Then, the voicing of the organ began: a long low note from the south transept.   Voicing fascinates me, though I know nothing but what one gleans from hearing it done.  The note begins fuzzy and rumbly and is allowed to fill the space.  Then — slowly, miraculously–  it is gathered in.  The fuzziness stops.  The note rings true, and the building sighs in response.

Pipe after pipe, note after note, it is the same: each drawn into its own centre, then taught to resonate with the others.

It seems like a perfect expression of both church and prayer.  One note at a time, prayer turns the volume up on our fuzziness, till the true note sounds and we are gathered in.

It’s a slow process though.  Slower for people than organs.  In the time I was there, Jophiel and the organ tuners managed three pipes.  God and I were content with just one.