Last night, Racine bade farewell to an exceptionally fine man and musician named David Bremel, who died last week after a long battle with leukemia. It was amazing to look out into the congregation gathered at Atonement Lutheran Church and see all kinds of well known musicians from the community – music educators, church choir directors, organists, etc. – which doesn’t even count the musicians up front who participated in the service. I was honored to be organist for the service, and to help accompany some of the soloists who contributed their talents to the tribute. One of J. S. Bach’s finest masterworks was a piece called “A Musical Offering” – and that title would have been perfect for this service. This is one of the most moving experiences I’ve had in a long time.
David actually trained to be a concert pianist and for a time that was his goal – but ultimately he gave up that pursuit at least in part because he wanted to enjoy a more well- rounded life in which he could explore a variety of avenues and nurture a wider range of gifts. And from all I can tell, he was profoundly happy with the choice he had made. He gave himself to church music and to music education with whole-hearted devotion and joy, with none of the half- hearted, regret-tinged melancholy of some who surrender certain dreams in favor of a life that at first glance might seem to be fairly ordinary. I think Dave Bremel was tremendously grateful that he was where he was, doing what he was doing – and never wasted so much as a moment thinking that his musical excellence could have or should have been put to better use someplace else.
Interestingly, most of what was said last night had less to do with David’s superb talents and more to do with his kindness and patience. One thing said repeatedly last night which especially resonates with me is how understanding he was with amateur musicians with (how can I put this delicately) less than stellar gifts. Those of us in church music all know what it’s like to play for a singer who manages to ride just under the pitch, enough to give you the shivers (and not the good kind!) . . . or who sings with a wobble or screw up the rhythm or keep forgetting the words or can’t quite manage the high note on the last page, etc. Most church musicians I know are lucky if they can paste a fake smile on their face as they grit their teeth and bear it. But what we heard last night is of how David thrived on the experience of collaborating with musicians of all stripes, including those who brought almost nothing to the table except a sincere desire to make a joyful noise unto the Lord. He seemed to relish the challenge of making use of even the most modestly-gifted musicians . . . for him, there was a place for everyone.
I thought of that as I was playing the postlude on the organ at Atonement – which is suffering from all kinds of difficulties brought on by simple Old Age. . . including certain cyphering pipes (meaning pipes that get in effect get “stuck” and keep sounding even after you’ve stopped depressing that particular key) and other pipes that don’t work at all. I wished so much that I was at Holy Communion, playing our Casavant – not just because it’s a newer organ in much better shape, but also because it’s an organ I know like the back of my hand. But then I thought of all that had been said about David and realized that the best tribute I could offer to him would be to play that battered old organ with joy and gratitude, coaxing as much glorious sound from its tired pipes as I possibly could. I think that’s what David would have done, for sure, and he would have smiled all the while.
Which brings to mind a story told to me by Steve Smith, a member of my church choir. He remembered attending a middle school choir concert a number of years ago – I don’t remember what the school was or why Steve was there, because I’m pretty sure his own children would not have been performing. Anyway, he remembers watching David conducting a lower-level middle school choir . . . the kind of group where the students are assigned to it rather than seeking it out because they want the opportunity . . . and Steve will never forget how joyously and enthusiastically David conducted that ragtag ensemble as though they were a truly fine choral group. There is something especially impressive and even courageous about that, and it speaks volumes about how David was put together as a musician and as a human being. The same night I also heard a great story from Pastor Samuelson, who used to be the senior pastor at Mount Pleasant Lutheran Church, where David played for many years. When Mount Pleasant decided to hire a full-time music minister and selected a brilliant young man named Joshua Brown for that position, Pastor Samuelson said that David could not have been more supportive of Joshua’s efforts and really helped that young musician get off to an exciting and happy start there.
Those stories and others shared at last night’s funeral really underscored for me how the most important legacy we leave behind us is not the glories of our accomplishments or the dimensions of our fame . . . but rather how kindly and graciously we live our lives. By that measure, David Bremel’s life mattered in a truly extraordinary way, and this uncommonly humble man in fact had every reason to be proud.
pictured above: the organ at Atonement, where David made music for many years – and was a member. An impressive group of musicians participated in the service, playing Telemann, Beethoven, Purcell and more. . . plus a mass choir sang a setting of “Be Still My Soul” based on Sibelius’s magnificent Finlandia. The hymn we sang and played together was Joyful Joyful We Adore Thee.