WHY ME? Talk by MARK DENZA; Sunday March 13th 2022

 This is my first, and almost certainly last appearance in the pulpit. The question Why Me? was perhaps best answered by Sir Thomas Beecham — You should try everything once, except incest and Morris dancing.

 My late father was a devout Catholic, who encouraged me to learn sections of the catechism from memory. He was a pillar of our local church, where I became an altar server from the age of seven. My first primary school was attached to a convent, and the headmistress was a fearsome tyrant, who ruled with a rod of iron. Usually, that is a metaphor — but Sister Richard’s rampant corporal punishment, regarded as wholesome discipline in the 1970s, would probably be considered child abuse nowadays.

From the age of eleven, I attended Haberdashers’ Aske’s School in Elstree. It was nominally a Christian establishment, but more than half the boys were Jewish. That demographic probably encouraged a rather diffident approach to religious education. My father was a member of the Haberdashers’ Livery Company, and serving as a governor at the time. He was exasperated by this cautiously equivocal stance, which he considered a betrayal of the school’s explicitly Christian foundations. Many years later, our trendy young chaplain recounted a conversation where my father had protested: That boy doesn’t need Buddhism, he needs dogma!

I spent my sixth form years at nearby Aldenham School, where each day began with a chapel service, attended by everyone. Here began my love affair with the organ, and church music generally. I was encouraged to start playing the King of Instruments by our inspirational MD, Alan Vening. He was a phenomenally talented mentor, who also taught me piano, singing, and A-level music. Those daily chapel services were often enriched by his sparkling compositions and arrangements, and the adventurous repertoire made choir practices a highlight of the week. Alan was a committed Christian, who also wrote pieces to be sung by the whole school, enabling everyone to participate.

At the tender age of eighteen, only a few months after leaving Aldenham, I was promoted from altar server to organist of Saint Mary’s, Hampstead. A few years later, I began combining this rôle with regular Sunday morning swims across the Tiber to play at Emmanuel Church, West Hampstead. I was also singing Evensong once a month at Saint Mary the Virgin, Primrose Hill, where my grandfather was a longstanding parishioner.

After seventeen years at Saint Mary’s, Hampstead, I moved down the hill to Saint Thomas More’s, Swiss Cottage. Famously, this is the only Parish Church with clergy from Opus Dei, ludicrously maligned by Dan Brown in The Da Vinci Code, and they installed a fabulous new digital organ at my behest. I played for Anthony Minghella’s memorial service there, with Tony Blair and serving prime-minister Gordon Brown amongst a churchful of Hollywood glitterati.

Following my lengthy stint at Emmanuel Church, West Hampstead, I spent a few happy years at Saint Michael’s, Tokyngton, near Wembley. The congregation was almost exclusively of Caribbean heritage, and it sometimes felt like being in a Lenny Henry sketch. Subsequently, I spent five years as director of music at All Saints’, East Finchley, whose congregation alarmingly included the legendary organist Jennifer Bate.

When I began studying at the London College of Music, I was following in the footsteps of my distinguished and most illustrious colleague at Saint George’s, Andrew Wells. Although the smallest of the capital’s five Conservatoires, and affectionately known as the London Cupboard of Music, it actually has the highest percentage of alumnae working in the profession. William Lloyd Webber, father of Andrew and Julian, was the director for nearly twenty years, whilst also organist of Westminster Central Hall. When he died, two of his junior colleagues succeeded him as joint Directors of Music at the Cathedral of Methodism. I was frequently drafted in to assist, boosting the choir, recruiting fellow choristers, and giving an organ recital. Particular highlights included singing a solo during a live BBC2 broadcast and conducting an evening service with full orchestra.

Around this time, I had incrementally begun to pick up work as an organist and singer at Belsize Square Synagogue. A refugee congregation from Berlin had transplanted themselves here in the 1930s, taking over and expanding the old vicarage of Saint Peter’s, Belsize Park. Coincidentally, this was the church that hosted my prep school carol services, and I play there occasionally, most memorably for the wedding of David Mitchell and Victoria Coren.

 Although I am now a regular staff singer and deputy organist at Belsize Square, for many years, I have also been a frequent musical presence at the flagship Liberal Jewish Synagogue in Saint John’s Wood. This is situated opposite the spiritual home of English cricket — but some Jews will solemnly inform you that they are not on the Lord’s side.

I was introduced to Golders Green Crematorium by their organist, Fred Karlsson, who had studied alongside me at the London College of Music. As there were two chapels, deputies were frequently needed whenever funeral services were scheduled simultaneously. We shared these between us, and when Fred was sidelined by persistent illness, I became his de facto successor. The crematorium operated seven days a week, so these were busy, lucrative years.

A huge array of mourners passed through the chapels, including many celebrities, and it was a privilege to share these vitally important rites of passage. By now, I was well acquainted with Jewish traditions, and a broad variety of Christian worship, but Hindu funerals were a completely new experience. I became familiar with some of their common hymns, and began accompanying these on the organ. Although this instrument is not part of Hindu culture, my cross-fertilisation was appreciated and encouraged by priests and undertakers.

The importance of faith is particularly evident when comforting the bereaved, and some clergy who appeared regularly were quite outstanding in this rôle. Naturally, a significant number of funerals were stridently secular, presided over by Humanist ministers. Most of these did an excellent, sensitive job, but some were visibly uncomfortable with any hint of religiosity. I recall a particularly hardline celebrant turning an arresting shade of purple whilst I sang Ave Maria from the organ, as requested by the family. His expression reminded me of an occasion when I described the closing scene from Life of Brian to a vicar who had happily agreed to include Always look on the bright side of life at a church funeral.

This pick and mix approach was a constant source of tension for anyone of a fundamentalist persuasion, including Humanists. But some celebrants were perfectly happy to tailor their services according to demand. On one memorable occasion, a vicar had been specifically asked by the deceased, a staunch atheist Labour MP, to conduct his funeral. He began thus: “Ladies and gentlemen, the response to the psalm is, “We don’t do God!”

There were several fascinating aspects to my work at Golders Green Crematorium, where I was glimpsing an extraordinarily broad cross-section of society. The only groups who did not appear were Orthodox Jews, Orthodox Christians, and Muslims. I have sung alongside Orthodox Jewish choirs at a festival in Berlin, and accompanied concerts for the Jewish Care Singers, most of whom are of the Orthodox persuasion. For many years, I have also occasionally augmented the choir of Saint Sophia’s Greek Orthodox Cathedral in Bayswater, barely a mile away from this church. Yet despite these frequent insights to virtually all other faith traditions, Muslim worship, the world’s second largest religion, unfortunately remains a completely closed book to me.

Until only a few years ago, the London Cremation Company provided a free organist at every funeral as part of their service. Sadly, this work is now almost entirely fulfilled by jukebox machines with a vast library of recorded music, including karaoke versions of popular hymns. I occasionally serve as a chapel attendant when they are short-staffed, which is a nostalgic reminder of more enlightened, less commercial times.

After helping out at SJB on a few occasions over the years, I became your organist in 2019, and this magnificent instrument has been a constant inspiration. The magnetic allure of Shepherd’s Bush has proved so powerful that I now combine this with Saint James Norlands, just the other side of Holland Park Avenue, where our wonderful clergy are frequent guest preachers and celebrants.

Saint Augustine famously remarked that He who sings prays twice. Perhaps this allows musicians to get away with only half the effort. When asked about my own faith, I often observe that an organist’s career removes the need to analyse other motivations for attending church. That is one of many privileges I enjoy in this rôle. I am full of admiration for regular worshippers who never miss a Sunday, no matter how vile the weather. Some of my colleagues are ostentatiously only in it for the money, but I feel they are closing their minds and hearts to the multilayered richness of worship. Long may this glorious building continue to inspire us in our faithful journey.