Wedding Day: Here Comes The Organist

Mendelssohn's wedding march, some Handel, a little Mozart. 

I looked forward eagerly to being organist for a wedding in a small church outside of Ithaca today. The organ itself was kind of like playing a Conestoga wagon when you're used to a motor car. It is a tracker contraption, meaning that each key is connected directly to the pipes with a little piece of wood, so that adding more stops increases the force needed to sound a note. With full blast on the little thing I practically had to engage my entire core and glutes and channel that energy through to my fingers. Additionally, the bench was so short that my knees were in my ears to play the foot pedals; I originally rectified this by placing two bibles under each bench foot (perching on the word of God), but this proved to be immensely wobbly and thankfully by wedding-day someone had brought me some hunks of wood in their stead. 

The rehearsal had gone well yesterday, working out all those important timings that should be effortless, that no one but the organist should even notice. The organist has the responsibility to land cadences once the bride's maids have arrived at the front, to manipulate music so that the bride and groom aren't left standing in silence, manage time so that nobody has to wait for a lengthy song to finish. It's about momentary glances into the rear-view mirror (almost a given to be warped and thus a fun-house mirror) to monitor the progression of people down the aisle, hoping not to lose your place in the music when your eyes arrive back down. It's also about the opportunity to participate in a timeless ceremony celebrating love and gatherings of friends, misty eyed and full of promise and the connection between two people. 

I had my dress and pearls in my bike bag, a plan for arriving early and warming up, for strategically arranging my music, for being quietly in the space a bit before any guests arrived, starting the 20-minute prelude early. I bicycled to the church in the rain and rolled into the driveway. But, huh: sure are a lot of cars in the parking lot. Colored dresses under umbrellas filing into the church. Men in suits congregating. This evidence accumulated, the curtain in my mind opening to reveal the horrifying truth that the ceremony began at 1pm and not 2pm as I had unfortunately thought. 

I had about 11 minutes. Welcome to the ultimate organist's stylized nightmare, to arrive late to a wedding. The bride can be late and it's sweetly dramatic and understandable, but for the organist to be late.... That is just very bad. 

Never in history has there been such a rapid transition from rain spattered bicycle to poised organ bench. I charged in the back door of the church, flew into the bathroom, tore off my wet and gritty clothes and stuffed them in a corner, pulled on my dress, and galloped up the back stairs into the sanctuary. No time for pearls. 

I was spiked with adrenaline but playing Mozart's Ave Verum soothed my nerves gradually, as much as it provided prelude music--in what time was left--for the guests. The bridesmaids were a few minutes late themselves and I did have enough time to play a handful of serene wedding-like prelude pieces. The grand processional music timing worked out, the bridal party arrived at the front of the church smiling, and the service began. 

I was stunned by the 10 minutes of grace I had. 10 minutes later and the resulting disappointment and disorder would have been unimaginable. I was thoroughly disgusted and astonished with myself; I like to consider myself a prompt and astute person. I had had this idea of perfection, the details I envisioned, and then due to my own imperfection none of that could be pleasurably unfolded and instead there was scrambling and mild panic.  

Mild panic in my own sweat glands, at least. But nobody, except the pastor, was the wiser. "Thank you so much for the music!" "It was beautiful!" "The organ sounded lovely." And, "I LOVE your hair!" (hair serving as decoy) The bride and groom were all gratitude. They mentioned, with that "cool to cross paths with you" enthusiasm, that they had passed me coming in on my bicycle. "We passed you, and were like, 'you go girl!', riding your bike in the rain!" Little did they know. 

So it was a happy ending to a true nightmare. And from now on--you know it--I will be checking and double checking the start times of everything. 

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