Marcy Prochaska: Hammered Dulcimer

“The River” Coffeehouse

Once again, in March, I performed for Bristol Christian Fellowship’s “The River” coffeehouse in Bristol, Vermont. Daniel Hamilton, who is also a great painter, opened with a set of his original songs. My set included dulcimer pieces and some songs with guitar, including “Eve’s Song” which I’d finished just in time. Several years before I’d started working on a song about what it might have been like to experience the Fall — particularly exploring separation not only from God, but from self and others as well. I’m somewhat more articulate in prose than in lyrics, so it was difficult to put these ideas into something that would work as a song. I think it’s done, now, though.

In the cool of the day, we would walk together
In the garden, by the river: the Lord, and Adam and me
In the cool of the day

His voice came to me from across a great gulf
Distorted and strange, though familiar
He said, “Where are you?”
I answered: my eyes are opened, I see that I am a stranger

To myself, to my lover, to my Lord
I’m ashamed, ’cause I’m naked; I’m afraid, so I’m hiding
From myself, from my lover, from you, my Lord

In the cool of the day… in the cool of the day

I’m still fleeing, withdrawn and defensive
Still keeping my distance from everyone, but
I’m so lonely

I’m still fleeing from the garden where I walked with God
But in his grace, I know he’s leading my steps
And I’ll walk with him again -
In the cool of the day

© 2005 Marcy Prochaska, all rights reserved

Thanks to the Hamiltons, for having me back; to the Orvises, for their gracious hospitality.

Film Scoring

In March, I also started working on my first film score. The Cornell Lab of Ornithology and the Plantations were working on a joint production of several short nature films, to feature narration, natural sound, and music.

The film I worked on is about the Wildflower Gardens, one of many natural areas on campus. The piece takes the viewer through the seasons of the gardens, with great footage of plants, birds, and other wildlife. Scenes with water punctuate the film and provide natural transitions from season to season.

I chose pieces that would fit the mood of each season’s footage. Spring begins with Praeludium I (Bach), then summer features Hewlett (O’Carolan), Easter Thursday, an old English D minor tune, carries the piece from fall into winter, and my original upbeat Third Street Market welcomes the return to spring. For the credits, I chose Menuet (Quantz), arranged by Carrie Crompton.

The next step was to arrange the music to fit the film — adding a little bit to the Praeludium and Third Street Market, and cutting Easter Thursday and the Menuet a bit short. Then I met with the director and one of the sound engineers to see if they liked what I’d come up with.

In May we recorded all five pieces in one long session, I think from noon or 1:00 to 5:00 or so. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to record that much in so short a time, considering how long I’ve spent on my own recording projects. Pyramid was a lovely studio to work in, despite its unappealing exterior and complete lack of parking. I thought the mic they used was particularly cool — a wooden ball, about the size of a person’s head, with the mics where the ears would be.

What I especially love about being in a studio is the amazing sound. Recordings never sound as good at home as they do on good studio equipment. I guess that’s why some people spend so much money on good home systems.

The Lab is not sure yet if they will offer this film for sale to individuals or not, but if you’re in the area, stop by and you can see it in their theatre.

This is the day that you have made
Come be Lord of the day
(You who are my Lord)
This is the day that you have made
Come be Lord of the day

Keep an eye on the heavens and the earth
Orchestrate nature’s dance today
Keep an eye on all the people — and on me
Hold us, and embrace our hearts today

O lifter of my head, raise my eyes to you
Sweep away the clouds that would obscure my sight today
And wash away the dust that clings that would weigh me down today

I offer you my hands, I offer you my feet
My eyes and my ears, I offer you my speech
And even the inner places, where my heart is
I offer you the whole of it, be Lord of me today

This is the day that you have made
Come be Lord of the day
(You who are my Lord)
This is the day that you have made
Come be Lord of me and all the people
Come be Lord of sky and earth
Come be Lord — come, be Lord -
Come be Lord of the day.

© 1994 Marcy Prochaska, all rights reserved.

I’m easily overwhelmed. It’s good to be able to put things back in perspective, to remember who is Lord over all that overwhelms me.

In the summer of 1994 I was in Africa, overwhelmed.

A college student, I was on a short term missions trip with Wycliffe Bible Translators to see if, as I hoped, this might be a good career fit for me. Wycliffe folks work to provide people with the Bible in their own language; it takes years to learn the language, develop a suitable orthography (writing system, like an alphabet for example), teach folks how to read and write, and translate the Scriptures. I was a linguistics major precisely because I thought Wycliffe was a great way to be a missionary — a nice concrete structured task of translation, unlike the more fuzzy work of church planting or evangelism.

Our tour started in Kenya, where the eight of us heard lectures from various Wycliffe members, learned some Swahili, and saw the sights. Then, we split up. Four stayed in Kenya, where they spent a day or two each at a variety of Wycliffe sites. Two guys went to Isiro, Zaire, to spend three weeks with one missionary family, the Sawkas. Jen and I went to Egbita, a few kilometers away, to live with the Nelsons.

Up until this point, I hadn’t felt particularly overwhelmed. It was all very exciting and interesting. I especially loved the flight from Kenya, in a tiny six-seater plane — oh my! you know you’re flying when you’re in a little plane. The same flight discouraged Jen, and she felt more and more overwhelmed as our time went on. She coped by serving. I understood that this was her way of coping, and so I stayed out of the way. Being out of the way, I felt out of the way. Alone, unwanted, and possibly resented for not helping, even though if I had helped I would have gotten in Jen’s way. I had nothing to turn to; Jen also coped by playing guitar and singing, so I stayed away from that. I tried to write letters but could not bring myself to say anything. Likewise reading and journalling were unhelpful. I felt hurt and sad, and guilty for feeling such self-pity, and betrayed and abandoned because I was doing what I felt to be right and yet it hurt and was unacknowledged.

I so looked forward to rejoining our team. Then I would be welcomed again. I wouldn’t feel marginalized anymore. And I wouldn’t need to sacrifice myself to make way for another’s coping mechanism. Ha! Had I forgotten everything about my social skills, or rather, lack thereof? The rest of the team had bonded in their three weeks together. How could there be a place for me? I knew I would be tempted to withdraw defensively, to isolate myself and avoid the risk of new rejections. I fought valiantly against that temptation, I tried so hard to stay involved with the group. That hurt so much.

Towards the end of the trip, during our debriefing time, I went out to pray. I found myself praying the first two lines of this song. I found a melody, and continued the poem, sorting out the things I knew to be true, remembering both that I was just one part of God’s world, and that I was indeed part of God’s world.

During the debriefing Jen and I were able to talk out what had happened to and between us in Zaire, and we were reconciled.

I still fight the temptation to withdraw from social life because it hurts so much.

I continue to seek perspective, to remember both the bigger picture, and the significant place I have in it because God loves me.

This is the day that you have made
Come be Lord of the day

In the cool of the day, we would walk together
In the garden, by the river: the Lord, and Adam and me
In the cool of the day

His voice came to me from across a great gulf
Distorted and strange, though familiar
He said, “Where are you?”

I answered: my eyes are opened, I see that I am a stranger
To myself, to my lover, to my Lord
I’m ashamed, ’cause I’m naked; I’m afraid, so I’m hiding
From myself, from my lover, from you, my Lord

In the cool of the day… in the cool of the day

I’m still fleeing, withdrawn and defensive
Still keeping my distance from everyone, but
I’m so lonely

I’m still fleeing from the garden where I walked with God
But in his grace, I know he’s leading my steps
And I’ll walk with him again -
In the cool of the day

© 2005 Marcy Prochaska, all rights reserved.

This is a song I first started working on several years ago and just finished this year. I’m going to be singing it during an upcoming performance at a coffeehouse in Vermont.

The classic Christian definition of sin is “separation from God.” Since sin has its root in the Garden of Eden, I thought it would be interesting to wonder how Eve might have experienced this sudden sense of separation. Hence the perception that God’s voice sounds like it’s coming from across a chasm, familiar enough to be recognized, but distorted and strange.

Skeptics have mocked God’s question, “Where are you?” as contradicting his alleged omniscience. But it’s not a fact-finding question, asked in ignorance, but a relational question. It’s God calling attention to the separation that has taken place, taking the first step to a return to the relationship.

I think the separation from God causes other separations. From others, so that there can now be quarrels, and envy, and misunderstanding, and all sorts of other social woes. And from oneself, so that there can be such things as identity crises, confusion, lack of purpose, and other pyschological woes. All these things feed on one another, so that we run from intimacy and yet grieve for our loneliness.

God is in the business of redemption. He sent Jesus to heal the separation between us and himself. Even while we’re running away from him, he leads our steps back to his door. I think the more we experience the healing of our separation from God, the more we’ll also experience redemption in our psychological and social troubles.

A final note… I’m not trying to dismiss the idea of sin and guilt… but the focus of this song is on the separations that are sin’s most tragic consequences.