On fastidiousness, officiousness, and the temple dedication account you won’t get anywhere else. (Also, more bike crashes, school starts, etc., etc.) (vol. xxvi, no. 8)

Dear Family,

“I met your sister in the temple this week!”

Those are the words I was greeted with at church two Sundays ago by a smiling 80-year-old ordinance worker in our ward whom I’ve known since I attended her baptism 16 years ago.

I told her I didn’t have a sister and asked if perhaps she had met one of my two sisters-in-law who live nearby.

It turns out, of course, that she had met Mom, who turns 76 later this week. I’m sure it made her happy to have been mistaken for the (non-existent) sister of her 50-year-old son, though perhaps not as happy as the time several years ago when someone thought she was my wife. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about being mistaken for the brother of a 75-year-old woman. But Crystal often points out that I tend to exhibit the curmudgeonliness of a guy in his 70s, so I suppose it stands to reason.

We have a temple again!

The two old ladies met during ordinance worker training at the temple, where Mom is the Thursday morning shift supervisor. Only today, August 30th, for the first time in four and a half years, did the temple finally open to patrons. Following the dedication on August 14th, I originally assumed that the temple would be back in business on Tuesday the 16th. Like a lot of things, it turns out there’s a lot more to getting a freshly rededicated temple up and running than I would have thought.

This includes training (and re-training) all the ordinance workers. I have never been an ordinance worker and have no idea what the training entails. But when I think about how much the endowment ceremony has changed just since 2018 (when our temple was last open) and the army of new workers that have needed to be called, I’m actually surprised and impressed they managed to squeeze it all into just two weeks.

Dedication Sunday

The August 14th temple dedication took place over three sessions. My subversive side would have me characterize this as yet another example of three church meetings when one would have been sufficient. But I have been gainfully employed by others for enough years now to recognize that the problem of superfluous meetings — and the more serious, related problem of people tending to think that discussing a challenging situation repeatedly and at length in eleven different meetings is tantamount to actually doing something about it — is hardly unique to church. And besides, had there been just one session, we almost certainly would not have been able to go.

It is also less likely that Crystal and I would have sung in the choir. Each session had a different choir, and each choir performed different pieces (except for the Hosanna Anthem at the end — more on that later)¹. Several friends have asked how we got into the choir (the not-so-subtle subtext being, “Why were you asked and not me?”). My honest answer to this is, “I have no idea.” Somebody emailed us back in April or May and we said yes. That is all I know. Crystal has a beautiful voice (I do not, but I can read music and stay on pitch, and let’s face it, the bar tends to be lower for men). But the fact that we have lived in the same ward and stake for 26 years and people know us probably had more to do with it than anything. Had there been just one session (and one choir), I have no reason to think that we would have been in it. Crystal maybe, but certainly not me.

We sang in the concluding session. It began at 5:00 p.m. and President Eyring presided. Presidents Nelson and Oaks attended earlier sessions at 10 a.m. and 1:30 p.m., respectively. While all three members of the First Presidency were at the temple that day, it does not appear that any two of them were ever in the same meeting. Given their combined age of 276, I’d like to think they were getting a nap during their off sessions, but in light of the remarkable energy they exude at such advanced ages, it’s sometimes hard for me to picture them sleeping at all.

Our choir director told us from the outset (three months ago) that he expected us to memorize the music. But by the time the penultimate rehearsal rolled around, two weeks before the dedication, pushback from enough choir members had persuaded the director that memorizing four songs was too much to ask.² And so the director announced at that penultimate rehearsal that memorization would not be required after all and that he would bring matching, temple-white binders for each of us to the final run-through (in the temple) on the Friday night before the dedication.

And so I relaxed and basically did not look at the music at all during the final two weeks. I had the pieces 99% memorized anyway, and I certainly didn’t need to invest any further time and effort cementing them into my brain if I was going to have the music in front of me.

Fast forward to Friday night. We put the music in our new binders and rehearsed our entry into the temple’s large, seventh-floor assembly room. As we sat in the choir loft preparing to run through the numbers one last time, a man I’d never seen before strode to the front of the room, positioned himself next to our director, introduced himself (Brother Something, I don’t remember his name) and set about giving us instructions. I never found out for certain who he was. But the guys around me and I surmised that he was a Temple Department employee from Salt Lake.

In trying to put my finger on the right adjective to describe this fellow, I continue to vacillate between officious and fastidious. I’m not sure which is the mot juste, but it’s definitely one of those. Officious strikes me as the more pejorative of the two and I don’t bear any ill will toward the guy, so let’s be kind and go with fastidious. Under other circumstances I might have thought him annoying, but within the confines of the holy temple I could only find him amusing, if not a little charming.

His direction included:

• Instructing the organist on precisely how many beats to count off in his head at the end of the Hosanna Shout before playing the organ fanfare that begins the Hosanna Anthem.
• Decreeing that the high-G on the final Amen of the Hosanna Anthem be sung by three (and only three) sopranos. (He then had the director identify which three sopranos.)
• (also during the Hosanna Anthem) Ensuring that the organist accelerate to 104 beats per minute (not 102, not 106…) during the two-measure interlude between the section of the anthem that the choir sings and the part with “The Spirit of God” where the congregation joins in. The idea behind the acceleration was to prevent the congregation from wrecking everything by transforming a joyous anthem into a plodding, funeral dirge, as Latter-day Saint congregations are wont to do whenever they sing “The Spirit of God” (or any other hymn, for that matter).
• Other amusing minutiae that I have doubtless forgotten (or possibly never heard to begin with because I was too busy giggling and joking with the other tall guys on the back row about the first three things).

…and one other thing:

• Telling the choir members to put our beautiful new white binders on the floor because we would, in fact, be performing everything from memory.

Our director mounted a mild protest at this last thing — though not much of one since he had wanted us to sing without music all along. But it wouldn’t have mattered. This quite obviously was not Brother Fastidious’s first rodeo, and he wasn’t taking any guff from anybody.

Repeatedly Brother F. impressed upon us that it was imperative that we sing the Hosanna Anthem exactly as it was sung at the Kirtland Temple dedication in 1836. This bit of direction was especially amusing because a) he repeated it at least a half-dozen times, b) the original Hosanna Anthem was composed by Evan Stephens, who wasn’t born until 1854, and c) we were singing a Mack Wilberg arrangement of it that was published in 2020.³

And so Crystal and I went home and spent much of the next day and a half making sure we had all the music memorized.

Everyone in the choir received a highly sought-after plus-1 ticket to the Assembly Room for the session. Many choir members gave these to their spouses. Because Crystal and I were both in the choir, we had two of these extra tickets, which meant Ari and Grace could come, which made me happy.

Getting in and out of the temple on dedication day was a little nuts but ultimately no big deal. Choir members were able to jump the line, which meant leaving Ari and Grace behind with the unwashed masses, but they eventually found their way in.

The atmosphere inside was both quiet and electric as people found their seats and waited for the session to start. The room went from quiet to silent (except for the organ prelude) at a minute or two before 5:00 and everyone stood as President Eyring walked in accompanied by Elder Gong and four other General Authorities, including Vai Sikahema, who would later lead the Hosanna Shout⁴ after President Eyring re-read President Nelson’s dedicatory prayer from earlier in the day. Mom had told Vai that Crystal and I were singing in his session, which explains why he turned, pointed at me and waved (an especially impressive feat since everyone in the room was wearing a mask)⁵ as he took his seat on the makeshift dais that had been built on the floor in front of the actual stand. I’m not sure why they opted to use their own temporary rig as opposed to one of the 12 pulpits that stood unused behind them at that end of the room. Brother F. probably knows the reason, but I didn’t think to ask him.

The meeting lasted 90 minutes and I can’t say that I remember much of anything that anybody said. Distracted by the unique setting, I frequently found my mind wandering, often running through the music in my head to make sure I still remembered it. That I could read the speakers’ remarks on the teleprompter from where I was sitting only compounded my distraction. Among other things, it caused me to wonder why the choir was expected to perform from memory while the speakers got to just stand up there and read.

I do not remember what was said, but I remember how I felt. I felt happy and at peace. I felt like I was where I was supposed to be. And I felt an eagerness to participate in temple ordinances like I never have before. We often call it as “temple work,” and that’s traditionally how I have felt about it. Like work. Something good but ultimately something that I do primarily out of obligation. The dedication service caused me to feel differently about it. I started to think of it more like I have to come to think of physical exercise — something that I believe is good for me and that I should do, sure, but also something I feel genuinely anxious to do — something that can be savored as opposed to something I just want to be done with so I can say I did it. Some of this is probably just internal pent-up demand — the natural effect of having been deprived of something for years. But I suspect there might be more to it than that. I hope so.

Back to school

The first day of school brought changes to everyone’s routine, except mine.

Crystal began her new job as a special education teacher in Ridgeview Middle School’s high-functioning autism program. Her first day was complicated by the school’s internet being down for much of the day. But she discovered that a new Crumbl Cookies shop is opening soon in Kentlands — a five-minute detour from her usual commute — which will probably come in handy after future difficult days. Combine this with the Dunkin’ Donuts/Baskin Robbins place that just opened walking distance from our house and it doesn’t portend good things for our collective wellness. But at least the descent will be sweet.

That Crystal was able to get herself to school on Monday was something of a minor miracle after crashing her bike on Saturday and injuring her right hamstring to the point that she briefly was not able to walk. By Sunday she was hobbling around and on Monday she appeared to be walking normally, though not without pain. But she’s a gamer and I expect she’ll be back out riding soon enough.

In other bike crash news, our bishop, who also happens to be one of our closest friends, was rear-ended by an inattentive motorist (i.e., a motorist) while riding his penny farthing bicycle on University Boulevard earlier this month. Referring to the driver as “inattentive” is both redundant and an understatement. I have no idea how it’s possible not to see a guy wearing a bright yellow shirt perched eight feet off the ground atop a giant old-timey bicycle. It must have been a really interesting text message.

Crystal was about to embark with the bishop’s wife, Jill, on one of their frequent donut-seeking adventures and got recruited to come help collect the bike while the bishop was transported by ambulance to Suburban Hospital. (He survived.) It was determined that “Grace’s” 2004 Toyota Sienna would be the best vehicle for the job, though it still proved to be something of a challenge.

Crystal was also able to squeeze in a short trip to Utah this month to visit Hannah. Hannah continues to enjoy life as a hospice nurse, though it keeps her very busy. I get the impression that she spends most of the week visiting patients and most of the weekend catching up on charting. The ambient noise for virtually every phone conversation with her is provided by either her car or her fingers tapping on a keyboard. I’m glad the two of them found a minute to sit down and eat.

The two of them made a quick stop at Temple Square one day on the off chance they might bump into someone they know.

And they did.

Ari began the new school year back at Forest Knolls (Ari’s “alma mater” if that term can appropriately be applied to an elementary school). Like last year, Ari is working as a counselor at Kids After Hours, a before- and after-school program. Ari’s daily commute is now a half-mile walk up the street, a significant improvement over last year’s hour-long, two-bus slog to Garrett Park.

Grace began her senior year at Northwood High School. She arose early yesterday to watch the sunrise with some of her classmates in what I understand to be a senior class tradition at Northwood. They supposedly all gather again after graduation to watch the sunset.

(As someone who does track workouts behind Grace’s school every Tuesday at 5:30 a.m., I can attest that it is indeed a great place to watch a sunrise. In fact, here is this morning’s:)

I suppose senior sunrise was good practice for early-morning seminary, which began today. The best news of all is that Grace can drive herself there now. (The sense of liberation accompanying the realization that your youngest kid can now get herself to early-morning seminary is difficult to describe.)

Running

The aforementioned Tuesday track workouts are organized by a neighborhood legend named Shlomo Fishman. Shlomo, who won the Atlanta Marathon earlier this year, asked me when he was going to get a mention in the Famlet. He’s going to have to plow through nearly 3,000 words of irrelevance if he wants to see it, but here it is.

I am always among the slowest people at these workouts (and am sometimes the very slowest). But Shlomo is an incredible motivator and a great guy who always finds time to do at least a lap with me. I take some solace in the knowledge that I am also one of the oldest people at these workouts. Shlomo takes note of this too. At a (very) small (almost) 5K (up and down the closed section of Sligo Creek Parkway) he organized earlier this month, Shlomo presented me the “Sasquatch” award (an ink drawing of a creature whose running gait resembles mine, cut out and taped to the back of a paper plate) for being the fastest old guy.

For years I almost exclusively ran alone. These days I practically never do. Encouraging people like Shlomo are the reason why.

Here’s to hoping you likewise find yourself surrounded by supportive friends and family.

Love,
Tim

1. For the record, our other three songs were “Rejoice, the Lord is King,” which I like, “On This Day of Joy and Gladness,” which I don’t, and “This is the Christ,” which I love. We sang them well, if I do say so myself.
2. Personally, I’m an old school pianist raised on the notion that you don’t actually know a piece of music until you’ve memorized it. But apart from the aesthetic benefit — choirs look better when they’re not holding anything — I really couldn’t have cared less.
3. Unless you’ve attended a temple dedication in the past two years, you probably haven’t heard Mack Wilberg’s arrangement of the Hosanna Anthem. Like everything Wilberg touches, it is a massive upgrade over the previous version. In addition to moving it a step and a half lower (thus rendering it actually, you know, singable) he’s gotten rid of that strange minor third that used to mar the line “The house of the Lord is compleee-ted” (it’s now a major third, which makes more sense for all kinds of reasons). The whole piece is now cleaner, simpler, and just better.
4. For a little insight into why Elder Sikahema was a fitting choice to lead the Hosanna Shout, go to his Wikipedia page and read the first paragraph under “Early Life.” In addition to making me feel stupid for grumbling about having to drive two and half hours to the Philadelphia Temple, stories of sacrifice like his family’s (of which there are many) remind me of how much I still have to learn about the value of temple ordinances.
5. The choir removed their masks to sing.