In yet another example of a church property becoming cultural space …
… the former Christian Science Children’s Sunday School Building is now the home of the Boston Symphony Youth Orchestras.
The location is one of the most stunning in Boston (below). The design (I.M. Pei and others) around the “mother church” of Christian Science is one of the most awe-inspiring, serene spaces in the city.
It is, in actuality if not in name, an outdoor cathedral.
I am not a student of architecture. But I think, at its core, there must be an element of visual music. This picture, to me, is like a full-on major chord and the overtones just float off into those little wisps of cirrus clouds above.
It is, in a word, harmonious.
James Joyce, for whom we have had two dogs named “Ulysses,” adopted Thomas Aquinas’ aesthetic theory for his own. (If you’re still with me after that sentence, ten points.)
This aesthetic theory saw beauty as a reflection of the harmony and order in the universe.
This may be why we experience a little tingle when we are in the presence of beauty. For a brief moment, we “feel” the harmony of the universe. We re-sonate (re-sound) with it.
These moments are brief because, well, the universe is also wildly chaotic and disordered.
We look at the night sky and think: immovable, unchanging, eternal. But the universe’s time is not our time. In an amount of time that we cannot even imagine, all of those stars will be gone. And at this very moment, new galaxies, galaxies that dwarf our poor little Milky Way, are being birthed out of thermodynamic chaos.
So those brief moments of beauty, of harmony do something to us. They change us. Personally, I’m still trying to figure out how and why.
Kerry and I were at this building for celebratory occasion: the dedication of a student lounge in the building, named in honor of someone with whom I went to grammar school. But, as very rarely happens in life—Carl Jung called this synchronicity—there was another reason why we were there.
This gets a little confusing, so bear with me as I untangle.
Twenty years ago, we were invited to dinner at … well, we’ll call her Laura (because that’s her name) and Michael’s house. At the time, Kerry and Laura were business associates on their way to what would become a wonderful friendship. Michael was an affable host, witty, good conversationalist until, somewhere in the middle of the salad, the words “Sacred Heart” came up.
It was then we realized that the two grown men sitting at the table, who hadn’t seen each other in thirty years, had been at one time just kids wearing cassocks and surplices, looking like little Christmas candles, together in the Sacred Heart Boy Choir.
We knew each other.
More than that, we had shared a formative musical experience at a very young age. This choir was, arguably, the premier boys’ choir in the area. We worked with the Boston Symphony Orchestra on so many occasions that going on stage at Symphony Hall became, quite literally, routine. We worked with the Boston Opera Company under the formidable direction of Sarah Caldwell. And survived.
Kids being kids, we almost certainly had no idea how important these experiences were.
But they played out through both of our lives. Michael went on to spend years with the Boston Youth Symphony and followed his love of music, in many incarnations, while pursuing a career in medical research.
And now, I can get to the heart of this story.
The occasion was celebratory, but tinged with some melancholy, some sadness. Michael passed away fifteen years ago.
I am at the age, now, where the question what makes a good life? ping pongs around my head all the time. Especially in those semi-conscious moments just before falling asleep. I have, mercifully, broken free of any constraints regarding rewards and punishments, or a calculus based on heaven or hell.
But there still remains that question: what makes a good life?
Lord knows how many eulogies I have delivered. And that’s not to mention the ones to which I’ve listened. I’ve had the privilege of delivering eulogies for people whom I considered to have lived exemplary lives. And I have listened to eulogies, practically canonizing a curmudgeonly deceased, where I thought: we are talking about the same person here, aren’t we?
The remarks at the dedication, by family and those from the Boston Youth Symphony, could not help but veer very close to eulogy on occasion. And I appreciated that they did.
Because I got a little insight into my question, what makes a good life?, insight I would not have understood twenty years ago.
It took me a couple of days to digest this, but an essential element, perhaps the element that holds up all the rest, goes back to Aquinas.
It is harmony.
We live in a culture that screams: Sing your song as if nobody is listening!!! To which I say: Fine, but do that in your car or your bedroom.
Out here in the real world, the ability to harmonize is so much more important. Listening to the different roles that Michael played in his life, it was plain he was a master of harmony. He didn’t take his song into whatever situation he was in; rather, he listened for the music that was already there and found a way to create a harmony part.
I was often the soloist in this choir that we both sang in. But once that solo was done and I returned to my place in line, I was a harmonizer. The blend was so much more important than anything else.
These are hard times for harmony.
We have so many people singing their song way off key that it actually hurts my ears to listen to public discourse.
And there are people who have no interest in harmony. It’s their song (possibly Lee Greenwood’s execrable, jingoistic “God Bless The USA”) or no song at all.
On the off chance that I will deliver a Sermon on Some Mount somewhere, sometime, I would begin with:
Blessed are the harmonizers.
Of course, I would just be ripping off Jesus here. Harmonizers and peacemakers are essentially the same thing.
I’ll be looking at more elements of “a” good life in the weeks to come. Important to note: “a” good life is not the same as “the” good life.
A corollary question to what makes a good life? is how do we spend our time?
Yeah, I know Rent isn’t cool, it’s too 90s. Too bad. This is a great song sung by the masters of harmony, Pentatonix. Done this way, if this song was a building, it would pierce the clouds:
If you “like” (heart) this post or—even better—comment, it is a big help. The post gains more visibility.
Thank you for reading! Apologies in advance for typos. (I am a dyslexic proofreader!)
And if you enjoyed this piece, please consider sharing it with a friend:
I like this piece very much! What you say about harmony ties in with something I often tell people about choral singing; that I prefer it to being a soloist because I like being a part of something bigger than myself. It feels good to lose myself in something glorious, and I think harmony fits that bill. It actually doesn’t feel like being lost at all
I was already thinking of Pentatonix before I saw that you had included that video... (does anyone do harmony better??) But it is rare that we can be in harmony with one another, or perhaps I should say SO in tune with one another that it is truly harmony. When we are, it is truly beautiful. Thank you for this one.