Greetings, Blessed Peacemakers:

Discussing the accounts of the devastation of Mariupol, Ukraine, with Doug Cogan yesterday, we were stunned by what political philosopher Hannah Arendt called “the banality of evil,” a notion that in the midst of combat, violence and devastation become so commonplace it ceases to disturb. Outrageous images of brutality and destruction are framed by the backdrop of everyday life—a school classroom, an apartment kitchen, a children’s playground all become unwitting hosts to the particular brutalities of war.

In our conversation I was reminded of the experience of our organist emeritus, Henry Sybrandy, who 50 years ago found himself seeking normalcy one Lenten season while stationed in Saigon, Vietnam.

Following college, before enrolling in graduate school, Henry received a draft notice from the United States Army. On New Year’s Eve awaiting 1971, Henry found himself flying to Long Binh Post, the largest army base in Vietnam, located northeast of Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City). After a few weeks on the base with Sundays off, Henry took a shuttle bus that connected Long Binh Post with MACV (the Military Assistance Command, Vietnam) in central Saigon. Taking a stroll through downtown Saigon, Henry walked the six blocks from the MACV to the Cathedral of Saigon, officially Cathedral Basilica of Our Lady of The Immaculate Conception, where he was drawn by the sound of pipe organ music. He quietly walked into the nave during the third and final mass of the day.

Near the conclusion of the service, Henry entered one of the two towers’ side doors and found what he discerned to be the entry to the organ balcony. The door was locked, so he waited until the organist/choirmaster, Gordon R. Bachlund, descended, preparing to leave for the day. Henry introduced himself, and the organist asked if he would like to play. Ascending the steps, Henry found a François-Henri Clicquot two-manual instrument imported from France in the late 1870s. Much of Clicquot’s original pipework in the pedal division was still intact. The instrument was rebuilt and expanded years later by French organ builder Aristide Cavaillé-Coll. Kicking off his combat boots, Henry played a few selections from Bach’s Orgelbüchlein (Little Organ Book) in his stocking feet. Bachlund was impressed.

During the conversation, Bachlund asked Henry if he would be able to accompany the choir as they were preparing a special presentation of the Fauré Requiem for Holy Week in less than two months. Henry returned to base and spoke with his commanding officer, who immediately endorsed Henry’s request, observing this was exactly the kind of public relations the Army needed with the civilian Vietnamese population. With the U.S. Army’s full permission and more suitable organ shoes, Henry accompanied weekly rehearsals and two performances, one at the Cathedral on Palm Sunday, the second on Maundy Thursday at the Anglican church a few blocks away. As Henry recalls, the significantly humbler Anglican church had an equally humble Conn electric organ. Henry also returned to the Cathedral to accompany Mass on Easter Sunday, April 11, 1971. From the age of 14, Henry had spent nearly every Sunday on an organ bench; now half a world away, he found a space of familiar comfort, sharing music for Easter worship. An original copy of that Easter’s Mass program is now in our church’s museum archive.

Grateful that he faced no combat, Henry returned to the States, where he began graduate school at the University of Chicago. It was through those connections that he found himself as our organist for the next 43 years.

All this intertwines in my musing with recent photographs of war’s grotesques. In researching the details of Henry’s almost inescapable draw to the only pipe organ in Vietnam, I came across the included post-war photograph of the instrument Henry played. Installed by two of France’s greatest organ builders, the instrument’s condition bears another witness to war’s complete indifference to beauty, harmony and joy.

Praying for more plowshares and organ pipes, I remain,

With Love,
Jonathan Krogh
Your Pastor