Most people who know me probably don’t think of me as a troublemaker, but others only know too well that I can certainly make a fuss if I think something is not fair or is just plain wrong.

My latest controversy has happened at my church job, which I took over from my friend, Jieun Kim Newland, when she moved to El Paso, Texas. When I subbed for her earlier in her tenure, she told me to play another piece after I finished the postlude for the acolytes to extinguish the candles. I posed the question, “Do you mean I have to play two postludes?”

Well … last Sunday was the first Sunday in August and marked my one year anniversary at the church, followed by months of virtual services where I only recorded my organ music for the prelude, introit, hymns, and postlude. Obviously the postlude marked the end of the service and the recording, with nothing following.

In fact, I found these definitions of “postlude”:

“The postlude captures the grandeur of God’s majesty and of the day’s worship. Increasingly, many congregations remain seated during the postlude as a fitting time of reflection at the conclusion of worship and out of courtesy to the organist or musicians. Rev. Frank Hughes Jr. states that “the music at the end of the service pulls together feelings and attitudes already expressed in word and song.”  In A Sunday Guide to Worship, the authors suggest that while the postlude is not a formal part of the service, “The congregation could be encouraged in the bulletin or by the choir to remain seated to listen.” (Tammy-Jo Mortensen)

The organ, throughout the history of the church, has served a role greater than simply accompanying singing. In its range and color, it power and it’s beauty, it represents the person of God in a very profound way. The organ postlude is its final prayer, usually one of joy and praise. Traditionally, the postlude is a piece of music that both gives voice to the immense joy in our hearts when we receive the Eucharist and fills us with energy to go out and bring what we have received in mass to others. Therefore, it should generally be a piece that is more energetic and spirited. (Unam Sanctum Spiritum)

For the 50+ years that I have played the organ for church, I have had to compete with people’s conversations during the postlude.

(Don’t get me started on people talking during the prelude. So many times I have been tempted to stop midway, turn around and say, “Excuse me, is my music bothering you?”)

I shouldn’t complain, though—I have to say that for the first time ever, 100% of the congregation in my present church job sit quietly for the prelude and postlude, unlike this person’s situation:

The congregation at my church uses the prelude and postlude as a time to socialize, moving all about the sanctuary and talking and laughing loudly with the others.(Donna)

In my 50+ years of playing for church services, this is the first time that I haven’t had to compete with people’s conversations during my prelude and postlude in denominations as diverse as Presbyterian, Methodist, Episcopal, Lutheran, Roman Catholic and United Church of Christ!

What happened to me in the last two months of in-person services is that I finished the postlude, and there was a movement by the acolytes to extinguish the candles during which I have not been playing a second postlude. This week I received this email:

Is it possible for you to play a very short recessional after the postlude? Just enough for the acolytes to extinguish the candles and for the acolytes, liturgist and pastor to exit?

And I responded: Is it possible for the acolytes and pastor to exit during the postlude? They don’t need to wait until it’s over. That way I won’t need to play two postludes.

I explained that for me, another piece after the postlude is anticlimactic.

I like this explanation about the prelude and postlude from Ben Keseley:

In very general terms, the history of preludes and postludes in worship, is quite simple. We inherited our tradition of preludes and postludes (also called voluntaries) from a 17th century Dutch tradition of concertizing before and after worship. Church organs at that time were owned by the city council, and organists were hired by the city. At the early part of the Reformation in the Netherlands, there was no place for music at all in Dutch Reformed church services, but since the Dutch people enjoyed organ music, and organs were still in churches from days of Catholicism, the city hired organists to play concerts before and after worship. Over time, this tradition voluntaries has developed and morphed into one that is quite the opposite of its beginnings. For we no longer view these voluntaries as performances that are outside of worship, but as integral offering and part of our worship, a time of centering ourselves in God and God’s goodness.

I invite you to consider these voluntaries as a sacred bridge that brings us from our worldly context into the presence of God, or in the case of the closing voluntary, one that sends us back into the world to live out our calling as children of God. (emphasis mine) These bridges are firmly anchored in holy worship on one side and our earthly world on the other. They prepare us for the consideration of sacred things. They help send us on our way to do the work of Christ in the world.

For us, music in worship is never about performance, but about an offering of praise, thanksgiving, penitence, or petition to God. While we often are often caught up in the beauty of the music or the words, the purpose is not to bring attention to the musicians or singers but to point to the Creator who makes all things beautiful and inspires creativity in us all. For me, this what makes offering and leading music in worship a very holy and sacred thing.

So — what was the resolution of my situation? The acolytes will come up to the front during the Doxology (one of the last pieces of the liturgy) and will extinguish the candles during the postlude, instead of waiting until the postlude is finished.

I won’t need to play a second postlude after all!