{Each day in Lent 2021, I am writing about sanctuaries, the ones in which I served as pastor, or the churches I’ve visited near and far. Today, we’re in Vermont, in the church I served for ten years.}

East Craftsbury Presbyterian Church, Craftsbury, Vermont

I remember vividly my first visit to the sanctuary of the East Craftsbury, VT church. I was about to be interviewed for the position of pastor. I was new to rural ministry, having been in a newer suburban church for many years. I had expected this small church to have that musty sensation…well, odor to be honest. I was relieved that it didn’t; in fact, this church, surrounded by family farms and Vermont hills, was at no risk of growing mildew! It was an active, even vibrant congregation whose dedication to their church and “living and breathing faith” made it a shining light in the regional presbytery. 

[My “Peace, Grace, and Jazz” blog goes back many years, and my stories of this church are recorded here many times. At risk of being redundant, I highlight one specific ministry in the sanctuary theme I’ve chosen for this Lenten writing discipline.]

If I imagine myself in that sanctuary as I write, I hear music. For a small church, there was a very large choir, and more men than women donned robes on Sunday mornings. I was delighted to find that the men so enjoyed singing harmonies that they also had their own choir, singing once each month in church. The pipe organ was lovingly maintained by one of the farmers; he had in fact made the wood-crafted case for the pipes. (When necessary, a professional organ technician came in to look after the instrument, but those visits were rare.) During some weeks each summer, the world-renowned (I’m not kidding…look it up) church and concert organist John Weaver played each Sunday and directed the choir. His vacations from his posts at New York’s Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church and the Curtis Institute led him and his family to their summer home in our neighborhood. What a gift to have him as our “summer organist.” 

In addition, this sanctuary was filled with “classical” music on occasion when the Craftsbury Chamber Players offered concerts for children and individual performers provided music for worship services. Please note that this was not an emsemble of amateur musicians eager to play for an audience (not that that is a bad thing!). These were professors and alums from Julliard. Really. A long-time Julliard professor commuted to NYC from Craftsbury and drew her colleagues to a summer season of chamber music, performing in Burlington, a nearby town hall, and as I said, in this church. 

John Weaver once told me that the reason music sounded so good in this sanctuary had to do with the shape of the church and its high ceiling. “It’s like the inside of a giant cello,” he said. In my first years there, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the summer congregation swelled with seasonal residents and vacationers. The choir didn’t take the summer off; they grew in number. And one summer Sunday after worship, everyone stayed around for a dish-to-pass or potluck dinner, and then, with some additional folks from the neighborhood, regathered in the sanctuary and digitally recorded two CDs worth of music. That was at the request of an audio guy who had fond memories of the congregation’s four-part singing. “We need to preserve this sound, before it disappears,” he told me. “I’ll produce the CDs and the church can sell them as a fund-raiser. The congregation was surveyed to find “Our Favorite Hymns” and “Our Favorite Christmas Carols.” And they sang them, all afternoon. The whole experience was a great success, and that wonderful sound was indeed preserved, with those favorites going far and wide beyond Vermont.

[If you want a copy of either CD, leave a comment here. They may still be available, depending on when this entry is read.]

There is another impressive story I want to share about this church, but I’ll save it. Maybe it will show up in these Lenten meanderings; maybe later. It has to do with accessibility. So, stay tuned.