THE DIAPASON needs your input!

Do you long for the days of the Orgelbewegung? Are you nostalgic for the poofy sound of chiff? If it’s missing from the pipe organ you play, then you need Chiff in a Jif! This amazing new kit uses ultra high-tech, black box technology to provide authentic-sounding attack where previously there was only sludge. This top secret new technology developed by the CIA takes digital sampling to the next level, and will turn the fattest Diapason into a spitting, svelte Prinzipal, and transform Doppelflutes into Quintadenas. Use at your discretion by means of its inconspicuous remote control (batteries not included). Black boxes attach to the bottom board of each windchest. Easy-to-use kit installs in just an afternoon or two using ordinary sacristy tools. Even better than the ever-popular Wind Emitting Diodes! Order yours today! Box CHIFF-CON, THE DIAPASON.

ATTENTION ORGANISTS! Not every congregation is blessed with great preaching. And even the best sermons can be too long, especially on a Sunday when you’ve got a pressing engagement after the last service. What to do? Install our new Sermon Override Toestud! This handy accessory uses ultra-high-tech black box technology to induce feedback into the sound system. When sermons stretch on a bit too long, a subtle tap on the Sermon Override Toestud will provoke enough speaker squawk to get even the most long-winded homilist to wrap it up quickly. Can be turned on and off when you wish, so that you won’t accidentally use it during an important recital! Easily installed using ordinary sacristy tools. Box Mitchell-Con, THE DIAPASON, [email protected].

Attention Church Organists! New service—Mission Statement Writing. These days, it’s not enough to be a superb player and decent human being. Sooner or later you will be required to produce a mission statement. Your mission, of course, is not to be a skillful musician and effective, personable choir leader who produces quality music—it is to be a Spirit-filled team player, problem solver, and consensus builder who knows what’s on the radar screen and who can reach for the low-hanging fruit on the faith journey. Our exclusive new service will create a mission statement for you that will keep the committee members off your back for a long time. Let us describe how you can light the fire of excellence, develop your tool kit and core competencies, and alleviate fallout to empower the paradigm shifts. Bonus: With every mission statement, receive our free booklet, “Talk Like a Pro,” an easy-to-use guide showing you how to pepper your speech with phrases that let ‘em know you can think outside the box. A snazzy mission statement and the right verbal buzzwords let the praise band supporters think you’re one of them, thereby freeing you up to actually do your job. Order yours today! Box Buzz, [email protected].

NEW! Society for Historical Toasters. Join the newest association for the “organ” devoted to the preservation of non-pipe instruments. Now you can be among like-minded individuals, instead of being scorned by elitist pipe-biased colleagues. This new organization will defend your right to prefer virtual organ sound instead of that old-fashioned, Neanderthal, wind-produced pipe sound. You can freely enjoy the perfect tuning and inexpensive, low-maintenance lifestyle you desire. And you can nominate historic tube-type toasters for the society’s “Historic Certificate,” bestowed upon deserving examples of the electronic art. Join now and receive a free t-shirt, plus a subscription to the official journal, TOASTER NEWS. Reply to Box SHT, THE DIAPASON, [email protected].

ATTENTION ORGANISTS! Do you ever play an instrument with a healthy en chamade trumpet? And do you ever get carried away?—perhaps using it on too many hymn stanzas, and the postlude, or on too many pieces in your recitals. If self-control is not your strong suit, you need our latest accessory: the Non-Chamade Control System. This ingenious device uses the latest ultra-high-tech black box technology to calculate how long you’ve already used the trumpet (will also work with other high-pressure reeds), and when you’ve reached your limit, will engage another stop (of your choosing) instead. Simple-to-use dial lets you set the amount of minutes, just like using a kitchen timer! Easily installed with ordinary sacristy tools. So stop tormenting those little old ladies (who, admittedly, sit right where the organ is loudest), and end Chamade abuse the easy way. Box Non-Chamade, THE DIAPASON, [email protected].

ATTENTION ORGANISTS! New historically informed pedal technique instruction method: “Stomp Your Way to Pedal Virtuosity.” Learn the secrets of Baroque all-toe pedaling. No more fussy toe-and-heel fannying about. Get down and stomp on those pedals! Also available: BarockMeister OrgelShoes, with heels already removed—ideal for use with this new pedal method book! Choose from your favorite liturgical colors. Order yours today! Box Pedal-Con, THE DIAPASON, [email protected].

ATTENTION ORGANISTS! Are you concerned about historically correct performance? The proper temperament gives the right flavor to a particular style. Make the dream of the right temperament a reality with our new HyperTUNE temperament system! Using ultra-high-tech black-box technology along with artificial intelligence, HyperTUNE automatically selects the correct temperament based on the style of the music you’re playing. Causes little or no damage to pipe cutups. Box Hyper-Con, THE DIAPASON, [email protected].

Wind-Emitting Diodes now supersede all other organ actions. Eliminate bulky windchests—glue a tiny WED in each toehole and run two tiny wires to a 12-volt source (24 volts for high pressure pipework). No experience and little equipment necessary to become a high-profit organbuilder. Reply to BOX HIGH TECH, c/o THE DIAPASON.

100 years and counting
One can only wonder if The Diapason’s founder, Siegfried E. Gruenstein, envisioned the day his magazine would turn 100. The fiftieth anniversary issue, December 1959, noted:

Siegfried E. Gruenstein, a rare combination of competent organist and professional newspaper man, founded The Diapason in 1909 against the advice of his elders among organists, builders and well-wishers. That it grew and prospered under his forty-eight years guidance was due wholly to his skill, his impartiality and his taste.
Mr. Gruenstein listened to all of the advice offered, and did not follow any of it. He persisted in going ahead, and the initial issue, all of eight pages, made its appearance. A few leaders in the organ profession offered encouragement (Clarence Eddy, William C. Carl, Peter Lutkin, and Harrison Wild). Others gave the paper three to six months to live. At the end of the first year, the record showed a net profit of $15, a paid circulation of 200, and accumulated assets of a desk, a file cabinet, a wastebasket, and much goodwill. We have reproduced the first issue as part of this 100th anniversary celebration (see pages 23–30).
When The Diapason was launched, electro-pneumatic action was new, and tubular-pneumatic and tracker-action organs were still being built. The electric fan blower was still new and water motors were being made, while the human blower was not extinct. The Diapason has documented the trends in organbuilding over the last hundred years, from the orchestral/symphonic organ to the American Classic organ, the clarified ensemble, the Organ Reform movement, historically informed organ building, historic replicas, and a rediscovery of Ernest Skinner, Cavaillé-Coll, and Henry Willis.
The Diapason has served as a mirror of the organ culture in this country, documenting the work of builders, players, teachers, and composers. To read through the issues of The Diapason from 1909 to the present is to read the history of organ building, performance, pedagogy and composition in the United States for the last century. What have we learned from the last 100 years? Perhaps that the organ can exist in many forms, can be beautiful and expressive in many different ways, and inspire and uplift us in its numerous incarnations.
Dare we imagine the world of the pipe organ 100 years from now? What will the next 50 years, the next 25 years, or even the next decade bring? If the past is any indication, the pipe organ will continue to be built, played, and enjoyed, perhaps in ways we cannot envision. There will always be a need and a market for the quality, beauty, and artistic expression that the organ represents. Keep reading as The Diapason embarks on its next hundred years.

A word of thanks
That The Diapason has not only survived but flourished over this first century is due to its many faithful subscribers and advertisers, especially during the current challenging times. The Diapason continues because of the generosity and dedication of its authors and reviewers. Among our many contributing editors who regularly provide columns and reviews, our harpsichord editor Larry Palmer is celebrating his 40th year of writing for The Diapason. James McCray has been writing his reviews of new choral music since 1976. Leon Nelson has written reviews of organ music and handbell music since 1982. Brian Swager has served as carillon editor since 1991. More recently, Gavin Black continues to write “On Teaching” and John Bishop presents “In the wind” every month. And many more writers provide reviews of books, recordings and organ music each month.
Here in Arlington Heights, Illinois, associate editor Joyce Robinson proofs and edits every item, in addition to compiling the calendar and organ recitals, managing classified ads, scanning all the images, and maintaining our website content and electronic newsletter. And I must honor the memory of Wesley Vos, who served as associate editor from 1967–2001 and was largely responsible for bringing me onboard and serving as my mentor.
It has been an honor to serve as editor and publisher for more than 25 years. Every day I feel fortunate to guide this magazine, blessed to work with authors, advertisers, and subscribers who love the The Diapason as I do. I hope you enjoy this 100th anniversary celebration. In addition to images of the past on the cover and the reproduction of volume one, number one, this issue includes reflections on The Diapason and the last hundred years.

Diapason history
December 1919 – founded by Siegfried E. Gruenstein (1877–1957), who served as editor and publisher through December 1957
1919 – official journal of the National Association of Organists
1929 – official journal of the Hymn Society of America
1933 – official journal of the Canadian College of Organists
1935 – official journal of the combined National Association of Organists and the American Guild of Organists
Frank Cunkle – editor, February 1958–September 1970
Robert Schuneman – editor, October 1970–August 1976
Arthur Lawrence – editor, September 1976– March 1982
David McCain – managing editor, April 1982–August 1983
Jerome Butera – editor and publisher, September 1983 to present

Longtime Diapason subscribers
As part of The Diapason’s 100th anniversary celebration, I have noted, in my “Editor’s Notebook” column, our longtime subscribers—those who have subscribed for more than 50 years. The longest subscription is that of Malcolm Benson: 70 years! We salute these subscribers for their many years of faithful support. Our most up-to-date list includes the following:

Fred Becker, Crystal Lake, Illinois, 1959
Bruce P. Bengtson, Wyomissing, Pennsylvania, 1958
Malcolm D. Benson, San Bernardino, California, 1939
Gordon Betenbaugh, Lynchburg, Virginia, 1957
Byron L. Blackmore, Sun City West, Arizona, 1958
Gene Boucher, Annandale, Virginia, 1957
George Bozeman, Deerfield, New Hampshire, 1951
John M. Bullard, Spartanburg, South Carolina, 1953
Merrill N. Davis III, Rochester, Minnesota, 1955
Douglas L. DeForeest, Santa Rosa, California, 1955
Harry J. Ebert, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, 1946
Joseph Elliffe, Spring Hill, Florida, 1956
Robert Finster, Canyon Lake, Texas, 1954
Henry Glass, St. Louis, Missouri, 1957
Antone Godding, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, 1952
Will Headlee, Syracuse, New York, 1944
Charles Huddleston Heaton, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, 1947
Victor E. Hill, Williamstown, Massachusetts, 1953
Harry H. Huber, Salina, Kansas, 1943
Lance Johnson, Fargo, North Dakota, 1959
Richard Kichline, Alliance, Ohio, 1953
Christopher King, Danbury, Connecticut, 1952
Bertram Y. Kinzey, Jr., Blacksburg, Virginia, 1945
Allen Langord, Poinciana, Florida, 1950
Arthur P. Lawrence, Lancaster, Pennsylvania, 1953
Michael Loris, Barre, Vermont, 1956
William (Bill) Mollema, Scotts, Michigan, 1957
William H. Murray, Fort Smith, Arkansas, 1959
Mark Nemmers, Dubuque, Iowa, 1954
Barbara Owen, Newburyport, Massachusetts, 1951
David Peters, St. John’s, Newfoundland, Canada, 1954
Patrick J. Rafferty, San Pedro, California, 1950
Thomas Schaettle, Springfield, Illinois, 1949
Robert A. Schilling, Indianapolis, Indiana, 1949
Ronald T. Severin, Orange, California, 1956
Richard A. Smid, Yaphank, New York, 1955
Francis M. Stone, Indianapolis, Indiana, 1953
Frederick Swann, Palm Springs, California, 1946
Rodney Trueblood, Elizabeth City, North Carolina, 1944
Charles J. Updegraph, South Orange, New Jersey, 1953
John Weaver, West Glover, Vermont, 1947
Robert Webber, Phoenix, Arizona, 1947
Harry Wells, Pullman, Washington, 1954
The Rev. Bruce McK. Williams, Albuquerque, New Mexico, 1946
Charles Woodward, Wilmington, North Carolina, 1953
—Jerome Butera
Editor and Publisher
The Diapason

Did you say millions?
It’s like making sausages. You might enjoy the finished product but you don’t want to know what went into it. Each month I sit to write, often after the official deadline has passed. If I’m lucky, I start with an idea that I’ve been chewing on for the past couple days. I’ve written a few notes on the index cards I keep in my briefcase and car, maybe I’ve even recorded a couple audio notes on my cell phone as I walk the trails in the park next door. The paragraphs are flowing before I get to my desk.
More usually, I sit down and stare at a blank screen waiting for inspiration. I play a recording of organ music, trusting that I’ll agree or disagree with something I hear or that the music will bring up a thought that I can spin into an essay. I type the usual heading, and there I sit. It’s like staring at your closet wondering what to wear to dinner. If only that shirt was clean I’d be all set. I fidget. I clean my glasses, I clean the screen of my laptop, I organize the piles of paper on the desk, allowing myself to be distracted by details I’d better get done first. I change the recording and try again. (Some of you have gotten e-mails from me commenting on your recordings—e-mails written as I get traction on my subject du jour (I don’t know the French word for month!)
When I have finished writing a column, re-read it several times, and shared it with my editor-wife for her observations and input, I attach the Word.doc to an e-mail addressed to my friend Jerome Butera, tireless editor of this journal, and press <send>. Often I hear from Jerome within minutes—there’s never any waiting before I know his reaction.
E.B. White was a celebrated writer for The New Yorker magazine and award-winning writer of children’s books (Stuart Little, Charlotte’s Web). Shortly after his second marriage to Katherine Sergeant Angell in 1929 (an editor at The New Yorker) he moved his family from Manhattan to a farmstead in rural Maine and continued his weekly writing for the magazine. Let me be quick to say I draw no personal comparisons to Mr. White, whose writing I admire and enjoy enough to justify periodic re-reading. But I can imagine the anguish and insecurity he felt waiting the days and weeks it took for the 1929-style U.S. postal service to get his manuscripts to New York and his editor’s responses back to Brooklin, Maine. (I know he had those feelings because he wrote about them—thank you, Jerome, for your dependable quick responses.)
Once a piece is in the hands of the editor, a new set of anxieties crops up. You know the thing about a tree falling in the forest—if there’s no one around to hear it, does it make a sound? Of course, we know it does—a sound wave is a physical thing that results from a transmission of energy, whether it’s a tree falling or air blowing through an organ pipe. You can’t stop physics. But it works as a rhetorical question: if no one reads what I’ve written, there’s no exchange of information. So once I’ve pressed <send> I wonder where my thoughts will wind up.

§

In mid-April this year when I wrote for the June issue of The Diapason, Wendy and I were fresh from Easter services at St. Thomas’ Church in New York. I was the one in the congregation scribbling notes on the bulletin and I knew exactly what I wanted to write. I could hardly wait to get home—but wait I did, because after a Midtown lunch we had matinee tickets for a play at the Manhattan Theater Club on East 55th Street in which the son of good friends was a cast member.
It wasn’t until the next morning that I wrote about the majesty and beauty of festival worship in that great church, about the brilliance of John Scott, St. Thomas’ organist and director of music, and about the public appeal from rector and organist for funding to support the commissioning of a (very costly) new organ. I wrote about how organs are likely to be replaced as styles change, even as organists succeed one another, and how the other artwork (reredos, windows, etc.) in places like St. Thomas’ Church is seldom changed.
This is one time that the tree made noise when it fell. Even before I received my mailed copy of the June issue, I had received e-mails and phone calls from friends commenting on what I had written, and in the next weeks Jerome forwarded two thoughtful letters he received from readers of The Diapason. Several important points were raised, and I thought it would be worthwhile to respond directly by way of continuing the conversation.
First, your assignment: re-read this column in the June 2011 issue of The Diapason.
Arthur LaMirande, concert organist from New York City, wrote:

It is with interest that I have read “In the wind . . . ” by John Bishop (The Diapason, June 2011). In particular: his remarks with regard to the Arents Memorial organ at St. Thomas Church, New York City.
Opines he: “We scarcely bat an eye before proposing the replacement of a pipe organ.”
Is he serious? He goes on to say: “Across the country, thousands of churches originally equipped with perfectly good pipe organs have discarded and replaced them with instruments more in tune with current trends, more in sync with the style and preferences [italics mine] of current musicians…”
He continues: “Over the decades of service that is the life of a great organ . . . ” [italics mine].
Now, Mr. Bishop surely must be aware that there are hundreds of organs in Europe that are fully functioning and that have been in existence and in use for centuries! (Never mind mere decades!) Even the organ at Notre Dame, Paris, which has been rebuilt several times, contains pipes that go back to the 18th century.

I don’t think I was opining, rather simply reporting. Plenty of perfectly good pipe organs have been replaced at the urging of a newly hired organist or because the church across the green got a new and larger instrument. It’s true, Europe is rich with hundreds of venerable instruments, and we can celebrate that their artistic content and historic value is recognized, allowing them to stay in situ and in service. And there are many wonderful historic instruments in this country that have survived the ravages of innovation and fad. Equally, I know many churches where early organs by E. & G.G. Hook were replaced by new-fangled Skinners in the 1920s that were in turn replaced by “revivalist” tracker-action organs in the 1970s—a new organ every fifty years whether you need it or not. When I was starting my career, an older colleague gave me this sage advice: never build an organ for a wealthy church. You’ll put your heart into your magnum opus and they’ll replace it during your lifetime.
States Mr. LaMirande:

On May 1st this year, I gave a recital on the Arents Memorial organ at St. Thomas Church. The major work on that program was the rarely performed Chaconne by Franz Schmidt . . . For an organ that “is on the verge of catastrophic collapse” [from the brochure passed out at St. Thomas Church to which Mr. Bishop makes allusion], it seemed to work extraordinarily well for me. With the exception of one cipher on a (non-essential) stop during rehearsal, I had no problems whatever with this organ. It succeeded in doing everything that I demanded of it. And that for a massive work calling for numerous changes of registration!

We might take exception to the phrase catastrophic collapse as used by St. Thomas’ Church. After all, assuming the organ hasn’t collapsed physically into the chancel wiping out the altos in the choir, what’s the big deal if an organ ciphers? (Organists: sorry to say, but there is no such thing as an organ that will never cipher.) Mr. LaMirande experienced a cipher while practicing for his recital, usual enough for any instrument. And if an organ ciphers during worship in a suburban parish church, we might shrug and chuckle, climb the ladder to pull the pipe, and go on with the show.

Keep your pants on.
I’ve found a delightful video on YouTube showing a significant wedding faux pas in which the best man’s pants fall down just as the couple starts to exchange their vows. As you might expect, the groom found that to be pretty funny—hilarious, in fact. The bride joined in, and the church was full of real, honest laughter for quite a while. The minister was a trooper, acknowledging the humor of the situation. You can find the video at <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=26a8JITwImQ&gt;. You’ll love it. It’s easy to say “things happen” and enjoy the moment. There’s a nice-looking pipe organ in the church. If any of you recognize it, let me know.
But we have a fresh international example of worship and religious festival in which one would not chuckle at the slightest glitch. On April 29 many (most?) of us watched Will and Kate’s wedding. Lovely couple, weren’t they? Her dress and hair were just right. He had a nice twinkle in his eye, and I enjoyed his little quips to his brother and his new father-in-law. Good thing Prince Harry’s pants didn’t fall down. The television coverage allowed us glimpses into the personal level of the occasion. But this was a big occasion. Heads of state were omitted from the guest list because of ongoing political and military circumstances. The dignity of the nation’s royal family was on display at a time when many Brits are wondering about its future. Heaven only knows how much money was spent. If you include all that was spent by the news media in the weeks leading up to the wedding, the total certainly surpassed the gross national product of many countries. As far as we can tell, it went without a hitch. And the pressure on the staff and officials of Westminster Abbey was made obvious in another wonderful moment immortalized on YouTube when a verger expressed his relief by turning cartwheels across the nave when the whole thing was over. I know I’m giving you a lot of research to do, but don’t miss this one either: <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=81Obpxf_pd8&gt;.

Off with his head.
The four-manual Harrison & Harrison organ in Westminster Abbey has 84 stops and was installed in 1937 for the coronation of King George VI. How’s that for pressure on the organbuilder—miss that deadline and you’re in the dungeon. Had that organ ciphered during Will and Kate’s wedding, it would have been reported all over the world. Imagine that service grinding to a halt while some technician raced to the chamber. Seventy-five chefs at Buckingham Palace would have panicked. Think of the soufflés. The Queen’s lunch would be in ruins. I wonder what Katie Couric and Barbara Walters would have said. The pipe organ universal would have a big black eye. And it would not have been a non-essential stop. There can be no doubt that it would have been the 32-foot Double Ophicleide or the Tuba Mirabilis. Vox Angelicas don’t cipher when the pressure is on, and if it had during all that hoopla no one would have noticed. There’s an apocryphal story about a team of voicers (I think they worked for Skinner) finishing an organ. The man at the console shouted, “Is the Vox Angelica on?” From the chamber, “Yes!” “Make it softer.”
While it may be okay for an organ to cipher or a participant’s pants to fall down somewhere else, it is not okay at Westminster Abbey. And St. Thomas’ Church shoulders a similar responsibility for dignity, grandeur, eloquence, and perfection, inasmuch as perfection is humanly possible. The much-altered Aeolian-Skinner organ there is not the artistic equal of the famed and fabled St. Thomas’ Choir, and while the brilliant musicians who play on it don’t miss a beat, we can only imagine what it will be like to experience worship there when the new organ is complete. The musicians there can almost taste it. And the responsibility born by the leadership and membership of that church is heightened by the simple fact that in an age when a pipe organ of average size installed in a “usual” church can cost more than a million dollars, an instrument for such a place as St. Thomas’ absolutely costs many millions.
Samuel Baker of Alexandria, Virginia wrote:

In the June issue, John Bishop suggests that perfectly good pipe organs are discarded and replaced with instruments more in tune with current trends and more in sync with the style and preferences of current musicians because pipe organs are in motion, whereas windows and statues are not replaced because they are static; physically they stay still.
Despite Bishop’s claim that seldom if ever are original design elements integral to the style of the building itself subject to change because they are considered old fashioned, many examples are easily found in my neck of the woods of Federal-style churches being “Victorian-ized” or Victorian-style churches receiving neo-whatever treatments.
And certainly organs are replaced because styles of organbuilding and preferences of musicians change but, rather than ascribe the reason that windows and statues are safe but organs are not to the premise that one is in motion and the other isn’t, I would propose that many more pipe organs are replaced because they were poorly designed, built with sub-standard materials, received little or no voicing, and were wholly unsatisfactory installations in the first place. The same fate awaits stationary items of poor quality and artistic merit with equity.
I agree fully with everything Mr. Baker says here. I appreciate his interest in including these thoughts in this debate. I’ve been in and out of hundreds of church buildings (actually probably thousands, but that sounds specious) and I’ve seen countless examples of beautiful liturgical and architectural appointments that have been discarded in favor of newer, lesser “looks,” and I’ve seen less-than-thrilling original equipment replaced to great benefit. However, what I wrote (page 12, fourth column, second paragraph) is, “But seldom, if ever, do we hear of a place like St. Thomas’ Church replacing their windows or reredos.” The key word is “like.”
I wrote, “Just imagine the stunned silence in the vestry meeting when the rector proposes the replacement of the reredos.” The allusion is to the vestry and rector at St. Thomas’ Church, not the Second Congregational Church in Newcastle, Maine. On Easter Monday I was writing with tongue in cheek—but it’s fun to revisit the image. I don’t know any of them personally, and I haven’t been in their meeting rooms, but I imagine it would be an august group of accomplished, insightful, and influential people sitting at an elegant table in a grand room. And they would be stunned. Images of that reredos have been published on calendars, record jackets (remember those old black LPs?), CD jewel-cases, postcards, and publicity photos for generations. The choir, resplendent in scarlet and white, stands in the chancel with that heap of saints in the background. Replace the reredos? No, Father. It’s staying.
The Aeolian-Skinner organ was famously revised by G. Donald Harrison in 1956, converting the 1913 four-manual E. M. Skinner instrument (91 stops) from symphonic to neo-classical in style. Harrison was personally working on the project, hurrying toward completion in time for the AGO national convention that year. Taxi drivers were on strike and Harrison had to walk many blocks in city heat to get home. He died of a heart attack on the evening of June 14 (93 days after I was born) while watching Victor Borge on television. The organ has subsequently been revised several times. It’s 98 years since Ernest Skinner finished the organ, which has now been altered just about every generation with diminishing degrees of success.

When there’s so much need in the world . . .
Mr. LaMirande’s letter ends:

Incidentally, I can’t resist pointing out that while St. Thomas Church is prepared to spend the extraordinary sum of $8 million the homeless and destitute are ensconced on the front steps of this church every night of the week! . . . How many homeless and destitute could be fed, clothed, and housed for that $8 million?

This is one of the most difficult questions we face as we propose, plan, and create pipe organs for our churches. Of course, it’s the mission of the church to care for homeless, destitute people—to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. It’s also the mission of the church to provide and present worship experiences at every level. The Royal Wedding was cause for national and international celebration, but Oliver Twist and his cronies still haunt the back streets of London. Without the church’s need for illustration of religious texts, tenets, and principles, we would not have the sculpture or painting of Michelangelo, the organ music of Bach, the choral music of Mozart and Haydn, or the Gothic cathedrals. If it had developed at all, without the influence and resources of the church, the pipe organ would be a wholly different entity. And the majesty of our great churches as they serve as figureheads and examples for all worshipful expression supports and inspires the work of the church at all levels and in all places. Those who toil in suburban and rural vineyards travel to the big city to experience “big city” worship in “big city” buildings, just as we marvel in the great museums, theaters, orchestras, and other institutions that can only be supported in a city like New York. I care a lot about the homeless and I try to do all I can to support them, but I don’t go to St. Thomas’ Church to hear a sub-standard organ any more than I want to see plastic flowers on the altar in front of that reredos.
All this talk about expensive art leads us to the world of philanthropy. Any church that plans to acquire a new pipe organ will rely on the availability of a few large gifts to make it happen. I’ve long assumed and often witnessed that those individuals who are capable of making a major gift in support of an organ project do so because of their personal interests. But I’ve been privileged to witness another level of philanthropy that has informed and affected me deeply. Wendy served on the board of a major university for nearly twenty years. During that tenure we became friends with a lovely couple of immense wealth. They are dedicated to philanthropy—she focuses on social and humanitarian projects and he supports the arts. Their names are at the top of donor lists for every show in town. Several years ago during dinner at our house, the husband told us how a repertory theater company had approached him asking for a significant grant to support the production of a controversial play that tackled some of our thorniest social issues. He disagreed with a lot of the content and was uncomfortable with most of it, but he thought it was his responsibility to make the gift anyway. He said something to the effect of, “I knew if I gave them the money I’d have to go see the play.”
I was impressed and moved by this story, and in the years since I’ve often reflected on the nature of philanthropy and how much we all benefit from it. Whether it’s a church organ, a statue in the park honoring a public servant, an academic building, or a shelter for the homeless, the world relies on philanthropy. The trick is to be sure that all the bases are covered.