by Music Director David Brown
What to the follower of science is manifest truth? What to the atheist is destiny? What to the cosmic scale is a human life—ritual, legacy, tenderness… love?
Of all violinists you know, I am probably among the most avid amateur followers of cosmology and theoretical physics. The creation of Observatory, the oratorio to be premiered this Music Sunday by the MLUC Choir, has been a 16-year project in the making—a merger of music, poetry, astrophotography, science, philosophy, and intrinsic humanity. Envisioned by Dave Hockenberry—astrophotographer, violinist, ER physician, and son of MLUC Music Director Emeritus Ron Hockenberry—this piece was to be a spiritual successor to Gustav Holst’s The Planets. What could a new cosmic, symphonic work become, informed by 100 more years of science? On a pleasant April night in 2010, Dave invited me over to see the observatory he built in his backyard where he first pitched the project. However, it was not just the beginning of an artistic collaboration, but a dear friendship. Soon, Dave and his wife Ann practically became honorary Brown Family members: great for us… but not so great for the project. Obviously, family does not hold each other accountable the way that professional contacts do. And so, I wrote concertos, operas, dozens of chamber and vocal works throughout the years; but Observatory remained dormant sketches buried in the notepad by my piano.
It finally dawned on me last year that MLUC—Dave’s and my original connection—could be the answer to our (then) 15-year dilemma: What if we expanded the piece from “symphonic suite” to “oratorio?” Add choir. Add vocal soloists. Find a librettist to compose the text. As I was rehearsing the Choir with the bluegrass band for Music Sunday 2025’s presentation of Carol Barnett’s The World Beloved (the “Bluegrass Mass”), I realized that we could do this here. The MLUC Choir has gotten really good. Our community would love this. Dave was skeptical of the idea at first, since it was a profound reimagining of our long-standing project… but he was open-minded. What he didn’t realize was that I already had a poet in mind. What if Observatory was an all-MLUC-original creation?
Cameron Martin, a beloved member of our congregation, had sung on and off with the Choir my second year as Music Director—and in that time I got to know her work as a poet. A technical writer by day, Cameron caught me completely off guard with her poetry. Her work is intense, visceral, emotionally charged, creative, stunningly beautiful, and deeply human. What if Cameron’s poetry could be the missing link to connect these abstract, deep-space objects—nigh incomprehensible in scale—to our humanity? Holst had the Roman gods: “Mars, Bringer of War” or “Jupiter, Bringer of Jollity.” What if Observatory—the standing title since 2010, itself a reference to our own perception—was actually about our relationship with the cosmos?
Last July, Cameron, Dave, and I met to discuss the project. Dave imparted to Cameron a flash drive of over a hundred high-definition astrophotographs (with detailed descriptions of the science and observational history). Cameron accepted the proverbial baton and ran with it. By the fall, I had her first two poems—ultimately the first and final movements, respectively, of the seven-movement work. I was stunned. “The wreath upon the noble crown, laughter that shatters despair, steady as the draw of dawn . . . I’ve seen all tender beginnings, I’ll remember you when all else is gone.” Cameron gave a voice to the universe—to the unknown . . . and unknowable.
Four more poems followed, leaving a seventh movement, based on the famous “Horsehead Nebula” for the orchestra alone—the one movement that I had composed long ago in 2011. For months, I sat with Cameron’s words. “Come to me in the morning—tell me what you whispered to the long stillness of night. You’ve followed the burning lamps, bled out your colors along the way. Come to me with clothes torn, gather up the loosened strands; I will teach you how to weave.” I read each poem over and over again, analyzing not only her prose but the questions that they inspired. In a way, it almost became a religious text for me, the “voice” of the cosmos a stand-in for a theist’s conception of “God.” But moreover, the poetry forced me to look inward—to examine my own reality, feelings, rituals. Somehow I was looking millions of lightyears into deep space to understand myself.
And so it is with profound excitement that I invite you to our Music Sunday service this weekend for a truly unprecedented MLUC collaboration between Dave Hockenberry’s astrophotography, Cameron Martin’s poetry, my music, the MLUC Choir’s performance, and The Art Group’s stunning, new Observatory gallery. I am humbled by the true “village” that it has taken to manifest Observatory, and grateful to my entire MLUC family for their trust, support, and artistry. Following the service, we will celebrate with our second annual “Musaic” gallery, featuring performances throughout the building until 2:00 p.m. Grab some lunch in the Fireside Gallery and wander our halls to enjoy music of myriad genres, presented by the musicians who make up our vibrant music program.
In the face of national turbulence, hatred, and chaos, it is an important moment to step back and appreciate the scale of reality—the inevitability of eternity—but also our own inherent worth and dignity. In astrophysicist Carl Sagan’s words, “The cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff. We are a way for the universe to know itself.”
See you on this glorious Music Sunday.