I’ve hinted at this to some of you, but I think now is the time to come clean. My first exposure to the Episcopal Church had to do with a pipe organ. I’m not sure anymore when this took place.  I think it was 1973 or 1974. My dad bought a pipe organ. Trinity Episcopal Church in Bryan, Ohio, was relocating because of an expansion project at Bryan High School. Before they demolished the building, they held an auction at which they tried to sell everything. My dad came home that Saturday afternoon and told us he bought the pipe organ for $100.

My dad, in addition to being a building contractor and carpenter, was a scavenger and a pack rat. Whenever he was remodeling an old house, and in the 60s and 70s that meant “updating,” he pulled all of the old woodwork, doors, hardware, whatever he thought he might one day use. Well, the same thing was true with this pipe organ. It had a beautiful case made of quarter-sawn oak (same material Hal used on ours) and knew he could use it to make furniture, paneling, and who knows what else.

So, one Friday, one of his employees and I began dismantling the organ. We had to get it out by Saturday evening. It was the dirtiest job I ever had (100 years of dust and soot) but we dutifully pulled out all of the pipes, the electronics, the case, of course, and all of the wood in the frame. We got done before the deadline, and began stripping all of the woodwork in the church as well.

Over the years, my dad turned the case, the console, and much of the frame into furniture. If memory serves me correctly, the top of the kitchen table dad made for me is of elm, taken from the framework. I have no idea where the rest of the wood ended up. I do know he made a desk out of the console for one of my sisters.

The pipes and all of the rest of the innards were put in the barn on my aunts’ farm. Eventually, the metal was sold for scrap. Looking back, I don’t know if the church was unaware of organ reclamation projects like the Organ Clearinghouse. I know that my dad, as an avid and gifted church musician himself, always felt a little bit sad that  the organ he purchased never made music again.

It’s been over thirty years, of course, but as I watched the organ being unloaded, and as I have watched Hal and his crew carefully put the pieces together, my memory of those two August days come back to me. I couldn’t have imagined back then that I would be watching the installation of a pipe organ in the Episcopal Church where I serve as priest, and I’m sure my dad couldn’t have imagined it either. But there is a wonderful symmetry in that. My dad  used his gifts to ensure that the organ he purchased would continue to have life and to bring beauty and joy to those who received the items he made from it.

I’ve still got a pipe from that organ. It’s a small one; a memento of days long past. One day, when I retrieve it, I will take possession of the organ bench from that organ. My mother still has it, but it has my name on it. I’ve never attended the Episcopal Church in Bryan, Ohio that was built in the mid-70s. I didn’t grow up there; my home town is around 20 miles away, but my dad built lots of houses there in the 60s and 70s. But one day, I hope to worship there and tell them the story of how their church, and their pipe organ, contributed to the formation of an Episcopal priest.