benediction Urbi et Orbi, to the City of Rome and to the World. 

Normally, there are some requirements that must be fulfilled in order to receive the Urbi et Orbi and the graces it manifests:

1.     The person receiving the blessing must be present, either physically or by means of communication, or even by desire (someone who made effort to try to be present by media or in person but who could not be).

2.     `The person must resolve to avoid sin.

3.     The person must receive Communion within 3 weeks, and must Confess their sins before then.

4.     The person must pray for the intentions (prayer requests) of the Pope.

In these times of a public health crisis, the requirements in 3 were amended—the person must receive Communion when it is safe to do so again, and, before then, once it is safe again, they must go to Confession. Receiving the blessing having satisfied the conditions grants someone a plenary indulgence: it removes from their souls all the temporal consequences of any and all sins committed before the blessing was received. The historical significance of this blessing today is clear; when history books look back on this pontificate, the Urbi et Orbi blessing of March 2020 will certainly be labelled one of its defining moments. 

The Urbi et Orbi blessing is clearly an extraordinary event, and that Pope Francis chose to impart it on us today shows just how serious the Coronavirus is. Therefore, let us all join in prayer that the doctors and other medical professionals may, as quickly possible, find a cure for this virus. 

A few weeks ago, before the announcement of the extraordinary blessing, I edited and translated a perpetual novena for the intercession of St. Luke, patron saint of doctors and their patients, to God, for the resolution of the crisis. I invite all of you reading this, in the United States and around the world, to pray along with me. I have written versions in English, Italian, and Portuguese, but if your language is not listed, feel free to use the translation feature on the right side of the web page to translate the text of the novena into your language.

You can find the novena here, in English
Here, you’ll find the translation to Portuguese
Here, you’ll find the translation to Italian

St. Luke, pray for us!

Happy (maybe?) Birthday, Bach! (Or maybe it's in 10 days?)

Someone who has had a tremendous musical influence on me for as long as I can remember would have turned 335 today (or he will turn 335 in 10 days, depending on who you ask because of complications when countries switch from the Julian and Gregorian calendars). He was born to a family of musicians (and would later produce 20 musician children—more on that later) in what is now the state of Thuringia in Germany. He would go on to write almost 1100 numbered compositions, and in doing so, would cement himself as one of Western music’s greatest geniuses. I am of course referring to Johann Sebastian Bach.
              Bach’s life was quite an enigma. As I understand it, he wasn’t a very good student, and he constantly interrupted his teachers. He was born into a family of faithful Lutheran musicians, but, because by 1695 (when he was 10) he was an orphan, rather than become a ward of the state, Bach was sent to live with his eldest brother, the town organist in a small community twenty-odd miles way. There, the younger Bach’s mischief in school continued, and he had a difficult relationship with his brother who was, simultaneously, his foster parent, music teacher, breadwinner, and (because of the aforementioned mischief in school) supplemental tutor. He struggled against his brother considerably, but the work he put in under the tutelage of his older brother and others obviously paid off by the time Bach was an adult.
              His adult life clearly divides itself into four parts, which I’ll refer to by the city in which that part of his life was spent: Mulhausen, Weimar, Koethen, and Leipzig.  Mulhausen was a difficult period for the young Bach for several reasons. First, he was young, and, like any young artist, getting a solid footing in the start of a career can be quite difficult. I’m only calling this the “Mulhausen” period, from 1703 to 1708, but, really, those five years should be called the “Weimar-Mulhausen-Arnstadt” period. He didn’t stay in any place very long, and the most consequential event of this first five years of his career was his courtship and marriage (in Mulhausen) to Maria Barbara Bach, his second cousin, in 1707. Thirteen years later, she died in childbirth after delivering seven children; tragically, four of these children died in infancy. Bach’s time during this first stint in Weimar in particular was marked by tension between him and the local ecclesiastical-civil authorities, so he left quickly.
              Following the Mulhausen period, the Bachs moved to Weimar a second time, this time for a more fruitful 9 years. In those nine years, he composed many cantatas, being in charge of providing, copying, and rehearsing music for most Sundays and feast days; (probably) the Six Sonatas and Partitas for Violin—which I’m working on, so expect more content about them in the future. This time in Weimar provided Bach valuable time to explore four-part-harmony, a genre which would become paramount in later times.
              After leaving Weimar, Bach went to Koethen, where he stayed from 1717 to 1723. Three things mark this period as exceptionally unique. First, the death of his wife in 1720; then, a little less than a year and a half later, his marriage to Anna Magdalena, a local singer sixteen years his junior who would bear him an additional thirteen children (and raise the seven stepchildren she gained from Johann Sebastian’s previous marriage). Two children Carl Phillipp (whose mother was Maria) and Johann Christian (whose mother was Anna Magdalena) would become important composers of the Classical era in their own right. The third point of uniqueness concerns the court of Koethen, which was not faithfully Lutheran but in fact faithfully Calvinist. Therefore, we have no cantatas whatsoever from this six-year period, since Calvinist liturgical practice was very minimalist and did not allow for the decoration of churches or the musical elements of worship common in Lutheranism. Instead, what we see from this period is a great amount of tremendously virtuosic instrumental work, most famously the Six Suites for Cello Without Basso Continuo, BWV 1007-1012. (Search for “that cello song” on YouTube and you’ll immediately recognize the first of 36 movements in that collection.) The suites are written in a graded system, twice over: within each suite, later movements are more difficult than earlier ones, and each suite is more difficult than the previous one. Recent scholarship suggests that at least the first suite of the six might not have been the work of Johann Sebastian Bach but of Anna Magdalena Bach. Throughout their marriage, Anna Magdalena would produce copies of each of her husband’s works, part by part, for each musician. The handwriting in at least the first suite looks different from all the rest, an , especially the prelude of that suite is incredibly simple—too simple to be the work of a seasoned veteran like Johann Sebastian, and more likely to be the work of a student working under the master, like Anna Magdalena, who was taught keyboard skills and counterpoint-writing by her husband, who also taught their children. Therefore, some scholars argue that the first suite—if not all six—are not the work of Anna Magdalena, not Johann Sebastian. Regardless, these six suites together form the Mount Everest which few cellists summit successfully (by performing and/or recording all six, especially in one concert or album). Just like it would be unwise to approach Mozart with any other mindset than “Even though [composition x] is purely instrumental, it’s fundamentally operatic,” the same can be said of Bach’s instrumental works: “Even though this looks like it only has one line, it actually has several, and isn’t written for [insert instrument here], but rather for the organ, and it was done so in a deliberately polyphonic style.” Keep this in mind, and you will capture the true essence of instrumental Bach from this period and from all the others.

          The final period began with his acceptance of the position of Kapellmeister at Leipzig—making him responsible for providing music to each of the city’s four Lutheran churches, as had been the case in earlier Lutheran postings, for Sundays and feasts. This period began in 1727 and lasted until his untimely death in 1750. Though he was responsible for four churches, he is most closely associated with the St. Thomas Church, where he would be buried after an infection he contracted thanks to unsanitary practices by his optic surgeon performing a cataract removal in 1750. Two years later, the same surgeon performed another failed cataract operation that permanently destroyed what little was left of Handel’s eyesight, blinding him forever until his death (for other reasons) in 1759. Perhaps the greatest work to come out of this period was not of Lutheran origin, but of Catholic origin. In the Mass, there are some things that, week to week, don’t change; we call these parts the “Ordinary”—the Kyrie (“Lord have mercy…”); the Gloria in excelsis Deo (“Glory to God in the highest…”); the Credo in unum Deo (the Nicene or Apostle’s Creed- “I believe in one God, the Father Almighty…”); the Sanctus (“Holy, Holy, Holy Lord God of Hosts…”); and the Agnus Dei (“Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us…”). Bach had written most of these components in the 1720s and 1730s, especially when potentially looking for a job in Dresden (which he ended up not taking); but while the work of 1748-50 was mostly compiling the various parts of the ordinary from other Masses he’d written over the years, some original work was done to finish the whole setting. Astute listeners will notice similarities between cantatas and portions of the B minor Mass—absolutely correct observations given that the Mass is mostly a compendium of previously written material not joined into one composition until 1748-49 but written which had been written deca. For instance, the “Gratias Agimus Tibi” in the Gloria and the “Dona Nobis Pacem” in the Agnus Dei both use the melody (verbatim) from the chorale in the cantata BWV 29, Wir danken dir, Gott, wir danken dir.

          Besides the hundreds of examples of sacred music we have from this period, we also have one hugely influential piece of secular music: his last catalogued work, BWV 1080, the Art of the Fugue, a kind of treatise-workbook-magnum opus mashup that, over almost two hours and twenty-two different fugues. The last of those, Fugue XIX (yes, the 19th fugue, but it is in fact Fugue 1, Fugue 2, 3, 4, 5, ..., 16a, 16b, 17a, 17b, 18a, 18b, 19, thus “19” is really the 22nd), employs a particular motive called the BACH motive. To understand why it is called this (suprisingly, it has nothing to do with the composer’s name), one must understand how German speakers call their note names. In English, we have A, B, C, D, E, F, and G; all of those notes can be sharpened or flattened as necessary. In German, however, they have, A, B, C, D, E, F, G, and H. The note we normally call “B” in English is the note German speakers refer to as “H”—thus the manuscript of the Mass in B minor (English naming) is actually the manuscript of the Mass in H minor (German naming) according to the composer. The note we English speakers call “B-flat” is what German speakers call B. German speakers add “is” or “es” to note names (other than H, which instead of becoming His exceptionally becomes B) to make them sharp or flat, respectively. So, “Fis” is “F#” and “Es” is “E flat,” and so on. With that sidenote out of the way, it is now possible to understand what the BACH motif actually is: the notes named in German B, A, C, and H, respectively (to an English speaker: B, A, C, B flat), played melodically. Fugue XIX makes extensive use of this, but it ends abruptly after an iteration of the motif. In the hand of one of the composer’s sons, it is written “After writing the B-A-C-H motif, the composer died suddenly,” or something to that effect. Unfinished, The Art of the Fugue is already one of the great authoritative texts extant in the Western musical canon about how to teach counterpoint, and I often wonder how much more great work Bach could have done for our musical tradition had he been able to finish the volume, and what that work would have looked like.

It is said that Bach deliberately wrote so many intricacies into his music so that only God would ever understand its full potential. I’ve been listening to Bach for close to 20 years daily and playing his music for about half the time. I’ve gained so much knowledge in that time, and yet I know that all I possess is only the tip of the iceberg, and not even an entire lifetime is long enough to explore all the beautiful intricacies in the music made by humans for the divine.